Chapter 18: The Shower

The Hartwell ballroom had been done entirely in pink.

There were pink roses on every table and a three-tier cake with a stork on top.

A screen at the front ran a slideshow of Delphine with her hand on her stomach.

About sixty women sat in the gold chairs, in hats.

I knew half of them from my own wedding.

Rhys stayed at the back, by the doors, with his sleeve buttoned and his arms crossed.

Delphine saw me and smiled.

It was a lovely smile, wet-eyed and grateful, and she crossed the floor to me with both hands out.

"Annie. You came."

"You asked me to."

"I saved your seat."

She squeezed my fingers, loud enough for the nearest table.

"I want everyone to know there's no bad blood. We were like sisters."

The ladies murmured, pleased.

She led me to a chair beside the cake.

Emmett was in the room.

He stood against the far wall in his gray coat with a drink in his hand.

His lawyer waited a step behind him.

He had not gone to the clinic.

Delphine did not look at him.

"Thank you all for coming," she said, from the little stage.

"It's been a hard few weeks, and I forgive everyone. Mothers make peace."

A woman in a lilac hat dabbed her eyes.

"How far along are you, dear?" she asked.

"Twenty weeks."

"Oh, how lovely."

"Eight weeks, you told the board three weeks ago," I said, in my ordinary voice.

The room went quiet.

"Annie," Delphine laughed. "I'm sure I said twenty."

"You said eight. In front of eleven directors."

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