Chapter 14: Table Four

The Brackett Foundation dinner was held in a hotel ballroom with two hundred donors, white tablecloths and a banner that said SCHOLAR OF THE YEAR.

On Friday, a colleague of Nolan's had cut the plaster off my leg at the hip and fitted a hinged brace.

The plate was holding better than anyone had hoped.

I could put a little weight on it now, with one crutch for balance, so I came in on Dane's arm and Nolan's, and an usher wheeled the chair behind us.

I wore green, because it was the color I had never worn for Derrick.

Mrs. Brackett's lawyer had written on Thursday to say I was not welcome.

But in June, as Derrick's fiancée, I had bought a table for the Foundation, and nobody had refunded it.

"Table four," I told the woman at the door, and held up my ticket.

She looked at the list and then at her shoes.

"It's, um, still reserved in your name."

"Thank you."

We sat.

Dane wore the suit he had worn to our mother's funeral, and the sleeves were too short.

He didn't complain, and I didn't mention it.

Across the room, Brody stood at the sound board by the stage with a headset around his neck.

The Bracketts had used him for every event for six years.

He lifted two fingers to me and went back to his cables.

At the head table, Derrick saw us and put down his fork.

Mrs. Brackett saw us a moment later.

I watched her decide whether to cause a scene in front of her donors, and decide not to.

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