Chapter 22: Made For

"It's my laptop," I had told her on Friday night, in front of the tech.

"I record the room tone at every event I attend. It's a habit."

Ward's mother had looked at me for a long time.

Then she put the cable in her coat pocket and told the tech to unplug my machine.

She never asked about the donor reel.

On Saturday, at eight o'clock, six hundred people in black tie sat down to dinner under the crystal lights.

I sat at the table nearest the booth with Stella asleep in the carrier on my chest.

Hattie was beside me, in the green dress, with a steak knife in her fist.

Emmett sat on my other side, and under the cloth he had my left hand.

At the back of the ballroom, behind the last row of tables, a woman in a navy dress stood against the wall.

Haley did not look at me, and I did not look at her.

At the head table, the family court judge sat three seats from Ward's mother with a leather folder at his elbow.

Ward sat next to his mother, in a tuxedo, with his eyes on the tablecloth.

At nine, Ward's mother stood up and walked to the lectern.

She was in silver, with her pearls.

She tapped the microphone once.

"Good evening," she said, and the room went quiet.

She spoke for four minutes about the hospital's new wing.

She thanked the donors by name.

Then her voice softened, and I felt Hattie's knee press against mine.

"There is one little girl I want to speak about tonight," she said.

"She is ten weeks old. She is my granddaughter, and she is the reason I stand here."