Chapter 21: The Reception

The Providence Biltmore Club had three chandeliers, a gold ceiling and a ballroom floor laid with white roses.

Margo had put my name card at table 14, beside the service door.

I sat down and unfolded my napkin.

I wore a plain green dress and my mother's pearl earrings, and I was the only person at the table.

Across the room, Sam sat at table 31 with Constance and my mother.

He had not taken his eyes off me since we walked in.

At seven twenty-eight a young man in a lavender tie came toward me, holding his phone in both hands.

He was Margo's cousin, and he looked sick about it.

"Hi, Kerry," he said. "I thought you'd want to see this."

He turned the screen around.

It was the Charleston photograph, Dawson and Margo shoulder to shoulder at a conference dinner.

I looked at it for a moment.

"Thank you," I said.

He blinked.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"I heard you. Thank you for showing me."

I picked up my fork and ate a bite of salad.

He stood there with his phone out, waiting for something to happen, and then he walked away.

At seven-forty nothing happened at table 14.

At seven forty-five I looked through the glass doors into the lobby.

The patrol officer from Blackstone Boulevard stood by the coat check with his hands behind his back.

He caught my eye, hesitated and gave me a very small nod.

I nodded back.

On the stage, Margo stood at the microphone in an ivory gown with a long train.

I watched her check the clock on the back wall.

She frowned.

She checked it again.

At eight o'clock the band stopped, and she tapped the microphone.

"Friends and family," she said, warmly. "Thank you for coming to celebrate with me."

The room applauded, because it was polite.

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