We Need to Talk

The door at the end of the hall opened, and Shawna saw her father's athletic frame silhouetted against the late afternoon sunlight flooding the doorway. Another wave of remorse swept over her, but she determined not to cry again.

When her dad reached the chair where she was seated, he just looked at her. Shawna could not force herself to return the gaze. Then he touched her shoulder, not an angry touch, more of a friendly pat. "I just talked to your mother," he said. Surprisingly to Shawna, his tone was no more angry than his touch. "She wants to see us—both. She's fixing some dinner. Said she has something important to tell us." "Something important?" Shawna said. Jon shrugged. "She didn't say what it was."

Shawna and her father left the building in silence. Going to the house sounded much better to her than going back to Dad's apartment. But it still seemed strange that the four of them would be there for dinner. They had not eaten dinner together since the divorce.