Chapter 14: Dessert

I called Gretchen from Rhiannon's car, and I told her I would sign.

"I'm tired," I said. "I can't fight the whole building. Bring the two million, and I'll leave Illinois."

There was a small pause on the line.

"Gilbert is having a quiet dinner at the house tonight," Gretchen said. "He'd like to see you off properly."

"I'll be there at seven."

Rhiannon put both hands on the steering wheel and stared at me.

"You are not signing a paper that says you're not pregnant."

"I'm not signing anything. I'm going to eat dessert."

I held up my phone.

The voice memo app was open, and the red button was lit.

"He talks when he thinks he's won," I said. "He cried in my father's study, and he talked all night."

Rhiannon looked at the phone for a long time.

"Fine," she said. "I park across the street. If you come to the window and wave a napkin, I come in with the frying pan."

"You don't have the frying pan."

She reached into the back seat and lifted it out by the handle.

Gilbert VanDerzee lived in a stone house in Lake Forest with a gas lamp by the door.

He opened it himself, in a cardigan, with his arms wide.

"Claire, dear. Come in out of the cold."

He kissed my cheek.

I let him.

I hung my bag on the chair beside mine, with the phone in its open outer pocket and the screen turned in.

Gretchen sat across from me in a navy dress and did not look up.

We ate roast chicken.

Gilbert asked after my father's heart and told me a story about Quentin's father at twenty-five.

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