Emma pressed the dough between her fingers.
“But people do.”
“Yes.”
“Does bread help?”
Lena glanced at Reid.
He was staring at the floor.
“Sometimes warm food helps a little.”
Emma nodded.
Then:
“Papa says your bread helps.”
Reid closed his eyes.
Lena smiled.
“Your papa talks too much.”
Emma looked at him.
“He doesn’t.”
That made Lena laugh harder than it should have.
Emma took the loaf home.
Three days later Reid came without her.
“She asked if you could come to supper.”
Lena stopped measuring flour.
“What?”
“Emma.”
“I heard the words.”
“She wants you at supper.”
“Why?”
Reid leaned against the counter.
“You’re asking me to explain a six-year-old girl.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not qualified.”
Lena returned to the flour.
“No.”
“No what?”
“I’m not coming.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
Because she was three hundred kilograms and his chairs might not hold her.
Because ranch houses were small.
Because people became awkward about meals around her.
Because she could imagine Emma being kind and Reid being kind and herself ruining it simply by existing too visibly inside their home.
Instead she said:
“I’m busy.”
“Supper is after work.”
“My work does not end because the sun does.”
“All right.”
He accepted it too easily.
That annoyed her.
Then he said:
“How about Sunday?”
“No.”
“Monday?”
“Reid.”
“Tuesday?”
She stared.
He smiled.
“I’m trying to identify whether the problem is the day.”
“The problem is I said no.”
His smile disappeared.
“All right.”
He left.
Lena expected relief.
It did not come.
The next morning he did not mention supper.
Neither did she.
Two days later Emma returned with him.
The child carried a folded piece of paper.
“For you.”
Lena accepted it.
Inside was a drawing.
Three people sitting at a table.
One very large figure in green.
One tall figure.
One small girl.
A loaf of bread sat between them.
Lena stared.
Emma pointed.
“That’s you.”
“I guessed.”
“You’re too small in the picture.”
Reid coughed.
Lena looked at him.
His face had gone red.
Emma continued.
“I ran out of paper.”
Lena burst out laughing.
Reid covered his mouth.
Emma looked offended.
“It’s true.”
“I believe you.”
The girl pointed toward an empty square beside the drawn table.
“That’s your chair.”
Lena’s laughter stopped.
“What?”
“Papa fixed it.”
Reid looked suddenly interested in the ceiling.
Lena turned toward him.
“Fixed what?”
He exhaled.
“Nothing.”
Emma said:
“He made the chair bigger.”
Lena stared.
The old familiar shame arrived fast.
Sharp.
“Why?”
Reid met her eyes.
His expression changed the moment he understood.
“Lena—”
“Did you think I would break your furniture?”