The men rose as one when Wendy and Shoshana returned. Eric drew out Wendy’s chair with a small flourish; Thomas did the same for Shoshana, his fingers brushing hers for just an instant as she sat.

  The first course arrived—clear golden soup that smelled of lemon and dill. Conversation started up again at once.

  Mr. Gold shook his head, still dazed. “I did not see that coming.”

  Ms. Hendrix glanced around the table. “Is a challenge like that… normal?”

  Mickelson gave a low, amused chuckle. “In forty-three years? Never. Especially not from Shelomoh Mendelson.”

  Shoshana reached for Thomas’s hand under the table and held it tight.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anyone stand firm in front of my grandfather. I’m proud of you.”

  Thomas turned his palm up so their fingers laced naturally. “He loves you. That’s all it was. I figured someone tonight would test me—him or your dad. Service is the beginning, not the finish line. I’m still learning.”

  Isaac Jacob lifted an eyebrow. “That’s more insight than most men twice your age manage.”

  Thomas gave a small shrug, the medallion shifting against his chest. “I don’t know where this road goes yet, but I can tell every person here has a reason for caring what happens next. If I’m not the problem, I can take the challenges.”

  Ms. Hendrix slid a familiar leather journal across the table. “Write tonight while it’s fresh. We’ll talk about it next week.”

  Isaac Jacob set a cream-colored business card beside Thomas’s bowl. “Some friends of mine want to discuss scholarships, mentorships—whatever you need. Call me Monday. Tonight we eat.”

  The courses came and went amid laughter and repeated retellings of Shelomoh’s dramatic coin-count. By the time dessert plates were cleared, every man at the table except Thomas stood, murmured brief goodbyes, and drifted toward a staircase at the back of the hall.

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  Thomas watched them go. “Where’s everyone headed?”

  Wendy smiled. “Lodge business. Sometimes it’s five minutes, sometimes two hours. Tradition.”

  He tilted his head toward the far corner. “Your grandfather and your dad—they look… intense.”

  Shoshana followed his gaze and sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

  She crossed the floor with quiet determination and planted herself between the two arguing men.

  “You were both refused upstairs because neither of you will bend,” she said, voice low but firm. “Grandpa, you need help and won’t admit it. Dad, you’re scared because we moved away. I have a solution—if you’ll listen.”

  Her father folded his arms. “Which is?”

  She pointed straight at Thomas. “Him.”

  Shelomoh’s eyebrows shot up. “That boy?”

  “He already promised he’d stop by when he could. Even after tonight, I believe he will. Talk to Wendy. Let her tell you who he really is.”

  She waved Wendy over. Wendy gave the short, unvarnished version—foster placements, death-benefit delays, covering donut-shop shifts, the watch out of pawn, the Talesky family, all of it.

  Shelomoh listened without interrupting. When Wendy finished, he was quiet a long time.

  “I owe the boy an apology,” he said at last. “And perhaps… a path forward.”

  He glanced at his son. “Someone to visit, run errands, keep an eye on a stubborn old man. Someone who showed respect even after I gave him none.”

  Shoshana’s father nodded slowly. “Works for me. But we’d better move before someone else claims him.”

  They headed for the stairs at a surprisingly brisk pace.

  Shoshana returned and dropped into her chair.

  “How do you do it?” she asked Thomas.

  “Do what?”

  “Stay so calm through everything.”

  He laughed once—soft, tired, honest. “I’m not calm. When I get home tonight they’ll ask what I ‘got.’ They’ll want to know if the medallion’s worth anything, if the books can be sold. I’ll hand over bronze and homework and they’ll tell me I wasted my time.” He looked down at the tablecloth. “But I don’t feel like I wasted anything. John’s a decent man, but right now I’m the easiest scapegoat in the house. Freaking out doesn’t fix that.”

  Ms. Hendrix’s voice was gentle. “If the rest of us knew your whole story, we’d say none of us could be half as generous as you’ve been.”

  Wendy leaned in. “So what do you think my dad and grandfather are cooking up?”

  Shoshana bit her lip, hopeful. “I don’t know. But I hope they see what I see.”

  Thomas looked from Wendy to Shoshana to Ms. Hendrix, then down at the medallion resting against his heartbeat.

  “Do I even get a choice?” he asked quietly.

  Wendy and Shoshana answered together, without hesitation:

  “Yes.”

  Then, softer, in perfect unison:

  “But we know you’ll pick the right one.”

  Thomas exhaled, something tight inside his chest finally loosening.

  He smiled—small, tired, and utterly certain.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I will.”