Chapter 11: The Luncheon

The luncheon was in March, on the first warm day of the year.

Mabel wanted to come.

"Absolutely not," said Fern.

"I'll stay in the car."

"No."

"With Dad."

Fern looked at Hank.

Hank shrugged. "She's going to find a way to be there anyway. At least in the car I can see her."

So Mabel sat in the back seat of Hank's old grey sedan, across the street from the Drake Hotel, with a juice box and Linus.

Fern got out in a pale blue dress and a little white jacket.

She looked so elegant that a doorman held the door before she reached it.

Inside, the ballroom was full of women in silk and pearls.

There were twenty round tables with white cloths and towers of pink roses.

Fern found her place card at table eighteen, near the kitchen.

She picked it up, walked to table one, and swapped it with the card beside Darla Ainsworth's.

Then she sat down and unfolded her napkin.

Darla arrived at the table five minutes later, laughing with two friends.

She saw Fern and stopped laughing.

"Mrs. Tully." Darla's smile came back, a little too wide. "I don't think you're seated here."

"I am now," said Fern. "Sit down, Darla. You're blocking the waiter."

The two friends looked at each other.

Darla sat.

For the salad course, Fern talked about the weather, and the new boiler at St. Brigid's, and how sweet it was of Darla to pay for it so quickly.

Everyone at the table agreed it was very sweet.

For the soup course, Fern talked about orphans.

"It's amazing how many children get lost in this city," she said. "Just wandering off. At fairs, at parks. Bus stations."

Darla's spoon stopped halfway to her mouth.

"Isn't it?" said one of the friends. "Darla, didn't you lose a little girl?"

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