Chapter 3 - An Uneasy Dinner
The dinner table was set with Nancy’s finest blue-and-white china. The aroma of slow-cooked beef, red wine, and roasted carrots filled the dining room, creating an atmosphere of cozy warmth that stood in stark contrast to the thick tension between the two adults at the table.
"So, Claire," Nancy said, pouring gravy over her pot roast. "Tell Ethan about what you do. He’s an engineer, you know! Or... well, he used to be. Now he’s the master of the Brierwood."
Ethan kept his eyes firmly on his plate, cutting a piece of potato for Grace. He didn't want to hear Claire's corporate pitch.
Claire paused, her fork hovering. She looked at Ethan, her expression a mix of caution and something resembling guilt. "I run a manufacturing firm, Grandma. It’s mostly administrative work these days. Nothing as exciting as actual engineering."
"She’s the boss," Grace chimed in, her mouth full of carrot. "Daddy says bosses have to make hard choices. Like when he had to choose between letting me stay up late or brushing my teeth."
Nancy laughed, her eyes crinkling. "Indeed they do, Gracie. And Claire’s had to make some very hard choices lately. She’s been looking so thin. Aren't they feeding you in Cleveland, sweetheart?"
"I’m eating fine, Grandma," Claire said softly, though her eyes remained fixed on Ethan. "Sometimes... the pressure of the job makes it hard to focus on the simple things."
"Well, you have to make time for the simple things," Nancy insisted. "Look at Ethan. He’s busy every single day, yet he always has time to check on an old woman. He even fixed my grandfather clock last week. It hadn't chimed since George passed away."
Claire’s breath hitched slightly. She looked at Ethan, her gaze dropping to his hands—rough, calloused, with a faint scar across his left thumb from a slip of a wrench. These were the hands of a man who had once designed structural frameworks for aircraft carrying hundreds of lives.
"You fixed the clock?" Claire asked, her voice quiet.
"The escapement wheel was just dirty," Ethan said, his tone perfectly neutral. "It didn't require an engineering degree. Just some patience."
The dinner continued with Nancy and Grace doing most of the talking. Grace told Nancy all about her drawings of the penguins, and Nancy promised to let Grace paint a small wooden birdhouse she had in the garage on Saturday.
After dinner, Nancy insisted on washing the dishes, but her knee buckled slightly as she stood up.
"Nancy, sit down," Ethan said immediately, standing up to steady her. "I’ll handle the dishes."
"No, Mr. Barnes," Claire intervened, standing up as well. "You've done more than enough for my family today. I will help my grandmother. In fact... perhaps you could help me carry the heavy silver platter to the kitchen?"
Ethan knew what this was. It was a summons.
"Sure," he said.
He picked up the heavy porcelain platter and followed Claire into the kitchen. The swinging door closed behind them, cutting off the cheerful sounds of Nancy and Grace laughing in the dining room.
Claire turned to face him, her back pressed against the kitchen counter. The warmth she had shown to Grace was gone, replaced by a desperate, defensive intensity.
"Why didn't you tell her?" Claire whispered, her eyes searching his face. "Why didn't you tell her who I am? What I did?"
Ethan placed the platter in the sink. He slowly turned to look at her, his expression cold and unyielding.
"Because I care about Nancy," Ethan said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "She’s a sweet, lonely woman who thinks her granddaughter is a hero. I’m not going to destroy her peace of mind just to make myself feel better."
Claire flinched as if he had struck her. "Ethan... I didn't have a choice. The evidence Gary Holt presented was—"
"The evidence was fabricated, and you know it," Ethan interrupted, stepping closer. The sheer height of his frame seemed to overwhelm her in the small kitchen. "You didn't look at the data, Claire. You didn't look at my stress reports for the BA-320 wing spars. You looked at a calendar. You looked at a launch date. You let Gary Holt frame me because it was the easiest way to silence a whistleblower and keep your stock prices from falling."
"That is not true!" Claire whispered fiercely, tears welling in her eyes. "I trusted Gary. He’s been with the company since my father—"
"Then your trust was misplaced," Ethan said coldly. "And because of your 'trust,' I lost my career. I lost my house. My daughter is living in a two-room apartment with thin walls and a flooded parking lot. So don't play the victim with me, Ms. Bennett."
He turned to leave, but Claire’s hand shot out, grabbing his forearm. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her fingers trembling against his flannel sleeve.
"I’m sorry," she whispered, a tear finally escaping and running down her cheek. "I... I didn't know about your wife. I didn't know about Grace. I just saw the security reports. I was trying to protect my father’s legacy."
Ethan looked down at her hand on his arm. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled away.
May you like
"Your father’s legacy is built on wings that are going to crack, Claire," he said, his voice dropping into a chilling whisper. "And when they do, a simple apology isn't going to save the people on board."
He pushed open the kitchen door, leaving her standing alone in the shadows of the kitchen.
