the table is my memories of the table , and my memories of the table are : minna hiding , brown knees drawn to her chest , sucking on a scab ; trenton trimming paper for a valentine 's day card , holding blunt-edged plastic scissors , his fingers sticky with glue ; richard walker sitting in his usual place at the head of the table the day after caroline had left him for good , newspaper folded neatly in front of him , a mug of coffee cooling , cooling , as the light grew and swelled and then began to narrow over the course of the afternoon , until at last it was no more than a golden finger , cutting across the room on a diagonal , dividing him from shoulder to hip .