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for Laurie, Doug’s wife, Kira’s assessment of her seemed accurate. She spoke very little during dinner. When she wasn’t looking down, picking at her food, her attention was focused on Kevin or Doug. There was a lot more to her than met the eye—Guthrie was sure of it. She wasn’t quiet because she had nothing to say.
    Of all the people who’d been at the table, Guthrie liked Evangeline the best. She was warm and loving, and made every attempt to include Guthrie in the conversation. She might not allow two young unmarried people to sleep together under her roof, but she made no conspicuous show of her religious beliefs either. And she loved tea.
    Like Guthrie’s own family, Kira’s had a hierarchy and its own kind of heartbeat. Because Guthrie had grown up with a drug-addicted mother and a father who steadfastly refused to believe he had a right to his own feelings and opinions, he’d learned early on to listen for subtext. Words weren’t only used to communicate, they could also obscure. Beyond words, the truth of any interaction often lay in what wasn’t said, in the emotions that underpinned whatever subject was on the table. Deciphering his parents had always given Guthrie a splitting headache. He’d been hoping that Kira’s family would be a more easygoing group—what you saw was what you got. It was probably asking too much.
    Slipping out of bed, Guthrie grabbed his bathrobe and headed out to the hallway in search of a bottle of Maalox, or failing that, something fizzy to drink. He rummaged through the medicine cabinet in the second-floor bathroom, but finding nothing, he tiptoed toward the stairs. He didn’t want to wake the sleeping family.
    Before he got halfway down, he heard voices in the kitchen. The stair treads creaked under his weight, so he stopped, wondering if whoever was in there had heard him. When they continued, he sat down to listen.
    Kevin and Doug appeared to be the only two people in the room.
    â€œYou didn’t vote?” said Doug’s voice. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
    â€œDidn’t like any of the candidates,” replied Kevin. “So what would have been the point?”
    â€œThe point? What’s the point ?”
    â€œI’m not up for an argument, Dougie.”
    â€œDon’t call me Dougie. You don’t deserve citizenship in this country if you don’t vote.”
    â€œBack the hell off or I’ll take my bottle of Jameson and drink it somewhere else.”
    Doug muttered. “I’m just saying—”
    â€œ Doug .”
    â€œAll right, all right. Jesus.”
    They stayed quiet for a few minutes.
    Guthrie was ready to head back up to his bed when Doug said, “You must really like working with Laurie.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œBecause sometimes she doesn’t get home until four in the morning.”
    â€œWe do cleanup after we close the bar.”
    â€œFor two hours?”
    â€œSometimes we sit down and have a beer together. You got a problem with that?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œMeaning what?”
    â€œHell, Kevin. You sleep with half the women in this town. Can’t you leave my wife alone?”
    â€œOh Lord. I should have known you’d think that. It’s not happening.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œ No . If you got problems in your marriage, it’s not because of me.”
    Doug grunted.
    More clinking glasses.
    â€œSince we’re on the subject of my wife,” said Doug, his gravelly voice starting to slur, “I have to say, she kind of surprised me. She’s usually so quiet. When I see her behind the bar, it’s like she’s had a personality transplant.”
    â€œShe’s quiet around you, asshole, because you suck up all the air in the room.”
    â€œYou are so full of it.” Chair legs scraped against linoleum.
    â€œYou wanna fight, Doug, or you wanna