Rafael's Table Romane & Geschichten

He was at the table, present in the specific way he was present — slightly apart, entirely there. Rafe was across from me. He had arrived at the table last, which was typical of him — the last to arrive, the most prepared, always having done some preliminary thing that the rest of us had not thought to do. He had brought an extra chair, anticipating that the table would be too small. He looked up when I looked at him and did not look away. Luca finished his story. The table laughed. Mira was shaking her head. Calder had his hand over his face.

⸻ A soft sound came from the hallway. Dianne looked up. Rafael stood there, no jacket now, sleeves rolled, phone in his hand. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look rushed. But his eyes were darker. Colder. Like he’d just read something he didn’t like. “What did you find?” Dianne asked lightly. Rafael walked in and tossed a thin folder onto the table. Not the guest list. Something else. Thinner. Older. Harder. Dianne’s gaze dropped to it.