Chapter 32: The Third Row

The clubhouse lot was full at four o'clock on Sunday.

Dean parked the truck at the end of the row, beside Connie's.

He came around to my door and took the car seat, and I let him.

Delilah climbed out of the back with Eli on her hip and her eyes on the steps.

"You don't have to come in," I said.

"Yes, I do."

"Nobody's going to ask you for anything."

"That's why I do."

I put my hand on her arm, and we went up the steps together.

The long room smelled like pot roast and floor wax.

Thirty people sat along the table, and every head turned when we came through the door.

Nobody filmed.

The big banner was gone from the wall, and the cake table was bare.

The chair at the head of the table stood empty, and the gavel lay in front of it.

Connie's husband got to his feet.

"Diana," he said. "Dean. Delilah."

"Hello," I said.

"There are places for all of you. Please."

We sat where he showed us, at the middle of the table, with the wives on either side.

Someone slid a high chair up for Eli.

Someone else took the car seat and set it on a chair where I could see Nora's face.

The dinner went the way a dinner goes when people are being careful.

Then a young wife in her first year with the club passed me the rolls and said, shy, "She's so beautiful," and the room loosened.

Connie told a story about Dean's first week at the garage and a customer's cat.

The sergeant-at-arms laughed until he coughed.

Dean ate everything on his plate, and he put his hand on the back of my chair, and he left it there.

When the plates were cleared, I stood.

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