There Was an Extra Place at the Table for My Late Husband—That’s When My Son Went Pale

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Ask me tomorrow.”

I gathered my purse and coat, moving mechanically. At the door, I turned back to look at the dining room—the table with four place settings, three of them used, one waiting for a dead man who turned out to be alive.

“The pie,” I said suddenly. “I made that pie for a dead man.”

Robert’s smile was sad.continue reading …