Chapter 14: The Napkin

I sat down beside her on the planks, with my father's keys still in my fist.

The water slapped the pilings under us. Neither of us spoke for a while.

"I'm not angry about the date," I said.

"You should be."

"I'm angry for about ten more minutes. Then I'm done." I rubbed my face.

"Camilla was getting paid to keep me small, and my father knew. Not one person at that table would have said it."

"You said it with an envelope," I told her. "It was a rotten way to do it, and it worked."

"Nico."

"I'm forgiving you the staging, Gemma. Let me do it before I think better of it."

She turned the napkin over in her hands.

"Then I'm going to spoil it," she said.

"Go on."

"The part I couldn't say upstairs." She kept her eyes on the water.

"Five years ago there was a christening at the Ferrante house. My cousin's baby."

"Your family came. Your father brought you because you were the one who could carry the cake."

I frowned.

"You were twenty-four. You had flour on your cuff."

"Somebody put a record on in the garden."

"The old women all pushed me at you, because I was the only girl standing alone."

"I don't remember," I said.

"I know." She said it without any heat.

"You asked me to dance, and we danced one song."

"You asked my name three times, because the music was loud. The third time you said it back to me carefully, so you'd have it right."

I didn't speak.

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