Chapter 7: The Gala

The Toledo Chamber gala was held every October in the old Valentine Theatre, under a ceiling of gold plaster angels.

My father had bought a table every year for thirty years.

This year, the card at the head of it said DRAY, and the name under it was mine.

Bridget wore a green velvet jumpsuit and her good boots.

"I am here to eat shrimp and support you," she said, "in that order."

I wore my mother's pearl earrings and a black dress I had bought for a funeral.

It fit better than the blazer.

Across the ballroom, Nolan stood near the bar in a dark suit, alone.

Men who used to clap his shoulder walked around him in a wide curve.

News had traveled.

"Don't look at him," Bridget murmured.

"I'm not."

"You are.

You look like a woman reading a very sad menu."

I turned my eyes to the stage.

A waiter set a glass of champagne at my elbow and a folded note beside it.

The paper was thick and cream.

"Dessert is on me.

Come to the balcony.

Colm."

I handed the note to Bridget, who read it and made a gagging noise.

"I'll come with you," she said.

"No," I said.

"Yes."

"Fine," I said.

"Stay three steps behind.

Look menacing."

"I was born menacing."

The balcony overlooked the ballroom floor.

Colm leaned on the rail with a flute in one hand.

He turned when he heard my heels.

"Serena.

And the friend."

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