Chapter 8: Thirty Guests

Gordon Garvey lived in a limestone house with a copper roof and a dining table with forty chairs.

I came in on Willa's arm, in the one black dress I owned.

"You look great," Willa said. "Don't touch the candles. They're real, and he counts them."

A waiter took my coat.

Thirty people stood in the front room with glasses in their hands, all of them old money or pretending to be.

Gordon came across the marble to meet me.

"Hannah," he said warmly, and kissed my cheek. "You came. Willa said you might."

"Thank you for having me."

"It's my pleasure. I've put you at the end, next to my old friend. He's deaf, but he's delightful."

He steered me by the elbow and let go.

The place card at the far end of the table said HANNAH DOYLE in calligraphy.

Eli's card sat at the head, on his father's right.

Claire's sat beside it.

I found Eli across the room.

He was in black, with no tie, and he was already looking at me.

He crossed the floor between two knots of guests and stopped close enough that nobody could hear.

"Seven days," Eli said.

"What?"

"You said only tonight. You didn't answer your phone for seven days. I counted."

"I was busy."

"You were hiding."

"Yes."

He nearly smiled.

"Sit near me if you can," he said. "I'll be wherever I'm told. That's the last time."

I didn't know what he meant.

We ate.

The soup came, and a fish, and a lamb I couldn't taste.

Across the long table, Claire sat with her back very straight, being charming to a man in a velvet jacket.

Gordon sat at the head with his glass.

When the plates were cleared, he tapped it twice with a spoon.

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