At the compound, the long table was being prepared for lunch when Eli walked into the kitchen. Someone had brought a tray of rolls from the bakery, and a giant pot of coffee sat beneath the window. There were enough people in the room to make it warm without the stove. For a moment Eli stood in the doorway looking at the crowded chairs and the familiar faces, then he went straight to the cooking area.
"I'm making breakfast," he announced. Petra looked up from a stack of plates. "It's almost noon." Eli nodded. "Then it's late breakfast." She laughed, moved aside, and handed him an apron that belonged to someone much taller.
Nobody had planned the meal. Eli opened the refrigerator, found eggs, bacon, and a block of butter, then took two loaves of sourdough bread from the pantry. He knew how to cook because Caleb had taught him, and because afterward he had made more meals than a child should need to make alone. Today the work felt different. He was cooking because he wanted to share something, not because nobody else would.
He cracked eggs into bowls and set bread on the griddle while Petra brought out more plates. People kept arriving, drawn by the smell and by the news of the hearing. Eli lost count after thirty-two eggs and stopped trying to predict the number of mouths. Raina took over the distribution of plates, and Garrett began cutting fruit on the opposite counter without being asked.
Boon appeared at Eli's shoulder carrying a plate. "Eat," he said. Eli protested that he was almost finished. Boon pointed out that someone who cooked for other people and failed to feed himself was committing a kind of maintenance error. Eli looked at him, recognized his own stubbornness reflected in the older man's face, and accepted the plate.
He ate standing beside the stove, watching the next pan. Eggs with crisp edges and warm centers, bacon that did not need much attention, sourdough pressed into butter until the crust turned dark. He had never made a complicated meal in his life, but the ordinary food seemed to belong to the moment more completely than anything elaborate could have done. It was the same breakfast Caleb had made on the last ordinary morning Eli remembered.
At the far end of the table, Darla sat beside Petra. They spoke quietly about the weather and a plant Darla wanted to grow on the kitchen windowsill when spring arrived. Eli noticed his mother was not talking about the investigation, the court, or the years she had lost. She was discussing mint and sunlight and whether a west-facing window would be warm enough, and the normality of it nearly made him drop the plate he was carrying.
Raina caught his expression. She followed his gaze toward Darla and understood. "She's allowed to have ordinary conversations," she said quietly. Eli nodded.
"I know. It's just been a while." Raina picked up another plate and let him stand there with the thought until he was ready to move.