The water sloshes up and down. The bottom of the glass is sticky with breadcrumbs and melted cheese. Reba's howling grows louder. Even the baby pays attention, his forehead all wrinkled and confused. He stands there, hands shaking.
Someone has to be in charge.
Matthew stands, just like Reba used to, fists clenched, face screwed up. Alicia tears her napkin clot apart with her fork. I asked how she'd driven home. He couldn't answer that one. He said if we startle her out of it she could be permanently scarred.