Chapter 14: The Gala

"Show me the form that made him a co-signer," my lawyer said.

The manager clicked.

It was dated two days after the funeral.

My signature was at the bottom. My real one. Small and shaky, sliding downhill.

Then I remembered.

Brantley on the edge of our bed with a folder. The curtains shut. A plate of food I hadn't touched.

"Funeral home stuff, Hads. Sign where I flagged it. You don't have to read it."

Little yellow flags down the side of every page.

I'd signed where the yellow flags were.

Just like Shayla.

My lawyer put her hand on my arm.

"That let him sign papers out of a bank," she said quietly. "It doesn't make the transfer yours."

The children's hospital foundation held its gala that Saturday in a hotel ballroom downtown.

The CEO sent Kitt two tickets with a card. For the people who moved my babies.

Wilma said she'd rather have a root canal.

So I asked Jubal.

He picked me up at seven in a navy suit with sleeves that stopped an inch above his wrists.

"It's my cousin's," he said. "He's shorter than me everywhere."

"You look like a groom at a shotgun wedding."

"I was going to say you look beautiful. Now I'm not going to."

"You can still say it."

I'd bought a plain black dress that afternoon and pinned my hair up.

He looked at me in the gravel lot for a long moment.

"No," he said. "I'll just keep thinking it."

His daughter had picked his tie. It had little cartoon trucks on it.

"For luck," he said. "And for you."

The ballroom was white flowers and chandeliers and most of the forty people from Brantley's party.

The woman in diamonds whose sofa my crew had carried out from under her gave me a little wave.

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