Rebecca filled 2 glasses of water and carried them back out on the tray. Neither man was looking at her strangely when she returned. Benjamin was already talking about his flight, waving his hand, launching into a story about the airport. Mr. Caleb was listening with the particular expression he used when he was being patient.
Rebecca set the glasses down and left them to it.
Benjamin stayed for lunch.
Rebecca prepared it—grilled fish, rice, and a simple salad—and served it in the dining room. As she moved back and forth from the kitchen, she caught small pieces of their conversation drifting through the doorway: old names, old places, the way people talk when they are reaching back into a shared past and pulling out memories to examine.
She paid it no particular attention. It was not her conversation to listen to.
But then she heard Benjamin’s voice drop into a different register, lower and warmer, the way a voice goes when it is getting close to something real.
“Do you remember those days, Caleb? That last year of school.”
Rebecca was in the kitchen covering a dish. She was not listening. Some of it.
“Some of it,” Mr. Caleb said.