Chapter 16: Table One

My mother arrived at the hotel at six on Friday, a day early.

She had a garment bag over her arm.

She came through the revolving door and stopped to look at the lobby chandelier.

"Well," she said. "It's nice. It's not as nice as Parma Catholic's gym, but it's nice."

"Mom, the party is tomorrow."

"I know when the party is. I came to see the room."

She walked past me into the ballroom before I could argue.

Elias was kneeling by the riser with a drill, and he stood up fast.

My mother stopped three feet from him and looked him over, boots to hair.

"You're the one who called me in March," she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Mrs. Mercer."

"You asked if my daughter was happy."

"I did."

"I told you to ask her."

"You did." He kept his hands at his sides. "I should have listened."

She considered that for a while.

"Hold this," she said, and put the garment bag in his arms.

He took it with both hands.

"Hang it somewhere nobody will sit on it," she told him. "It cost forty dollars."

"Yes, Mrs. Mercer."

He walked it across the room to a coat rack as carefully as he had carried anything all night.

My mother watched him go.

"He's enormous," she said quietly. "Does he eat?"

"Mom."

"I'm only asking. I like to know who I'm feeding."

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