Walter Finch had spent Thanksgiving doing what he had always done: working early, keeping time, and making sure the people under his roof were fed.
By evening, the house outside Knoxville, Tennessee, carried the smell of ham, cloves, brown sugar, cornbread dressing, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, macaroni and cheese, and cranberry sauce made from scratch. Walter had cooked it all himself after waking before dawn.
Then, at his own dining room table, his daughter-in-law Candace asked him to give up his seat.
Her father, Stuart Holt, was already sitting at the head of the table. Candace said Stuart needed more room, and that another guest, Drew, needed Walter’s chair.