Malcolm Bright

"It's a heavy hat," Malcolm said matter-of-factly, taking another extra-innocent bite of soup.

Ainsley rolled her eyes. "Not all of them." She gave Malcolm a look. "Only when someone gets him going."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mm-hm."

A waiter came to collect their soup dishes before the next course. For a second, Malcolm looked like he was going to hold on to his, but he glanced towards his mother and then let the waiter take it, tapping the fingertips of his left hand on the table once it was gone.

"She looked familiar," he said pensively. "Who was she?"

"She was on the board of that charity that built housing for homeless people with me when you were little. She came to the house a few times when the board met there."

He nodded acceptance of that as the waiter set down the pasta course in front of each of them. It was several large ravioli, stuffed with wild mushrooms in a cream sauce. He was not going to eat it and didn't even pick up his fork.

Ainsley did pick up hers and she looked at Raylan. "They must have good barbeque where you're from. I found this excellent barbeque restaurant in Midtown a few weeks ago. I think I'm addicted to it now," she said with a laugh.