Chapter 5: The Gala

The Ironmen's owner held his championship gala at the Lakeshore Club, six days after the parade.

Our invitation had come in the mail the week before the final, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Tyler Dolan.

My lawyer said not to go.

Pete rented a tuxedo that did not close over his shoulders and said, "I'll stand next to you and look dangerous."

I wore a long black dress that fit over the baby, and I wore my grandmother's cross.

At eight o'clock we walked in under the chandelier.

Two hundred people in evening clothes turned their heads.

The Families Committee was at the table nearest the door, nine women in navy and pearls.

I had folded programs for them at charity lunches for ten years.

I had driven three of them home from the hospital after their own babies.

Now they looked at their plates.

One of them, a woman who had cried at my baby shower, picked up her purse and moved it to the empty chair beside her, so nobody could sit there.

"Wow," Pete said, quietly. "Wow, that's a lot of pearls for a bunch of cowards."

The owner crossed the room to us, with his hand out.

He was a heavy gray man who had shaken mine at every Christmas party since I was twenty-one.

"Mrs. Dolan," he said. "We're all very sorry about the situation. Terrible timing, with the championship."

"Thank you."

"I'm sure it can be handled privately, with discretion."

"Privately," I said.

"For the good of the organization."

"For ten years I've been the organization's wife."

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