Had I had been older, I would have seen more. Beneath the laughter, beneath that great, easy outpouring of conversation, it wasn't tension exactly, was it? Not amongst two such congenial families. No. It was more a tremor of something. Like words hollered down a bottomless pit that come back occluded and more complex. Adulthood.
And on that terrible night, that night it happened, did anything particularly important happen at dinner? No, not that I recall.