The Beast on Her Leash novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: Forks

Bram had given me two days, and on Friday I was still there, so I took him to lunch.

The Oakmont Hospital Auxiliary held its fall luncheon at the Riverview Club, in a room full of white tablecloths and women in cardigans.

Fern had a table at the front.

She had also informed us, kindly, that if he missed it she would stop making his sandwiches.

Bram wore a navy jacket that did not close across his shoulders.

He sat down with it open, and the chair complained.

"Three forks," he whispered.

"Start at the outside and work in."

"Why are there three?"

"Because rich people like to watch each other fail."

He looked at me.

"You said that on purpose."

"I did. Pick up the outside one. Gently. It's a fork, not a wrench."

He held it like a wrench for a long moment, then loosened his grip.

"Better," I said.

His mouth almost moved.

I was sitting at his left, as his guest, in my one good black dress, with my braid pinned up.

Fern was on his right, telling the table about the ham Lyle had sent, and the table was telling Fern how handsome her boys were.

For about twenty minutes it was nice.

Then a man in a golf pullover stopped behind Bram's chair with a drink in his hand.

He was about forty, pink and shiny, the son of someone on the hospital board.

"So this is the famous brother," he said.

Bram's fork stopped.

"I heard Lyle keeps you in a kennel," the man said, loudly enough for two tables.

"Is this the trainer? Does she feed you by hand?"

A few women gasped.

Somebody laughed.

Bram's whole back changed.

I watched it happen, the long muscles of his shoulders drawing tight under the jacket.

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