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settles into the seat, snaps open his linen napkin, and lets it float over his knees under the table. “There’s an election to get through.”
    “Oh, that’s a formality, my boy.” Ernest gestures that everyone should resume eating.
    “Your support means a lot.” Kyle glances at Sofie again, who doesn’t look up from the fingers tangled in her lap. “It’s a long road ahead. I just hope I can hang in there.”
    “You will, son.” Ernest studies his daughter, with that same look on his face as when he talked about the schools Sofie didn’t attend. “We respect quitters about as much as those who never even try.”
    Sofie’s shoulders stiffen and she raises her eyes to meet her father’s. She reaches for my glass again, but it’s empty now, too. Her eyes scan the room, almost like she is looking to escape. Her fingers open and close around her small purse, a compulsion of which she seems unaware. Her eyes collide with Kyle’s across the table, exchanging some message I wish I could decode, but it’s garbled and embedded in whatever secret they harbor between them.
    “I hope our future senator can count on all of your votes.” Ernest smiles around the sip he is taking and looks around the table.
    An awkward silence falls over the group. I glance at Sofie, who rolls her eyes and sits back in her seat, folding her arms under her breasts.
    “Kerris, the women’s vote will be crucial.” Ernest softens his shark grin for Walsh Bennett’s petite wife, who has seemed distracted much of the night.
    Walsh frowns, shooting a protective glance his wife’s way.
    “Oh, well.” Kerris lays her phone in her lap, but looks down once more at the screen and nods before speaking. “I…I’m not really very political.”
    “Understandable.” Manchester’s smile condescends.
    “But I do wonder where you stand on equal pay for women.”
    I hide my grin behind a napkin, wiping away something imaginary. This should be interesting.
    “Ah, well…I didn’t think you worked, Mrs. Bennett.” Manchester’s smile slips a little.
    “I’ve been in the work force since I was fourteen years old.”
    “Yes, but you no longer work, correct? Maybe we should talk about my stance on charter schools or—”
    “I do work.” Kerris raises both brows and rests her elbows on the table. “I’m a business owner, and I would never pay a woman less than a man or a man less than a woman doing the same job.”
    Never able to resist a scrimmage, I add my two cents.
    “It’s a great question, Manchester. I’m interested to hear your answer.”
    The look he aims at me is loaded with quickly veiled malevolence. We haven’t known each other long, but it didn’t take long for us to dislike each other.
    “What are you, Bishop?” he asks. “A feminist?”
    “Aren’t you?”
    “Excuse me?” Manchester’s brows elevate.
    “By definition, a feminist is someone who believes in social, political, and economic equality between the sexes.” I pause, giving him the condescending grin he gave Kerris a few moments ago. “Surely any reasonable person in this millennia, in this hemisphere, certainly at this table, would be a feminist.”
    Harold clears his throat, the “shut your damn mouth” signal we’ve worked out between us. He thinks Manchester could be an ally. I don’t believe in keeping my enemies that close.
    Sofie stands up without another word, drawing questioning eyes from everyone at the table.
    “Powder room.” Her voice comes out strong, but I’m close enough to see the mad pulse thumping at her throat. “I’ll be…I’ll be back.”
    When Harold and I were last in Kenya, we went on safari and saw a ravenous lion pursuing an antelope. There had been no hope of safety for the beast. The kill, inevitable and savage. The lion, a beautiful predator, greedily devoured the prey before our eyes, not even acknowledging his rapt voyeurs. As I watch the slim, vibrant line of Sofie’s body fleeing the room, I have no idea