I set it down.
“I’m not taking anything from you tonight, Dad.”
He looked at me.
“You already gave it away.”
Then I walked back to table twenty-two.
One chair scraped.
Then another.
An elderly man from table six stood.
I recognized him vaguely as one of Dad’s longtime insurance clients.
He crossed the ballroom.
“General.”
I almost corrected him.
Instead, he held out his hand.
“Thank you for your service.”
I shook it.
Then a woman followed.
Then another guest.
Not applause.
Thank God.
Just people.
One by one.
A cousin who hadn’t spoken to me in years whispered, “I didn’t know.”
I answered, “You didn’t ask.”
He nodded.
He accepted it.
Margaret left before dessert.
Richard followed ten minutes later.
Dad remained.
Maybe pride wouldn’t let him leave.
Maybe some part of him finally understood that walking out would look exactly like what it was.
