Koeppler to move fully into the room, to return Beth’s greeting. But the man stood as if rooted to the tile floor, glaring at his daughter. Marie stood slowly, her palms on the tabletop as though she needed its support. She licked her lips and blinked several times. “H–hello. . . Dad.” Her glance flitted toward her daughter, then returned to J.D. “I’d like you to meet your granddaughter, Beth.” J.D. gave a single nod, his face impassive. Henry considered grabbing the man’s shirtfront and propelling him across the floor with a command to say something. But J.D. was known for his stubbornness—any pushing would only make him resist more. The tension in the room increased with every second that ticked by, and a silent prayer filled his heart. Please, Lord, let someone speak. Let someone reach out. But the prayer went unheeded. Instead, it appeared that everyone had turned to stone, resembling a tableau—Family at Impasse.
