Chapter 20: The Dais

Tommy drove with both hands on the wheel, the way he always had, ten and two.

The grey sedan smelled of peppermint and wet wool.

In the side mirror, a dark car stayed two lengths behind us, and I did not look at it.

"You look like your mother in that," Tommy said.

"Dad said that too."

"He's got a good eye." His eyes found mine in the rearview. "Hal, you could say you're sick."

"I'm not sick."

"Say you've got a headache. Your dad would understand. He'd go up there and do the plaque himself."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because he loves you." He looked at the road. "Whatever you say tonight, he'll forgive you. I just don't know that anyone else will."

I put my hand on the clutch in my lap.

Inside it were four envelopes.

"Thank you, Tommy," I said. "I'll think about it."

I did not think about it.

The ballroom at the Seaport hotel held three hundred people in black tie, and every one of them wanted to shake my father's hand.

Dad stood at the head table in a tuxedo with a navy cummerbund and his gold watch, looking very pleased.

He kissed my cheek in front of the photographers.

"My daughter," he said. "My whole world."

Across the room, at table nine, a man in a rented tuxedo stood up and sat down again.

Declan had gone the color of paper.

Linscott put a hand on his arm without looking at him.

I sat down at the right hand of my father.

Tommy stood against the back wall, near the kitchen doors, with his hands clasped in front of him.