The butter knife clicked against the edge of the ceramic plate, leaving a thick, yellow smear on the cold toast. Leo sat with his arms pressed tight against his ribs, his chin nearly touching his chest as he pulled at the hem of his navy blue school jacket. The jacket had cost forty-five dollars at the autumn sale, a sum Sarah had calculated down to the penny before opening her small purse at the register.
“Just one bite, Leo,” Sarah said. Her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her fingers locking together until her knuckles turned white.
Marcus sat next to his brother, his heels dragging back and forth against the wooden rungs of his stool with a slow, heavy scrape. He did not touch his glass of milk. The kitchen smelled of burnt crumbs and the sharp, clean scent of the boys’ soap, but neither of them looked at the plates.
Sarah reached for the pad of blue lined notebook paper on the counter. She tore off two sheets, folding them carefully into squares to slide inside their metal lunchboxes next to the red apples. The blue paper was a habit from the start of the school year, a way to leave them small notes they could find during recess.
“Is it the spelling test?” she asked, her voice dropping to the low, level tone she used at the library desk. “We practiced the words last night, Marcus. You knew every one of them.”
Leo looked at his lunchbox, his thumb tracing the metal latch. “Do we have to go to Dad’s house directly after the bus?” he asked.
“Not until Friday, sweetie,” Sarah said. “We have the whole week here.”
Marcus dropped his head, his forehead resting against the edge of the kitchen table. He did not say a word, but his fingers tightened around the strap of his backpack until his fingernails went pale.
The silence in the kitchen felt heavy, different from the usual morning rush of lost shoes and spilled juice. Sarah watched them, wondering if the change in the autumn air was simply making them tired.
