Chapter 6: The Luncheon

"Don't go to the luncheon Saturday," Brent said into my ear.

I sat up in Nolan's bed in the dark. "What luncheon?"

"The foundation one. At the club. Lars's going to say something about you, Joss."

"Say what?"

"I can't. I just can't." His breath was ragged. "Please stay home."

A door shut on his end, and the line went dead.

I held the phone in my lap until the window turned gray.

I went anyway.

I had sat on that committee for six years. I had picked the napkins. I had written the checks.

Roz drove me to the Duluth Country Club in her delivery van and parked by the kitchen door.

"Want me to come in?" she asked.

"No."

"I'll sit here with the bat."

"Roz."

"Fine. I'll sit here with a sandwich."

The dining room was all white tablecloths and lake windows, sixty women in good sweaters and pearls.

I walked in wearing black, the same black as Saturday.

Heads turned along the tables, one after the other.

Lars was at the head table with the owner's wife and the team's sponsors.

Belinda sat at his right.

She was wearing the green dress.

It fit her perfectly, the silk gathered loosely over her middle, and her hair was down on her shoulders.

Lars saw me and raised his glass an inch.

My chest hurt. I made myself breathe through it.

I walked up the center aisle, past the tables of women who had hugged me at Christmas.

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