The house felt different now, lighter somehow, as if a window had been opened to let the drafty air out.

While Rachel set the kettle on the stove, David sat at the kitchen table.

He looked tired, but the tension in his jaw was gone.

Harold sat opposite him, his hands resting on the clean wood of the table.

“There’s a community dance next Tuesday,” Harold said quietly.

I stopped near the counter, my hand hovering over the cabinet door.

“The one at the old ballroom?” Rachel asked, turning from the stove.

“Yes,” Harold said. “They are playing some of the old swing music.”

He looked at me, his eyes gentle and hopeful.

“I was wondering if you would like to go, Eleanor,” Harold said.

I looked at David.

He was looking down at his hands, then he looked up at me.

He didn’t frown.

He didn’t look away.

“You should go, Mom,” David said.

The kettle on the stove began to whistle, its high, steady tone filling the room.

I reached for the handle of the cupboard, my fingers brushing against the wood.