Chapter Five A Place at Their Table - The Cage He Called Love
By Hasnainhr
Henry’s POV
By Friday afternoon, our filtration model had failed often enough to qualify as a separate scientific study.
Anneliese held the upper chamber steady while I tightened the leaking valve beneath it. Muddy water waited in a measuring jug beside her, wet towels covered one corner of the laboratory table, and several pieces of charcoal had somehow reached the floor. Ben sat across from us on a stool, perfectly clean, watching the experiment with the tired expression of a man forced to witness civilisation collapse.
“Pour slowly,” I told Anneliese.
“I know how to pour water,” she replied.
“You said that before the last flood.”
“The last flood happened because you fitted the valve incorrectly.”
“I followed Ben’s design.”
Anneliese and I both looked toward him.
Ben lifted his head. “My design was elegant. Whatever you two created from it is a personal interpretation.”
“You drew three containers and a tap,” Anneliese said.
“The pyramids also began with a drawing.”
“The pyramids were eventually built.”
“By other people,” Ben replied. “Thank you for proving my point.”
I checked the seal once more before nodding to Anneliese. She carefully poured the muddy water into the first chamber. It passed through the gravel and began sinking into the sand layer. For several hopeful seconds, nothing leaked.
Anneliese smiled. “It’s working.”
The valve burst loose.
A thin stream of grey water shot across the table and struck my shirt. Anneliese gasped, lifted the jug too quickly and spilled more water over the upper chamber. I grabbed the model before it could fall while she pressed a towel against the loose connection.
Across from us, Ben yawned.
“A historic achievement,” he said. “You have successfully filtered the water onto Henry.”
“Your help during this crisis is invaluable,” Anneliese replied, glaring at him.
“I am preserving the only dry uniform in the group.”
“You could hold the model,” I told him.
Ben looked at the muddy water running down my sleeve. “And destroy the balance of the experiment?”
“What balance?”
“Two wet students and one intelligent observer.”
Anneliese threw a damp cloth at him. Ben leaned aside, and it landed on the stool behind him.
He stood immediately. “That was an attack on an innocent shareholder.”
“You have invested nothing,” Anneliese said.
“I invested the original vision.”
“You drew a tap.”
“It was an excellent tap.”
Ben picked up his phone and adjusted the cuffs of his uniform. “I would stay, but the project has reached the stage where optimism becomes irresponsible.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Somewhere that understands drainage.”
“We still need to repair the model.”
Ben opened the laboratory door. “I believe in both of you.”
“You don’t,” Anneliese said.
“No,” he agreed. “But it sounded encouraging.”
He stepped into the corridor, then looked back at the flooded table. “Try not to drown before Monday. Replacing project partners this late would be inconvenient.”
The door closed behind him.
Anneliese stared after him. “How have you remained friends with him for this long?”
“Excellent patience.”
“You have excellent denial.”
“That helps too.”
We emptied the remaining water and examined the broken connection. The rubber seal had split, and the plastic valve was too damaged to reuse. Even if we found a replacement, the laboratory would close before we could test it properly.
Anneliese sighed as she gathered the wet papers. “Let’s finish this at my house on Sunday.”
I looked up. “Your house?”
“Yes. My father has tools, our dining table is large enough, and my mother will not appear every fifteen minutes to remind us that the building is closing.” She placed the damaged valve inside our equipment box. “Bring the model, the test strips and the project files. We can repair everything and complete the report in one day.”
“Are you sure your parents won’t mind?”
“They won’t mind. I’ll tell them we need the dining room.”
I nodded. “What about Ben?”
Anneliese looked toward the door through which he had escaped. “Bring him too, provided he doesn’t already have plans.”
I laughed. “The moment Ben hears the word project, plans appear naturally.”
“You should still ask him.”
“I will, but there is no point. By tomorrow, he will remember an emergency fencing lesson, a family lunch or a meeting with someone whose name he hasn’t invented yet.”
“Perhaps he’ll surprise you.”
“I have known him since childhood. Ben does not surprise me when work is involved.”
Anneliese closed the project folder. “Sunday at ten.”
“I’ll be there.”
“At ten,” she repeated. “Not twenty minutes early.”
“I am never twenty minutes early.”
“You arrived seventeen minutes early for our first library meeting.”
“That was responsible planning.”
“That was anxiety wearing a watch.”
I lifted the damaged model from the table. “Would you prefer I arrive late like Ben?”
“No,” Anneliese replied, smiling. “I would prefer one reliable partner and one miracle.”
Ben did not provide the miracle.
When I asked him the following morning, he stared thoughtfully at the ceiling for several seconds before announcing that he had promised to attend a private lunch with his father’s business associates. I later discovered that his father was still in Switzerland and the lunch had not existed until the moment I mentioned the project.
On Sunday, I arrived at Grace House at nine fifty-three.
The house stood on a quiet, tree-lined street where the gardens were small enough to be cared for by the people who lived behind them. White curtains framed the windows, flowerpots crowded the front steps, and a wooden cross hung beside the door. The place was modest compared with Hawthorne House, but it looked lived in. Nothing had been positioned for photographs or selected by an interior designer. It felt as though every object belonged to someone.
I had the project folder beneath one arm and a box containing the replacement valves in the other. Before I could ring the bell, barking erupted inside.
The door opened, and Hope rushed toward me.
The puppy’s injured leg had healed enough for him to run, although he still moved with a slight unevenness. He inspected my shoes, circled my legs and sat directly on my left foot.
Anneliese appeared behind him wearing jeans and a pale blue sweater. Her hair was tied in a loose braid, and she looked much more relaxed than she did in her perfectly pressed school uniform.
She checked the hallway clock. “You’re early.”
“Seven minutes.”
“I said ten.”
“I allowed time for traffic.”
“You live fifteen minutes away.”
“There could have been unusual traffic.”
“There wasn’t.”
“That proves my planning worked.”
Anneliese narrowed her eyes. “Did you wait around the corner?”
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“I was offended by the accusation.”
Hope placed both front paws against my leg.
I looked down at him. “Does your family search every visitor?”
“He is checking whether you brought food.”
“I brought valves.”
“He looks disappointed.”
“He has unrealistic expectations.”
Anneliese stepped aside. “Come in before the neighbours think I’m refusing to let you enter.”
The house smelled of coffee, cinnamon and freshly baked bread. Family photographs covered the hallway wall: Anneliese holding school certificates, Anneliese sitting between her parents outside a church, Anneliese crouching beside a box filled with rescued birds. One photograph showed her asleep on the sofa with a biology book open across her face.
I slowed down.
Anneliese noticed immediately. “Keep walking.”
“I am appreciating your family history.”
“You are collecting material for blackmail.”
“I can appreciate two things at once.”
She moved in front of the photograph. “The dining room is this way.”
“Does Ben know this exists?”
“He never will.”
“He would pay well for a copy.”
“And I know where you live.”
“Threatening a guest within his first minute feels impolite.”
“You inspected the photographs. You lost guest protection.”
A woman wearing a yellow apron appeared from the kitchen. Flour marked one cheek, and she smiled as soon as she saw me.
“You must be Henry.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s lovely to meet you.”
“I’m Claire,” she said before giving me a brief, warm hug. “Anneliese told us you were coming to finish the project.”
“Mom,” Anneliese said, “please allow him to enter before adopting him.”
“I welcomed him.”
“You fed Clara three meals during her first visit.”
“She looked hungry.”
“She had eaten before coming.”
“Then she was surviving on an old meal.”
I looked at Anneliese. “Should I be concerned?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“No,” Claire said at exactly the same time.
A man entered from the adjoining room, removing his reading glasses. I recognised Dr. Daniel Grace from the photographs, although without his white coat he looked far less formal.
“You must be the mathematics expert,” he said, extending his hand.
I shook it. “That description may be exaggerated.”
“Anneliese says you explain equations better than her textbook.”
“Dad,” Anneliese said, visibly embarrassed.
Daniel looked at her. “Was that classified information?”
“I didn’t know you kept records of every sentence I spoke.”
“I’m a doctor. Records are important.”
“For balance,” I said, “Anneliese explains biology better than most teachers.”
She folded her arms. “Now both of you can stop discussing me as though I’m not standing here.”
Daniel laughed. “Welcome, Henry.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Daniel,” he corrected. “You’re here as Anneliese’s friend, not my patient.”
Anneliese took the project folder from me. “We should start before the model finds another way to fail.”
“After breakfast,” Claire said.
“I already ate,” I replied politely.
Claire’s smile did not change, but I immediately understood that my answer had been rejected. “That was at your house.”
“Yes.”
“This is our house.”
I looked at Anneliese.
“Resistance delays the project,” she warned.
Within minutes, I was seated at the kitchen table with tea, toast, fruit and a warm cinnamon roll in front of me. Claire insisted that it was not a second breakfast because I had eaten the first meal in a different building.
Daniel sat opposite me while Anneliese poured tea. “Did Benjamin decide not to come?” he asked.
“He had an important lunch,” I explained.
Anneliese placed my cup on the table. “A lunch that was discovered immediately after Henry mentioned the project.”
“Perhaps it was a late invitation,” Claire suggested.
“Perhaps it was imaginary,” Anneliese replied.
I smiled. “His father is in Switzerland, and his stepmother is attending a charity event.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Who is he having lunch with?”
“According to Ben, several business associates.”
“Whose business?” Anneliese asked.
“He had not developed that part of the story.”
Claire placed another cinnamon roll on my plate.
I looked down at it. “I haven’t finished the first.”
“That one is for later.”
“Later today?”
“Later during breakfast.”
Anneliese leaned closer to me. “She senses hesitation.”
“I am beginning to understand why you never leave food on your plate.”
“I value peace.”
Claire sat down beside Daniel. “Tell us about your family, Henry.”
“My father owns an electronics repair shop,” I said. “I help him when school allows it. My mother works in an accounting office.”
Daniel seemed genuinely interested. “Do you repair things too?”
“Mostly simple problems. Phones, radios, small appliances.”
“He repaired our model,” Anneliese said.
“Not yet,” I reminded her.
“You brought replacement parts. That is emotionally close to repairing it.”
“My father says finding the fault is usually the hardest part.”
“Your father sounds sensible,” Daniel said.
“He is. My mother balances him by assuming every broken object needs to be thrown away.”
Claire smiled. “I like her already.”
“She will like you too,” I replied. “Especially after she discovers you believe second breakfast is necessary.”
“Not necessary,” Claire corrected. “Civilised.”
Anneliese looked at me. “You are encouraging her.”
“I’m protecting myself.”
“You arrived with no survival plan.”
“My plan was to repair the project.”
“That was your first mistake.”
We eventually escaped the kitchen and carried everything into the dining room. The large wooden table stood beside windows overlooking the back garden. It was wide enough for our model, tools and research papers, with space left over for Hope to place his front paws on the edge whenever he believed he was being excluded.
Our filtration system consisted of three transparent chambers fixed vertically inside a wooden frame. Gravel filled the first, sand filled the second and activated charcoal filled the third. Theoretically, muddy water entered at the top and emerged much clearer at the bottom.
In practice, it usually emerged across our uniforms.
I placed the replacement valves on the table. “One of these should fit.”
Anneliese picked up the smallest. “This one?”
“Too narrow.”
“The middle one?”
“That should work.”
She lifted the largest. “And this?”
“My father included it in case we needed another option.”
“Another option for what? Irrigating the neighbourhood?”
“It belongs to a larger system.”
“We are not turning the project into a fountain.”
“Ben might approve of a fountain.”
“Ben would place his name on it and call it a donation.”
I removed the damaged valve while Anneliese held the lower chamber steady.
“Don’t move,” I told her.
“I’m not moving.”
“The chamber moved.”
“I breathed.”
“Try to do it less aggressively.”
Anneliese stared at me. “Would you prefer that I stop breathing?”
“For thirty seconds.”
“My father is in the next room. He would object.”
“He could supervise.”
“I invited you to repair the model, not endanger my life.”
Hope crawled beneath the table and nudged my ankle. The screwdriver slipped from my fingers and landed on the cloth below us.
Anneliese smiled. “Was that my aggressive breathing?”
“The dog attacked me.”
Hope wagged his tail.
“He touched your shoe.”
“With hostile intent.”
“He weighs less than your project folder.”
“Danger is not determined by weight.”
“Then Ben must be extremely dangerous. His contribution has no weight at all.”
I laughed. “You prepared that one.”
“It arrived naturally.”
We secured the new valve and filled the top chamber with muddy water. Anneliese held the jug while I inspected each connection.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Pour slowly.”
“You always say that as though I intend to throw it.”
“The possibility exists.”
She tipped the jug. The water moved through the gravel and disappeared into the layer of sand. The valve remained firm.
“It’s working,” Anneliese whispered.
“Do not say that.”
“Why?”
“You said it in the laboratory immediately before the explosion.”
“The valve did not explode.”
“It attacked me with water.”
She leaned closer. “It still isn’t leaking.”
A dark drop appeared beneath the second connection.
I pointed at it. “You frightened it.”
“It is one drop.”
Another followed.
Anneliese grabbed a towel and pressed it against the connection. The pressure sent a thin stream sideways across my sleeve.
I looked down at the spreading stain.
She froze. “That was an accident.”
“You have attacked me again.”
“I tried to stop the leak.”
“You redirected it.”
“It is filtered water.”
“It has passed through gravel.”
“That is progress.”
I reached for the muddy-water jug.
Anneliese’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”
“Moving it.”
“You are holding it like a weapon.”
“I would never misuse scientific material.”
“You considered it.”
“The thought appeared briefly.”
Claire entered with a tray of lemonade and stopped when she saw my wet sleeve, Anneliese holding a towel against the model and Hope attempting to drink from the puddle beneath the table.
“Is everything under control?” Claire asked.
“Yes,” Anneliese replied.
“No,” I said at the same time.
Claire looked at the model. “Which answer should I believe?”
“Mine,” Anneliese said. “Henry installed the valve incorrectly.”
“Hope interfered with the installation,” I explained.
Claire looked beneath the table. Hope sat beside her feet with an innocent expression.
“He denies the accusation.”
“At last,” Anneliese said. “A reliable witness.”
Claire gave us more towels and placed the lemonade safely on a side table. “Try not to destroy the dining room before lunch.”
“We’ll protect it,” Anneliese promised.
Claire looked at the wet table. “Begin now.”
When we removed the valve, we discovered that one of the rubber seals had twisted. I straightened it, refitted the connection and tightened the outer ring. The second test succeeded. Water travelled through every layer and collected in the glass container without spraying either of us.
Anneliese watched the clearer water rise. “We did it.”
“We still need to test it.”
“Allow me five seconds of happiness.”
“Five.”
She held up her hand. “High five.”
“We are eighteen.”
“We repaired a machine after flooding my mother’s table. We have earned temporary immaturity.”
I slapped my hand against hers. Hope barked from beneath the table.
“He wants credit,” Anneliese said.
“He caused the first failure.”
“He encouraged us.”
“By attacking my ankle?”
“His methods are unconventional.”
We used turbidity strips and pH tests to compare the original water with the filtered sample. The system removed most visible impurities, although it did not make the water immediately safe to drink.
Anneliese recorded the results. “We need to emphasise boiling or solar disinfection after filtration.”
“I already added it to the written section.”
“Where?”
“Page six.”
She opened the folder and examined the page. “I can’t read this.”
“It says, ‘Further treatment is required to remove harmful microorganisms.’”
“That is not what it looks like.”
“You knew what the sentence said after I read it.”
“That does not make your handwriting readable.”
“It makes you dependent on the author.”
“It makes your notes a hostage situation.”
She rewrote the sentence beneath mine in neat, even letters.
I stared at it. “You altered the original document.”
“I translated it.”
“Future historians may want my version.”
“Future historians have suffered enough.”
We spent the rest of the morning completing the written report. Anneliese’s section on waterborne diseases was detailed enough to frighten anyone away from drinking water again. My explanation of the filtration process contained several calculations she considered unnecessarily complicated.
“This paragraph includes six medical terms,” I said, tapping her page.
“They are relevant.”
“One of them has twenty-three letters.”
“Long words can still be important.”
“It feels aggressive.”
Anneliese took the page from me. “Which word do you want removed?”
“All of them except bacteria.”
“We cannot describe every pathogen as bacteria.”
“Use harmful microorganisms.”
“That sounds vague.”
“It sounds understandable.”
She crossed out one sentence reluctantly. “You are removing the scientific dignity from my work.”
“I am protecting the audience.”
“The audience attends St. Gabriel.”
“Half the class stopped listening when Mrs. Whitmore explained the deadline.”
“That was because Ben asked whether deadlines were legally enforceable.”
“And seven people waited for the answer.”
Anneliese tried to remain serious, but she laughed and rewrote the paragraph.
At noon, Claire entered and closed the project folder.
“We are working,” Anneliese protested.
“You are eating,” Claire replied.
“We can eat here.”
“You nearly mixed dirty water with the lemonade.”
“That happened once.”
“It happened this morning.”
I stood without arguing.
Anneliese looked at me. “Traitor.”
“I learned during breakfast that resistance is inefficient.”
“You are adapting too quickly.”
Lunch filled the kitchen table: soup, sandwiches, roasted potatoes and salad. Claire continued adding food to my plate while Daniel asked about St. Gabriel, the scholarship and my future plans.
“Do you want to study engineering?” he asked.
“Possibly biomedical engineering,” I replied. “Or medicine. I haven’t decided yet.”
Anneliese turned toward me. “You never mentioned medicine.”
“I’m still considering it.”
“He enjoys repairing things,” she told her father.
“I enjoy discovering why they stopped working,” I corrected.
Daniel nodded. “Both medicine and engineering begin with that question. The difference is that machines complain less.”
Claire looked at him. “You complain when your tea becomes cold.”
“Cold tea is preventable.”
“Your patients probably say the same about waiting-room delays.”
“They lack medical patience.”
Anneliese glanced at me. “This is where I inherited my excellent humour.”
“I thought you inherited your certainty from your mother.”
Claire smiled. “Henry understands the family already.”
“Please don’t encourage him,” Anneliese said. “He has seen one embarrassing photograph and become dangerously confident.”
Daniel looked interested. “Which photograph?”
“The one with the biology book,” I answered.
Daniel laughed. “She fell asleep while studying the respiratory system.”
“I was twelve,” Anneliese said.
Claire added, “She also drooled on the page about saliva.”
“Mom.”
I lowered my spoon. “That feels symbolically appropriate.”
Anneliese stared at me. “Remember that I have not visited your house yet.”
“My mother keeps albums.”
“Excellent.”
“She will show you everything.”
“Even better.”
“I should warn her.”
“That would ruin the experience.”
Claire looked between us. “You two have become good friends quickly.”
The observation caused a brief pause.
Anneliese recovered first. “The project forced us to spend time together.”
“And Ben’s absence doubled the workload,” I added.
“That creates strong bonds,” Daniel said solemnly.
Anneliese nodded. “Shared suffering.”
I pointed toward her. “She created half the suffering.”
“I repaired your writing.”
“You criticised it.”
“That was the repair.”
Lunch continued with stories about our families. I told them about my father’s repair shop and customers who insisted their phones had broken “for no reason” after being dropped in sinks, bathtubs and, once, a bowl of soup.
“Did you repair the soup phone?” Anneliese asked.
“For two days.”
“What happened after two days?”
“The owner dropped it again.”
“In soup?”
“In tea.”
Daniel shook his head. “Some patients behave the same way. They ignore every instruction and return surprised when the problem continues.”
Claire smiled. “Daniel once told a man to reduce sugar, and the man stopped adding it to tea but began eating more cake.”
“Cake is not tea,” Anneliese said.
“That was his defence,” Daniel replied.
Claire’s stories eventually shifted toward Anneliese’s childhood.
“Do not tell him about the cake,” Anneliese warned.
I immediately leaned forward. “What cake?”
“There is no cake.”
“There was almost a cake,” Daniel corrected.
Claire smiled. “She tried to bake one for her father’s birthday when she was ten.”
“That sounds thoughtful,” I said.
“It was thoughtful,” Daniel replied. “Emotionally.”
Anneliese covered her face with one hand. “You promised never to tell this story.”
“I promised not to tell Clara,” Claire said. “Henry was not mentioned.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“She confused salt with sugar.”
“It was one ingredient,” Anneliese protested.
“A central ingredient,” Daniel said.
“I ate one bite because I loved her.”
“You drank three glasses of water afterward.”
“I continued loving you from a safer distance.”
I laughed so hard I nearly knocked my glass over.
Anneliese looked at me with betrayal. “I invited you into my home.”
“And you have given me a beautiful memory.”
“You will take it to your grave.”
Claire leaned closer. “There is a photograph of the cake.”
“Mom!”
“Where?” I asked.
Anneliese pointed at me. “Your visit can still end early.”
I raised both hands. “I respect household boundaries.”
“You inspected the hallway before your coat was off.”
“The boundary had not yet been established.”
After lunch, we returned to the dining room and divided the presentation. Anneliese would introduce the public-health issue and explain the diseases caused by contaminated water. I would demonstrate the filtration process. Ben would present costs, maintenance and practical use.
“We need to practise his section,” Anneliese said.
“He should practise it.”
“He isn’t here.”
“That was his plan.”
“You know how he speaks. Pretend to be him.”
I stared at her. “How?”
“Sit back, look uninterested and behave as though the audience should be grateful you arrived.”
“That feels insulting.”
“To you or Ben?”
“Both.”
Anneliese handed me Ben’s presentation cards. I leaned back in the chair and allowed my expression to become bored.
“The estimated cost of the system is approximately twenty-seven dollars,” I began, “which is less than my family spends importing fruit I refuse to eat.”
Anneliese broke into laughter. “That was disturbingly believable.”
“I have known him most of my life.”
“Continue.”
“The materials are inexpensive and locally available. The wooden frame is also reusable, provided Henry is prevented from repairing it without supervision.”
“You are enjoying this too much.”
“I am beginning to understand him.”
“That is dangerous.”
I lifted the next card. “The charcoal should be replaced every two to three months. Henry may require more frequent replacement.”
Anneliese took the cards away from me. “You are dismissed.”
“I had more material.”
“That is the problem.”
She attempted the section herself, leaning against the table and lowering her voice. “This filtration unit is affordable, practical and more attractive than competing designs because I contributed.”
“Too enthusiastic,” I said.
“You are right.” She tried again. “If additional funding is required, my father can purchase the village.”
I laughed. “Uncomfortably accurate.”
“Does he mention his father that often?”
“Only when money, rules, school, transport, food or existence enters the conversation.”
“So constantly.”
“Almost.”
We practised the complete presentation four times. During the first attempt, Anneliese rushed through her introduction. During the second, I forgot to mention that filtration alone did not kill every pathogen. During the third, Hope barked repeatedly whenever either of us said water.
By the fourth attempt, we completed everything within fourteen minutes and thirty seconds.
“Perfect,” Anneliese said, stopping the timer.
“Ben will speak slowly.”
“Why?”
“To make people wait for him.”
“Then we need to remove another minute.”
“I was joking.”
“I wasn’t.”
We practised again.
Anneliese spoke more slowly this time, explaining why contaminated water caused serious illness in communities without reliable treatment systems. Her voice remained clear and confident, but there was warmth behind the facts. She did not talk about affected families as numbers inside a report.
When she finished, I remained quiet.
Anneliese lowered her notes. “What?”
“That was very good.”
“Only very good?”
“Excellent.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Was that a sincere compliment?”
“Do not make it uncomfortable.”
“You sound like Ben.”
“That is deeply offensive.”
By late afternoon, the project was complete. Claire brought tea and biscuits into the living room and ordered us to take a break. We sat on the carpet beside the coffee table while Hope settled between us.
He placed his head on my knee.
Anneliese watched me scratch behind his ears. “He likes you.”
“He likes the biscuits.”
“You have not given him one.”
“I may have dropped a small piece.”
“You placed it directly beside his mouth.”
“The floor was closer to his mouth than the table.”
“That explanation insults both of us.”
Hope looked at me expectantly. I broke off another piece.
Anneliese pointed at my hand. “I can see you.”
“I am studying his response to positive reinforcement.”
“You have spent too long working on the project.”
“Science requires sacrifice.”
“You are sacrificing my dog’s discipline.”
Hope accepted the biscuit and returned his head to my knee.
For a while, we talked about things unrelated to school. Anneliese told me about Clara and how difficult it had been to begin St. Gabriel without her childhood best friend. They still spoke every day, but their schedules had made meeting harder.
“I thought friendship would stay exactly the same,” she said. “I knew we would attend different schools, but I didn’t understand how many small things would change.”
“Do you think you’re becoming distant?”
“No. Just different.” She stroked Hope’s back. “Sometimes people build new parts of their lives without replacing the old ones.”
I thought about Ben sitting alone in Hawthorne House.
“He does not always understand that,” I said.
“Ben?”
I nodded. “He has never liked change.”
“He behaves as though nothing matters to him.”
“That is usually when something matters most.”
Anneliese looked thoughtful. “He was angry when you stayed late with me in the library.”
“He was not angry.”
“He waited in a car for more than an hour and then spoke as though every sentence had personally offended him.”
“That is nearly his normal personality.”
“Nearly?”
“He was upset.”
“Because you forgot your plan with him?”
“Yes.” I leaned back against the sofa. “Henry Bennett forgetting anything may have damaged his understanding of the universe.”
Anneliese smiled. “You are very important to him.”
The words were obvious, yet hearing someone else say them made me uncomfortable.
“We have known each other since we were children.”
“That was not what I said.”
Before I could answer, Daniel entered the living room and sat in an armchair. Hope immediately abandoned me and moved to his feet.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
Daniel scratched the puppy’s head. “He understands who pays for his food.”
“Another personality trait shared with Ben,” Anneliese said.
Daniel smiled. “Is he really as difficult as you both claim?”
“He is worse,” Anneliese replied.
“He is better,” I said at the same time.
She turned toward me. “That was immediate.”
“I know him better.”
“You explain him better.”
“There is a difference.”
Daniel looked between us. “Perhaps both statements can be true.”
Anneliese rested her chin on her hand. “He is intelligent, loyal when he wants to be, occasionally thoughtful and permanently unbearable.”
“That sounds fair,” I admitted.
Daniel nodded. “Then perhaps the three of you balance one another.”
“Henry and I balance one another,” Anneliese said. “Ben sits on the scale and complains about the quality.”
I laughed. “That is also fair.”
Claire called us to dinner shortly after seven. I had expected to leave before the evening meal, but every attempt to mention going home had been dismissed.
“You have spent the day working,” Claire said. “You will eat before leaving.”
“I have already taken enough of your Sunday.”
“You helped Anneliese.”
“She helped me too.”
“Then both of you require food.”
Daniel nodded. “The medical evidence is conclusive.”
“It isn’t medical evidence,” Anneliese said.
“Everything sounds medical when your father says it confidently,” I replied.
Daniel pointed at me. “He understands.”
We cleared the project materials from the dining table and carried the finished model safely to one side. Daniel prayed before the meal, thanking God for their family, for friendship and for the opportunity to learn. He also prayed for my parents as naturally as though he had known them for years.
No one else appeared to notice how much the small gesture affected me.
Dinner was loud, warm and unhurried. Claire passed bowls across the table. Daniel interrupted his own story twice because he remembered more important details halfway through. Anneliese accused me of feeding chicken to Hope beneath the table.
“I saw you,” she said.
“You saw nothing.”
“Hope has been staring at your hand for five minutes.”
“He respects me.”
“He expects meat.”
“Respect takes many forms.”
Claire looked beneath the table. “Henry, are you feeding him?”
“I may have dropped something.”
“You placed it inside his mouth,” Anneliese said.
“That prevented it from falling on the floor.”
Daniel nodded approvingly. “Efficient.”
“Do not encourage him,” Anneliese told her father.
“I support solutions.”
“You both deserve Ben.”
I looked at her. “You say that as though he is a punishment.”
“He would consider himself a reward.”
Dessert was apple pie. I politely refused a second slice and received one anyway.
“You are learning very slowly,” Anneliese said as Claire placed it before me.
“I believed refusal might work at dinner.”
“Hope has a better chance of becoming headmaster.”
“He would improve punctuality.”
“Ben would transfer schools.”
By the time dinner ended, it was almost eight thirty. The project had been completed, the presentation rehearsed and my stomach filled beyond reasonable capacity.
Claire packed several slices of pie into a container for my parents.
“You do not have to do that,” I told her.
“I know,” she replied.
The answer reminded me so strongly of Ben that I nearly laughed.
Daniel shook my hand near the door. “You are welcome here again, Henry. It does not have to be for a project.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Daniel,” he corrected.
“Thank you, Daniel.”
Claire hugged me and handed me the pie. “Tell your parents we would be happy to meet them.”
“I will.”
Anneliese walked me to the front gate while Hope watched through the open doorway. The evening air had become cool, and the streetlights shone through the branches overhead.
“I’m sorry my parents kept you for the entire day,” she said.
“They didn’t keep me.”
“You attempted to leave before lunch.”
“I was being polite.”
“And before dinner.”
“I was being polite again.”
“My mother does not respect politeness when food is involved.”
“I noticed.”
Anneliese smiled. “Did you survive?”
“Barely. The second slice of pie may have caused lasting damage.”
“You ate all of it.”
“Leaving it would have offended Claire.”
“You fed half your dinner to Hope.”
“That was unrelated research.”
We reached the gate and stopped. My father had sent a message earlier saying he would collect me, but I had not looked at the phone long enough to notice anything else on the screen.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I said.
“You repaired the model.”
“That is not the only reason.”
Anneliese looked at me quietly.
“Your parents were kind,” I continued. “The whole day was good.”
Her smile softened. “They liked you.”
“Your mother nearly fed me unconscious.”
“That means she liked you.”
“Your father invited me back.”
“That means he liked you too.”
“And you?”
Anneliese pretended to think. “Your presence was moderately useful.”
“Moderately?”
“You installed one valve.”
“And saved your project.”
“After Hope defeated you.”
“He used surprise.”
She laughed. “Goodnight, Henry.”
“Goodnight, Anneliese.”
My father was waiting in his car at the end of the street. During the journey home, he asked about the project and the Grace family. I told him the model worked, the food had been excellent and Claire had sent pie. The last detail pleased him most.
My mother was waiting in the living room when we arrived. She inspected the pie, asked whether I had thanked Mrs. Grace properly and immediately began planning what she would send back with me.
It was almost nine thirty by the time I carried my bag upstairs to my room.
I placed the project folder on my desk, loosened my collar and finally removed my phone from the small inner pocket of my bag. I had switched it to silent before we began repairing the model and had barely touched it all day.
The screen lit up.
My smile disappeared.
There were twenty-seven missed calls.
Every one of them was from Ben.
The first call had arrived shortly after ten. Another followed fifteen minutes later. After that, the gaps became shorter. Some calls were separated by an hour, while others had come within minutes of each other.
Beneath them were nineteen unread messages.
Are you awake?
Your mother said you went out.
Where did you go?
Answer the phone.
Henry.
Are you still at Grace’s house?
How long does one project take?
You said Sunday was free.
I went to your house.
Your mother gave me tea and refused to tell me when you would return.
Call me.
Are you having dinner there too?
You have been there all day.
Henry, answer me.
The final message had arrived twenty minutes earlier.
Have you forgotten who your best friend is?