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then there was a shot. Although THERE had never been a standing reservation made, the rear corner table of the Happy Family Chinese restaurant was always saved on Friday nights for the Hartes and the Golds, who had been coming there for as long as anyone could remember. Years ago, they had brought the children, littering the crowded nook with high chairs and diaper bags until it was nearly impossible for the waiters to maneuver the steaming platters of food onto the table. Now, it was just the four of them, blustering in one by one at six o'clock and gravitating close as if, together, they exerted some kind of magnetic pull. James Harte had been first to arrive. He'd been operating that afternoon and had finished surprisingly early. He picked up the chopsticks in front of him, slipped them from their paper packet, and cradled them between his fingers like surgical instruments. “Hi,” Melanie Gold said, suddenly across from him. “I guess I'm early.” “No,” James answered. “Everyone else is late.” “Really?” She shrugged out of her coat and balled it up beside her. “I was hoping I was early. I don't think I've ever been early.” “You know,” James said, considering, “I don't think you ever have.” They were linked by the one thing they had in common-Augusta Harte-but Gus had not yet arrived. So they sat in the
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