Chapter 9: The Luncheon

The luncheon was Lavinia's idea, and it was held on the Tattnall terrace under a white tent.

Twenty-two women in linen sat at round tables with silver chargers, and every one of them had been to a Tattnall wedding before.

Corinna had asked me to come.

My mother had come too, in a wheelchair, in her good blue cardigan, because Lavinia had sent a car.

I pushed the chair myself.

"You don't have to do this," I told her quietly.

"I'm not a flower, Jolene. I can sit at a table."

Lavinia met us at the edge of the tent with both hands extended.

"Bernadette. How brave of you to come."

"It's a lunch," my mother said. "Not a mountain."

Lavinia laughed a little too long.

She put us at the table nearest the buffet, beside a woman with a diamond brooch the size of a bottle cap.

For forty minutes I smiled and passed the salad.

I watched Sullivan across the terrace, standing at the far rail with a glass he didn't drink from, not looking at me.

I watched Corinna in a pale yellow dress, pouring tea and answering questions, eyes bright and a little too wide.

Then Lavinia tapped her glass with a spoon.

"Ladies, a toast."

The terrace quieted.

"To family," she said. "To the gift of family, and the generosity that holds one together."

"Many of us have given to charity. Few of us have had the chance to give to our own."

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