“No,” I said. “He has been very busy with the wedding preparations.”
Arthur tapped the pen twice against his palm, the steady sound echoing in the narrow corridor.
“He was looking at some very expensive listings near the lakefront,” Arthur said.
“Properties well beyond a manager’s salary,” Arthur added.
“Perhaps he was just looking,” I said, declining to explain further.
“Perhaps,” Arthur said, his brow furrowed. “But he seemed quite intent on the listings.”
I thanked him for his time and walked out into the chilly afternoon air.
By seven that evening, the kitchen was quiet as Ethan sat at my dining room table.
The light from the brass chandelier cast long shadows across the dark wood.
He laid a single sheet of paper between us, next to my teacup.
“I need you to sign this guest release form, Mom,” Ethan said.
His hand shook slightly as he handed me the blue ballpoint pen.
“What is this for?” I asked, looking at the small print on the page.
“It just confirms the final headcount for the seating chart,” he said.
