Chapter 22: Declined

At seven on Friday I sat at the Larkspur bar again, with a glass of water and Tobias at my elbow.

Nothing had changed except the people.

The long table for forty-three stood under the same string lights, set with the same white plates.

Marguerite arrived at ten past seven, in cream silk, with her pearls on.

She carried a leather folder under one arm and wore her gentlest smile.

"My girl," she said, coming toward me with both hands out. "Thank you for coming. I know I have a great deal to answer for."

"You do."

"Tonight I mean to say so, in front of everyone." She patted my wrist. "Sit near me."

"I'll watch from here."

Her smile slipped by a fraction and came back.

The relatives came in a long stream, led by Marguerite's sister in her lilac dress.

There were forty-two of them, and some wore the faces of people who had been told to be kind.

They took their seats around the table without looking at the woman at the head of it.

Marguerite stood, lifted a glass of water, and waited for silence.

"Family," she said. "I have been foolish and proud. I want to give back what I borrowed."

She opened the folder and drew out a letter on cream paper.

"This is for Cora," she said. "I will return one million two hundred thousand dollars. A gift from an old woman who wants peace."

A few relatives murmured approval.

She held the letter up to the lights so that they could see the number.

"You see?" she said gently, to the table. "It was always meant for her."

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