He opened the bottle and filled two glasses. They sipped.
Frank was heating tomato sauce on the six-burner stove. It simmered, bubbling gently. To Hannah he said, nodding toward the stove, “In Italy they don’t call this sauce. It’s gravy.”
“Smells cool. Why’d you guys break up?”
No one did non sequiturs like teenagers.
Parker said, “I moved to a different company, Marty’s.”
“And I went to Chicago. We both decided long distance wouldn’t work. Besides I’m not sure how compatible we would’ve been. I’d’veforced her to go traipsing through the woods to go quote ‘shopping’ for dinner.”
“Instead of doing it the right way: Whole Foods.”
Hannah offered a fraction of a smile.
The water was at a rolling boil and he eased fresh fettuccine into the pot. “Well, the feast’s almost done. Hannah, any chance you could help me set the table?”
“Where’s the stuff?”
“Over there.” He pointed to a massive mahogany buffet at the far end of the kitchen.
“Everything’s big here.” She was looking at a dining room table that would seat sixteen or eighteen people.
“We’ll eat there.” He nodded at a round kitchen table near the island. He moved aside engineering diagrams. “I like this better. The rest of the house? It’s a like an interior designer cave. You two eat in the kitchen much?”
“Yeah, usually. Our dining room’s too dark. We’re renting and we can’t put new fixtures.” A glance at her mother. “Or paint.”
The girl’d been taught home manners and in a few minutes had plates, place mats, silver and napkins properly arranged on the glass-top table.
Frank mixed the sauce in the pasta and removed some grated cheese from the refrigerator. Then from the big oven came a loaf of Italian bread, its crust crisp and alluring. He pulled a mitt onto his left hand and used a serrated knife to cut slices. These went into a bowl. He removed a salad from the fridge and took several different dressings from a door rack.
Together, the three of them moved everything to the table.
He took one seat and pointed to those next to him, Parker on the left and Hannah to the right.
She realized then why he wanted to eat here and why he wanted to take the seat he had. So he would have an unobstructed view of the long driveway and the dirt road that ran in front of the house.
She studied it too, and expanded her glance to take in the long rifle in the corner by the door.
Then told herself: Relax. Jon couldn’t possibly know about this place.
They began to eat. Conversation meandered, from the energy industry, to climate change, to politics, to the scenery, to life out in the country, to Hannah’s school, to her uncanny ability to solve math problems. Parker supposed she’d want to talk about her passion—her selfies project—but had the good sense to keep mum onthattopic.
When they were nearly finished, Frank froze, glass halfway to his mouth. He set it down.
“I want you two to go into the parlor.” His voice was commanding, far different from his laconic tone.
Hannah looked up in alarm. “What?”
Parker rose. “Han, we’ll do what Frank says.”
“Go on. Now.”
Parker and her daughter stepped into the dim room, dominated by an eerie elk head.
“Mom?”
“Shh.”