Chapter 19 - THE QUIETEST CONVERSATION
On the twentieth anniversary of Owen’s death, Harper returned to Bellamy House.
The restaurant had changed.
New owners.
New chef.
Different furniture.
The south dining room remained.
An accessibility symbol sat discreetly near reservations.
Staff had tablets.
Caption systems.
Basic ASL training.
Harper stood near the table where Beatrice had once been humiliated.
Roman joined her.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
They sat.
The waiter approached.
Young.
Nervous.
He signed:
Welcome.
Harper smiled.
Roman signed back fluently.
The waiter’s eyes widened slightly.
Apparently he had not expected Roman Moretti to answer.
Harper almost laughed.
They ordered.
Roman chose duck.
She stared.
“You never learn.”
“My mother isn’t here to criticize me.”
Harper pointed upward.
“You sure?”
Roman looked toward the ceiling.
“Mom, mind your business.”
Harper laughed.
During dinner Roman became quiet.
“What?”
He looked around.
“I was thinking about the first night.”
“You nearly committed assault over poultry.”
“It wasn’t about poultry.”
“I know.”
“I remember thinking Grant made my mother look weak.”
Harper waited.
“That was wrong.”
“How?”
“My mother wasn’t weak.”
“No.”
“I was embarrassed because I couldn’t fix the situation the only way I knew.”
“By making someone afraid.”
“Yes.”
Roman looked at his hands.
“You showed me another option.”
“I translated a menu.”
“You saw her.”
Harper’s throat tightened.
“And she saw me.”
They sat quietly.
No dramatic danger.
No secrets.
No empire.
Just two middle-aged people in a restaurant remembering who they had been.
Roman raised his hands.
Happy?
Harper smiled.
Mostly.
He rolled his eyes.
“You’re impossible.”
“You married me.”
“My greatest administrative failure.”
She kicked him beneath the table.
The waiter approached.
“Dessert?”
Roman looked at Harper.
She signed:
Yes.
Because Beatrice once threatened to leave without dessert.
May you like
Some traditions deserved keeping.
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