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sight of him. She tilted her face to the side, allowing him to give her a peck on the cheek. He reached into a silver bowl for a warm biscuit.
    “Joel, if you’re going to eat, please sit down. I’ll have the cook fix you an omelet.”
    “I’ve already had breakfast, Mother. Just got in from a sunrise meeting with some investors.”
    “Why so early?” she asked.
    “The same thing I asked Father. Now he wants me back at the office by noon. Having a big catered lunch for some clients all the way in from France.”
    “Paris?” Allison asked.
    “I have no idea, and I don’t care,” he said. “But I will be there by noon to eat those lobsters.”
    His mother glanced at the mantel clock, annoyed. “Didn’t you tell him what I’d asked you to do?”
    “I’m sorry, what was it you asked me to do again?”
    Allison laughed.
    “I’m not in the mood, Joel,” Mother said. “And don’t talk when you chew.”
    “I’m just toying with you, Mother. There was no need to tell Father.” He was still chewing. “There’s plenty of time to run your little errand and get back to the office for lunch. Why so tense?”
    “You know why.”
    “The letter from the prodigal?” he asked. “Where is it?”
    “There on the hutch, in the brown envelope.”
    He walked over and picked it up. A servant girl walked in. “Oh, Sally,” Joel said, “the butter dish is empty. I must have another of those biscuits before I go.”
    “Yessuh, Missuh Foster.” She grabbed the dish and quickly returned to the kitchen.
    “Joel,” his mother said, “you’ll get smudges on the letter.”
    “It’s not as if we’re going to frame it.” Joel unfolded the single page and read for a moment. “The SS Vandervere . He says it’s supposed to arrive at three o’clock tomorrow. But you know these ships are never on time. Sometimes they don’t even come on the correct day.”
    “That’s why I want you to go down to the steamship company,” she said. “It’s close enough to the arrival time; they should be able to give us a better idea.”
    “I’ll go, but I don’t see how it will make any difference. Ships don’t run on a rail, Mother. They arrive when they arrive.”
    “I’ve read these steamships are much more reliable. Just go, please, and see what they say.” She released a deep sigh. “This whole thing is so unnerving. We haven’t seen or heard from John in almost two years, and he sends us this? A single paragraph? I don’t know if he plans to stay here, at a hotel, how long he plans to visit. Nothing.”
    Joel set the letter down, walked behind his mother, and rubbed her shoulders. As he did, she began to cry. “Why would he do this? Why does he treat us this way?”
    “I don’t think he meant to hurt you, Mother,” Allison said. “I’m looking forward to seeing John again.”
    Her mother shot her an angry glare. “You don’t understand the trouble he caused us when he left, the way he left. It was so . . . humiliating. I couldn’t show my face for months.”
    “Don’t you want to see him?” asked Allison.
    “Of course I do,” she snapped. “He’s my son.” She picked up a linen napkin and dabbed her eyes. “But he could have at least mailed us a few pages. Telling us how he’s been, what his plans are. Now I don’t know what to expect. My whole social calendar is up in the air.” Her stern, in-control face had returned. “I simply must cancel that charity tea next week. We’ll have to think of something, some excuse.” She looked at Joel and Allison. “I don’t want anyone to know about John coming home till we know what we’re dealing with, is that clear? No one is to say a word.”
    “Mother,” Joel said. “Please.”
    “I mean it, not a word.”
    “All right, but I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. John is broke and coming home in shame. Don’t you think if he’d made a go of it, he’d have written more? There’d be two pages spouting off his achievements.