Chapter 6: Sunday Lunch

The Taft house on Mercer Island had a lawn that ran down to the water.

Its dining table had twenty-two chairs.

Winifred Taft sat at the head of it, leaning on her cane.

She pointed it at me the moment I walked in.

"You. Here. On my right."

"Mrs. Taft, I only meant to say hello."

"Winifred. Sit."

I sat.

The place card at my plate said *Coralie*, printed in gold.

At the far end of the table, beside a vase of white roses, a card said *Brynn*.

Brynn read it and smiled, and kept smiling all the way down the length of the room.

Mr. Livingstone took the chair across from mine.

Dalton sat beside Mrs. Livingstone, who had put on lipstick for the first time since I had met her.

Colton sat as far from me as the table allowed.

Winslow sat on my other side, and his knee found mine under the cloth.

I let it stay.

"So," said Winifred, once the soup had gone round. "The girl who moved her own place card."

"It was a bad place card."

"I heard."

She turned to the room.

"Winslow has a woman. A real one. It is the best news this family has had since the war."

"Great-grandmother," said Winslow.

"Hush."

His great-grandfather leaned across to look at me.

"Is she really a woman?" he asked loudly.

"I'm a woman," I said.

"Thank God," he said, and ate his soup with enormous cheer.

Winslow put his hand over his eyes.

Winslow's mother squeezed my arm.

"We've been so worried," she said.

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