Chapter 6: Table Six

Wendell had reserved table six at the Stoddard Run Country Club for Saturday at seven.

He had invited half the town to watch him be generous.

I wore my navy dress, the only one that didn't have a cardigan attached, and I walked in alone with my chin up.

Mal was supposed to be at the cottage fixing the boiler, which had died that afternoon.

I had told him I'd be fine.

The dining room had white tablecloths and a dozen couples I had known for years, none of whom looked at me.

Wendell stood and kissed my cheek.

He smelled like the cologne I had bought him for our third anniversary.

"Edie. I wanted this to be friendly."

"It's a public dinner."

"Friendly in public, then."

He pulled out my chair.

"Sit."

I sat.

He waited for the waiter to pour water, and then he slid a cream envelope across the cloth with two fingers.

"The Baskin Foundation would like to make a gesture," he said.

I did not open it.

"How much?"

"Two million dollars."

A woman at the next table put her fork down very quietly.

"You resign by Christmas."

"You take a position at a charter network in Arizona, which I've already arranged."

"And the janitor," he said, with a small smile, "will find that his position at Lindenmere no longer exists."

"That's the bribe."

"That's the kindest outcome."

Everyone at the nearby tables had stopped pretending to eat.

I looked at his hand on the envelope.

I had watched that hand sign a hundred restaurant checks and forget the tip every time.

"Wendell," I said, loud enough to carry. "Do you want to tell them what the board's real vote is about?"

His smile slipped half an inch.

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