Chapter 17: Cal's POV: Parking Lot

Cal's POV

I didn't say anything to Gwendolyn.

I looked at her, and then I looked at the heavy donor's wife, the small woman in the velvet jacket.

"Ma'am," I said. "Do you own a house with a bad staircase?"

She blinked.

"We have a staircase," she said. "It's been falling apart since 1998."

"I do finish work. Stairs, cabinets, built-ins. I'm at the Wayzata boat shop, in the back."

I didn't mean it as a stunt.

I wanted Gwendolyn to hear that a woman had offered to pay me for my work, in front of the whole lake.

"I'll call Monday," said the donor's wife.

Gwendolyn walked out through the front doors without looking at anyone.

The donors parted for her, and nobody said goodnight.

Lena stood at the podium with the microphone still in her hand.

She was looking at the floor.

I went to her left side and waited, and I didn't touch her.

"I'm fine," she said, very low.

"I know."

"Can you give me a minute?"

"Take as many as you want."

She nodded, and she handed me the microphone, and she walked toward the back of the hall with Hallie.

I watched her go.

Then I went outside, because I needed air, and because Brooks was already running after me.

The parking lot was bright with floodlights, and the lake was black behind it.

He caught my sleeve at the van.

"Cal. Cal, please. Just two minutes."

I took his hand off my arm.

His eyes were red and wet, and he smelled like bourbon.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry. I was going to tell her, I swear."

"I was going to tell her years ago."

"No, you weren't."

"I was. I'd think about it every Christmas."

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