Sophie stepped back to inspect her drawing.
“Do you think anybody will come?” she asked.
“Probably,” I said.
“How many?”
“Enough to make setting up the chairs worthwhile.”
“That’s not a number.”
“It’s the best one I have.”
She bumped my shoulder and laughed.
Thanksgiving at our house was small.
Tasha brought a pie, Ruth brought her famous cornbread, and Sophie invited Lila’s family because they had been too overwhelmed to plan a celebration.
Nobody mentioned Celeste at the table.
Not because the past was forbidden, but because a meal could belong to the people eating it rather than the person who had hurt them.
Marcus told a funny story about a patient who had mistaken his hospital badge for a parking permit.
Dana confessed she had burned the first attempt at pumpkin bread.
Sophie and Lila argued about which of their teachers had the strangest rehearsal habits.
I carved the turkey badly and received more advice than any man should need.
After dinner Noah Mills arrived with his mother to collect the clarinet Iris had repaired.
Sophie invited them in for dessert.
The living room filled with mismatched chairs and people who had become connected through very different kinds of difficulty.
I looked around and thought that no one in the room was a trophy for my perseverance.
They were simply people who had made room for one another.
In December the regional youth orchestra asked Lila to lead the second violin section for a winter concert.
She called Sophie before accepting because she was still learning how to trust a success that did not require Celeste’s approval.
“You don’t need my permission,” Sophie told her.
“I know.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because you’re the person I want to tell.”
Sophie grinned so broadly that I could see it from the hallway.
She listened while Lila described the audition, the conductor’s questions, and the pieces they would perform.
Then they began discussing whether they could write something together.
I was tempted to warn them about collaboration agreements and ownership records, but I stopped myself.
They already knew how to ask questions and keep copies of drafts.
I did not need to turn their friendship into another lecture about risk.
They spent the afternoon composing a short duet, with Sophie working on melody and Lila experimenting with counterpoint.
When they finished the first page, both signed and dated the margin.
Then they laughed at how formal they looked.
The first snow came during the week before Christmas.
