The car idled in Eleanor’s driveway longer than necessary. Karen checked her reflection in the visor mirror, smoothed her lipstick, and snapped it shut with a sigh. "She hasn’t changed a thing since the funeral," she said, eyes scanning the familiar porch. "Same plastic wreath. Same broken porch light."

David turned off the engine. "It’s only been a few months."

Karen unbuckled. "That’s exactly my point."

Inside, Eleanor moved with quiet efficiency. The roast was in the oven, the table already set: linen napkins, silver candlesticks, six plates. She adjusted the spacing on Nate’s place setting without comment.

The door creaked open. Rachel’s voice rang out, "We brought pie!"

Luis followed, juggling a foil-covered plate and a bottle of wine. He noticed the set table. "Six places?"

Eleanor didn’t look up from basting. "Just in case."

Rachel stepped into the kitchen, cheeks flushed from the cold. "It smells just like it used to."

Eleanor gave a faint smile. "I haven’t changed the recipe."

David and Karen entered with less fanfare. David carried himself like a man taking inventory. Karen hung her coat and immediately began scanning for dust.

"Still haven’t fixed that light," she murmured.

"Good to see you too, Karen," Eleanor said without looking.

At the table, wine was poured. David raised his glass. "To Dad."

"To Dad," Rachel echoed. Luis followed. Karen’s sip was perfunctory.

Eleanor raised hers last. "To who’s still here."

The silence landed unevenly. Karen shifted in her chair.

The front door opened again. Nate stepped in, rubbing his hands together. "Sorry I’m late. Bus was slow."

David didn’t look up. "You still don’t have a car?"

Karen gave a brittle smile. "We weren’t sure you’d come."

Eleanor stood. "I set a plate."

Nate nodded and took his seat. He smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and peppermint.

Conversation moved like a wheel with a broken spoke-clunky, uneven, with occasional jolts. Rachel mentioned finding one of Dad’s watches. David’s eyes flicked up.

"We should catalog everything," he said. "Before things start disappearing."

"Who’s taking it all, anyway?" Nate asked.

No one answered.

Later, as coats were gathered and leftovers packed into foil, David lingered.

"We should sit down soon. Go over accounts. Just to be clear on everything."

Eleanor, drying a plate, said, "They’re clear."

Rachel offered to help clean. Eleanor waved her off. "You have work tomorrow. Go on."

The house quieted. Eleanor stood at the sink, drying the same plate a second time, the towel slow in her hands.

The next Sunday, the table was set again...