Chapter 23: The Seventh

The lawn at Halsey House was gold by four o'clock.

The white chairs stood in loose circles instead of rows, and the long tables ran under the oaks.

A hundred and forty white roses spilled out of every vase and jar the florist could find.

I wore a green dress, and Romy wore a dark suit with the sleeves pushed up to show her tattoo.

She had no camera.

She kept touching her shoulder where the strap should have been.

"It's like missing a tooth," she said.

"You'll live."

"I'll try."

The second shooter was a young woman with a ponytail and two cameras.

She gave Romy a small salute from across the grass and went to work.

The guests came, and every one of them knew.

I had called, and Dee had called, and Troy had called.

June had sent a card to the ones with no phone.

Nobody sat on a chair and waited to be told what to feel.

My aunts hugged me.

A man from my firm shook Romy's hand for a long time.

Troy's mother, small and fierce in a navy suit, took my face in both hands.

"You were always too good for my boy's bad jokes," she said, and kissed my forehead.

I saw Troy across the lawn with a woman in a gray coat.

She had short dark hair and a laugh I could hear from forty feet away.

A little boy in a clip-on tie was hanging off her arm.

Troy caught my eye and lifted his glass.

I lifted mine.

At five fifteen, when the light turned, Dee stood on a chair and clinked a fork on a champagne flute.

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