And they certainly didn’t know who had hired me three weeks earlier.

I loaded the final casserole into the back of my SUV.

Eric followed me into the driveway.

“Claire, if you leave now, don’t expect me to be happy when you come home.”

I closed the trunk.

“Think carefully about what you say next.”

Then I got into the car and drove away.

Behind me, eight people stood inside Diane’s house looking at a completely empty Thanksgiving table.

My phone started ringing before I reached the end of the street.

I didn’t answer.

Instead of going home, I drove about thirty minutes downtown.

My destination was Harbor House, a nonprofit shelter managed by my friend Maya.

Earlier that morning, she had mentioned that nearly sixty people were expected for Thanksgiving dinner, but one of their major food donations had fallen through.

When I opened the back of my SUV, Maya stared at the trays.