Chapter 17: The Anniversary Toast

Marin's POV

By seven the lawn was full of lanterns and people holding glasses.

My mother had strung white lights from the oak to the garage roof, and set a long table under them with a cream cloth.

At the head of it, on a small stand, sat the cake Nikki had spent two days building.

Nikki stood beside it in a black apron, with her bleached hair slicked back and her face blank.

She did not look at me once.

I wore the champagne dress.

It was too beautiful to hate, and I walked across the grass in it with my head up.

Mitch stood by the drinks table in a white shirt, ironed.

My mother had hung it on his door that morning with a note.

He had worn it anyway, to keep her calm until the right minute.

When our eyes met, he touched his pocket, where the thumb drive was.

I nodded.

Forty guests.

I knew most of them.

Mitch's biggest client was telling a story to the neighbour who practised law.

My aunt had come from Ohio, in a blue suit, and was hugging everyone.

My dean was standing with a plate of sliced fruit.

And in a chair at my mother's right hand, with a lantern lighting his glasses, sat Dr. Ansel Keene.

He raised his glass to me.

I raised mine back.

My mother tapped a spoon on her flute at half past seven.

"Friends," she said, and the garden hushed.

She looked lovely.

She wore a pale green dress, and her rings were both on, the old one and the new one together.

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