Chapter 12: What Time Is It

The room applauded.

Sixty women in pastel dresses clapped for Lorna Fairchild, and Lorna put a hand to her chest and stood up.

"Oh, Eleanor," she said. "I don't know what to say."

"Say yes, darling," someone called from the back.

There was soft laughter.

I put my napkin on the table and stood up too.

It took me two tries, because of the belly, and the room watched me do it.

"Before Lorna answers," I said, "I have a question for her."

Eleanor's smile stayed in place.

"Gwendolyn, dear, I'm sure it can wait."

"It's a short one."

I turned to Lorna.

"Lorna, what time is it?"

Nobody moved.

Lorna looked at me, and then she laughed, a little uncertainly.

"Is this a game?"

"Please. What time is it?"

She glanced at the slim silver watch on her wrist.

"It's two oh seven," she said.

"Thank you." I held up my phone so the front tables could see it. "Mine says one fifty-nine."

A woman near the front leaned in to look.

"Seven minutes," she said, to nobody.

"Seven minutes," I said. "It's always seven minutes."

"For two years and four months, on every day my husband planned something, my phone ran slow."

Leander had stopped moving beside the cake.

"Gwendolyn," Eleanor said, in a low, careful voice. "Sit down."

"I'll sit when I'm finished."

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