Chapter 22: Time Is Up

The woman in black reached the door and didn't look back.

A man at the next table stood up and buttoned his jacket.

Then a couple by the window, and four partners from the firm's own table, and a cluster of donors with their napkins still in their laps.

They did not rush or make a scene.

They put on coats and walked out, one after another.

"Please sit down," my father said into the lectern microphone.

His voice was level, and nobody sat.

"The evening is paid for. There is a dessert course."

A woman paused in the doorway.

"Keep the dessert," she said.

My father's hand went into his jacket pocket and came out with the stopwatch.

He thumbed the crown.

I heard the click across the whole ballroom.

"You have ninety seconds," he said, "to return to your seats."

Nobody laughed.

It was worse than laughing.

A man near the back picked up his wife's wrap and held it for her, and they walked out together, and the door sighed shut behind them.

My father watched the second hand go around.

Fifteen seconds.

Thirty.

Half the room had gone.

The rest stood in little knots, or sat with their hands in their laps, not leaving yet and not coming back.

The stopwatch went on ticking in his palm.

I saw my mother get up from the head table.

She walked down the center aisle in her pale-blue suit, past the empty chairs with their cream covers, and she climbed the steps without hurry.

She stopped beside my father.

"Estelle," he said, without turning. "Sit down."

She held out her hand, palm up.

For one second I thought he would refuse.

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