My Boyfriend Cheated With My Best Friend, So the Pack Law Handed Me to His Brother novel · Chapter 21 of 24

Chapter 21: Thursday Supper

The plant manager's house on Sconticut Neck sits behind a hedge at the end of a gravel drive, a white colonial with black shutters and a flagpole.

We went on Thursday at nine, in Duarte's car, with the lights off on the last hundred yards.

I had my father's coat on and my hair under a cap, and Bianca's paper in my pocket.

Graça rode in the back seat.

She had insisted.

She sat with her cane across her knees and her blue cloth bundle in her lap, and she had not said a word since Rockdale Avenue.

"Avó," Duarte said, at the foot of the drive. "You don't have to come in."

"I have not been invited to this house in twenty years," Graça said. "I intend to be."

The drive was lined with cars.

I counted ten, all dark, all expensive, parked nose to tail along the hedge.

The elders had come in their own cars, on the quiet, on a Thursday, to dine with a plant manager.

"They don't want to be seen together," I said.

"No," Duarte said.

"That's the whole Council."

"All but the chair's own," Graça said. "His is the black one by the gate."

I looked at the black car, and at the long window of the dining room with its lace curtains and its golden light.

I could see shapes inside.

Men in their good coats, around a table, with glasses in their hands.

"What do we do?" I said.

"You do what you came to do," Graça said.

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