Chapter 21: The Spoon

We went back into the ballroom ahead of him.

I did not want him to walk me in.

The salads had been served, and the owner of the dealer group stood at the lectern tapping the microphone.

"Before we start the awards," he said, "Mark Wendt asked for two minutes. He's had a hard year."

Mark came in behind us, smoothing his tie.

He passed us without a glance and went up to the lectern.

The owner clapped him on the shoulder and gave him the microphone.

"Thank you," Mark said, and then he turned to look at me.

"Most of you know my wife, Helen," he said. "She's here tonight, and I'm grateful. She hasn't been well."

A murmur went through the tables.

"Tonight she's brought our daughter to a work dinner, and she's going to say things about me."

He put his hand on his chest.

"I want you to know where they come from."

He waited a beat.

"Twenty-seven years ago, when our daughter was two, we had a cradle in my wife's workshop."

Sophie's fingers closed on my wrist.

"I came home one afternoon and found Sophie on the floor of the barn with a broken collarbone."

The room went quiet.

"My wife was on the phone with a customer at the other end of the building."

He shook his head slowly.

"She'd left a two-year-old alone with a wooden spoon and a bench full of tools, because the work always came first."