The Ghost At the Table: a Novel
“Like me, she probably believed she intended to drive straight back to Concord after lunch, to be home before dark. Even Frances had her limits when it came to revisiting the past. But as we were finishing our sandwiches at a Subway shop on Farmington Avenue, Frances said that she wanted to see if the old neighborhood looked the same.
“Maybe some other time.” I got up to throw away our napkins and paper plates and put our soda cans into a green plastic recycling bin.
“There probably won’...t be another time.” Frances gazed up at me. “Come on, we’re all the way here. It’s only another mile or so.” Frances turned to our father. “What do you think, Dad?”
He shrugged. He had hardly touched his roast beef sandwich. His head was sunk between his shoulders and a corner of his mouth hung open.
“Dad seems tired,” I said. “He doesn’t look well. I think we should be getting home.”MoreLess
“Maybe some other time.” I got up to throw away our napkins and paper plates and put our soda cans into a green plastic recycling bin.
“There probably won’...t be another time.” Frances gazed up at me. “Come on, we’re all the way here. It’s only another mile or so.” Frances turned to our father. “What do you think, Dad?”
He shrugged. He had hardly touched his roast beef sandwich. His head was sunk between his shoulders and a corner of his mouth hung open.
“Dad seems tired,” I said. “He doesn’t look well. I think we should be getting home.”MoreLess
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