Chapter 17: The Gala

The Prescott ballroom in Brookline held thirty round tables and a banner the width of the stage.

A Celebration of the Prescott Family's Larkspur.

Ingrid wore the green dress and linked her arm through mine at the door.

"If you bolt, I'm tripping you," she said.

We took a table at the back, beside the service doors, and sat where we liked.

Eight of our clients were seated near the front.

The Newton chairwoman saw me and gave a small, uncertain wave.

Beatrice stood on the stage in silver, with her pearls on and her back very straight.

She saw me across the whole room and smiled the cool smile I had watched for seven years.

Adeline sat at the head table in a dark blue dress, one empty chair beside her.

She did not look toward the back.

I could see her hands holding the edge of her napkin.

Dinner passed in a haze of silver trays, and then the lights dimmed and my mother-in-law took the microphone.

"My husband and I never had a son," Beatrice said. "But we had the pleasure of giving our daughter her start."

Applause rose, polite and warm.

"Seven years ago, a warehouse and a dream. Today, forty employees and a name this city trusts. That is what a family does."

I felt Ingrid's hand land on my forearm.

"Wait," she whispered.

"I'm waiting."

"Tonight we also celebrate Adeline, who has the courage to stand beside her family's legacy." Beatrice turned with an open palm. "Darling."

Adeline rose.

She walked up the three steps to the stage, and she did not take her mother's hand.

She took the microphone from the stand instead and held a thin paper folder against her side.

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