Episode 18 · Guests at the Table

By Friday evening, Soles had cleared the photograph of Kerr from the kitchen table and put it on the windowsill. He meant to feed the people he had invited before asking them to solve another problem for him.

Varren had agreed to come early and help. Maxim had claimed that his last collection might keep him late, which Soles regarded as an unusually honest assessment of his interest in peeling potatoes.

Krista sent a message asking what to bring.

Dessert, if you want. We have the rest.

Bought or made?

Whichever involves less chance of you changing your mind.

She sent the name of a shop and a time. Soles looked at the message longer than the arrangements required, then put the phone down to answer the door.

Varren had brought a bag of bread and a tray.

Lucky rose against him at the gate. Varren lifted the bread above the dog’s head.

— Do you remember me at all, or just the packaging?

— The packaging has been here more often, Soles said.

Inside, Varren washed his hands and looked at the vegetables Soles had prepared. He took the knife when Soles tried to finish the potatoes with his bandaged hand.

— Tomatoes, he said, passing him the bowl. You can wash these without proving anything.

Soles objected on principle and accepted the tomatoes.

They worked comfortably for a while. When Varren asked what the archivist had said about the missing appendix, Soles pointed toward the window.

— Afterward. I promised dinner first.

Varren looked at him, then nodded and went back to the tray.

Setting the table was harder. Soles reached for the plates on the shelf and took one too many. The extra place lay where Mary would have sat. He could hear her asking why he had put the bread so far from everyone, then Kale telling her it was perfectly reachable if she made an effort.

He stood with his hand on the plate.

Varren moved the bowl of tomatoes clear so he could put it down. He did not ask what had happened.

Soles returned the plate to the shelf and pulled the remaining chairs around the table.

— Here? Varren asked, holding the hot tray.

— That’s where the salad goes.

— Then I’ll hold it and you can eat off me.

He moved the salad.

Krista arrived with a box tied in string. Lucky pressed his nose between the gate’s bars, inspecting it before Soles could let her in.

— You said there were two.

— Mina is checking your references from the steps.

The little dog sat by the door. Krista offered Lucky her free hand and lifted the box when he tried to introduce himself to the other one.

— Dessert is for confirmed attendees.

Soles took it from her. The shop’s name was printed across the lid.

— I was going to ask how hard you worked on this.

— I stood in line. Don’t diminish the effort.

He laughed and showed her where to leave her coat. Inside, Varren greeted her with a kitchen towel over his shoulder, then asked whether she had brought the invoice for the photographs too.

— I’m invoicing only the people who argued with me.

— An excellent business, Soles said.

— It would be, if they paid.

Maxim came through the back door as they were finding room for the dessert. His shirt had a dark mark at the shoulder from a load he had carried. The swelling at his nose had faded enough for him to touch it without thinking first.

He looked at the tray.

— Good. Nobody needs my professional assistance.

— You came in when you heard the oven, Soles said.

— I’ve known you a long time. There are signals.

He washed his hands, changed his shirt and came back with the drinks. Soles handed him plates to carry instead of inviting another opinion about his timing.

His phone rang as he took the last plate. He listened, explained that the collection had been completed and refused to go back for something nobody had put on the sheet. When he ended the call, Soles looked at him.

— I didn’t know you could say no.

— Different rate for relatives. You owe me since we were children.

When they sat down, Maxim turned to Krista.

— Maxim. The cousin. I assume he’s made me sound useful.

— I heard about the statement you had to give about the door.

— Then he’s selected the highlights.

Soles set down the serving spoon.

— He was the reason we found the driver. And the reason I’m here to complain about him.

Maxim’s expression changed before he reached for the bread. Krista took the bowl from Soles so he could sit down properly.

— You work at the same firm? she asked Maxim.

— He repairs things. I bring him fresh examples.

— Mostly the same example, Soles said. Yellow. Very loud.

— Consistency matters in a business.

Varren asked for the bread before Maxim could explain the truck’s virtues. Maxim pushed the basket over.

Krista told them about the new arrangement on the exhibition wall. The flood photograph had stayed. A sponsor had asked why his caption now faced a picture of a greenhouse full of water.

— What did you tell him? Soles asked.

— That his contribution helped us show how much the garden had survived.

Maxim stopped chewing.

— Can you do that for the truck?

— You’ll need a larger wall.

Soles laughed hard enough to regret it. He rested his hand against his chest while Varren turned the conversation toward a delivery where Maxim had spent half the morning waiting for someone to open a gate.

The man responsible had been trapped inside. He had reached the offices on foot and discovered he did not have the gate key.

— So he was already where you were trying to take the goods, Krista said.

— Yes.

— And he wanted you to come through the offices too?

— With the truck, Maxim said.

Krista considered it.

— He had just proved the route worked.

Maxim pointed his fork at her.

— You see the problem immediately. Nobody there did.

For several minutes, Kerr’s photograph lay on the windowsill and no one looked at it. Soles passed the salad, listened to Krista interrupt a detail Varren had remembered wrongly, and found that he was hungry.

When they finished, he collected the glasses before reaching for the photograph.