others did or did not have. He was the president of a small county bank that had been on the verge of collapse for ten years. She was too good to work and had spent all of her adult life seeking social advancement in a town where there was none to be had. She had traced her ancestry to royalty in one of the old countries, and this had always impressed the coal miners in Danesboro, Kentucky. With so much blue blood in her veins, it had fallen her duty to do nothing but drink hot tea, play bridge, talk of her husband's money, condemn the less fortunate and work tirelessly in the Garden Club. He was a stuffed shirt who jumped when she barked and lived in eternal fear of making her mad. As a team they had relentlessly pushed their daughter from birth to be the best, achieve the best, but most importantly, marry the best. Their daughter had rebelled and married a poor kid with no family except a crazy mother and a criminal brother.
"Nice place you've got here, Mitch," Mr. Sutherland said in an effort to break the ice. They sat for lunch and began passing dishes.
"Thanks." Nothing else, just thanks. He concentrated on the food. There would be no smiles from him at lunch. The less he said, the more uncomfortable they would be. He wanted them to feel awkward, guilty, wrong. He wanted them to sweat, to bleed. It had been their decision to boycott the wedding. It had been their stones cast, not his.
"Everything is so lovely," her mother gushed in his direction.
"Thanks."
"We're so proud of it, Mother," Abby said.
The conversation immediately went to the remodeling. The men ate in silence as the women chattered on and on about what the decorator did to this room and that one. At times, Abby was almost desperate to fill in the gaps with words about whatever came to mind. Mitch almost felt sorry for her, but he kept his eyes on the table. The butter knife could have cut the tension.
"So you've found a job?" Mrs. Sutherland asked.
"Yes. I start a week from Monday. I'll be teaching third-graders at St. Andrew's Episcopal School."
"Teaching doesn't pay much," her father blurted.
He's relentless, thought Mitch.
"I'm not concerned with money, Dad. I'm a teacher. To me, it's the most important profession in the world. If I wanted money, I would've gone to medical school."
"Third-graders," her mother said. "That's such a cute age. You'll be wanting children before long."
Mitch had already decided that if anything would attract these people to Memphis on a regular basis, it was grandchildren. And he had decided he could wait a long time. He had never been around children. There were no nieces or nephews, except for maybe a few unknown ones Ray had scattered around the country. And he had developed no affinity for children.
"Maybe in a few years, Mother."
Maybe after they're both dead,thought Mitch.
"You want children, don't you, Mitch?" asked the mother-in-law.
"Maybe in a few years."
Mr. Sutherland pushed his plate away and lit a cigarette. The issue of smoking had been repeatedly discussed in the days before the visit. Mitch wanted it banned completely from his house, especially by these people. They had argued vehemently, and Abby won.
"How was the bar exam?" the father-in-law asked.
This could be interesting, Mitch thought. "Grueling." Abby chewed her food nervously.
"Do you think you passed?"
"I hope so."
"When will you know?"
"Four to six weeks."
"How long did it last?"
"Four days."
"He's done nothing but study and work since we moved here. I haven't seen much of him this summer," Abby said.
Mitch smiled at his wife. The time away from home was already a sore subject, and it was amusing to hear her condone it.
"What happens if you don't pass it?" her father asked.
"I don't know. I haven't thought about it."
"Do they give you a raise when you pass?"
Mitch decided to be nice, as he had promised. But it was difficult. "Yes, a nice raise and a nice bonus."
"How many lawyers are in?"
"Forty."
"My goodness," said Mrs. Sutherland. She lit up one of hers. "There's not that many in Dane County."
"Where's your office?" he asked.
"Downtown."
"Can we see it?" she asked.
"Maybe some other time. It's closed to visitors on Saturdays." Mitch amused himself with his answer. Closed to visitors, as if it was a museum.
Abby sensed disaster and began talking about the church they had joined. It had four thousand members, a gymnasium and bowling alley. She sang in the choir and taught eight-year-olds