Chapter 21: Chairs for 140

On the night before the fourteenth I was counting folding chairs in the empty hall.

There were a hundred and forty on the floor, set in rows of ten, and I had counted them three times.

My father's tie-breaking three still sat on the notepad at home, and by his rules it had already decided tomorrow.

Rafe was on a ladder at the far wall, hanging a paper lantern over the long table.

Dawn sat at the guest book with her feet on a second chair, writing names on white cards in her round hand.

She had stopped crying on Sunday night, and she had not started again.

"Table one," she said, and held up a card. "Who sits at table one?"

"Nobody," I said.

"Brett's plan was you at table one."

"Then it's the one table where nobody sits."

She laughed, and tucked the card into her pocket.

The side door opened at nine.

I knew the footsteps before I turned.

My mother came in with her coat buttoned to the neck and her handbag held in front of her with both hands.

Rafe stopped on the ladder.

"It's all right," I said.

"Is it?" he said.

"Let me talk to her."

He climbed down slowly and took Dawn by the elbow and walked her out to the dock.

Mom stood at the end of the center aisle between the rows and turned in a slow circle.

She looked at the chairs and the lantern and the long table with its white cloth.

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