Chapter 5: The Public Face

"Here's the thing about my cousin," said Channing, perched on the edge of the conference table.

"He's wonderful. He's brilliant. And he's not well."

There were nine people in the room, most of them mine.

Elliott sat at the head of the table, in the corner where the light was lowest.

His hands lay still in his lap.

Nobody had asked Channing to come to the planning meeting for the gala.

He had walked in with a box of pastries and sat down.

"I'm fine," said Elliott.

"Of course you are." Channing gave the room a rueful smile.

"But my cousin's condition means we have to think about how the evening will go."

"His condition," I said.

"The fire," said Channing softly. "It was a very hard time. He doesn't do well in crowds."

I looked at Elliott.

He was looking at the table.

I had promised Elliott I would give people something to look at that was not him.

Now this man was handing the room his face and calling it a symptom.

Across the table, Paulette watched with a small, pleased smile.

"So here's my plan," said Channing. "I'll host."

"Elliott will stand at the back, wave, and be taken out through the kitchen before the speeches."

"It's kinder. It's safer."

"That's not what he asked for," I said.

Channing turned his head slowly.

"Sorry?"

"Mr. Sorrell told me the gala is his first public appearance," I said.

"He'll stand in front of the room. That's the assignment."

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