Chapter 4: Boxes in the Lobby

"Not yet what?" I asked.

Gwendolyn gave the room a small, tired smile.

"Not yet today, darling. We're all emotional."

Delaney twisted the ring on her finger and said nothing.

Brooks looked at his drink.

"Brooks," I said.

"Lena, I'll call you," he said. "Tomorrow. Let's all just cool off."

I had my mother's pearls in my fist and nothing else I wanted from that room.

"Hallie," I said. "Car."

We left through the front doors this time, with Cal a step behind me and three hundred people parting down the middle.

I changed out of the dress in the back seat of Hallie's Subaru, while she held up a coat for a screen.

Then we drove to the condo, because my clothes and my work scrubs and my mother's quilt were there, and I wanted them before dark.

I had lived in Brooks's condo on the lake for eight months.

My fob didn't open the lobby door.

I tried it three times, and the little light stayed red.

The doorman came out from behind his desk, with an expression I had seen on the faces of people who'd been told to say something.

"Ms. Okerlund," he said. "I'm sorry. Mr. Courtland had your fob turned off at noon."

"At noon," I said.

"And your things are over there."

He pointed.

By the elevators stood a dozen boxes and three black trash bags, stacked against the wall.

My mother's quilt was on top of the pile, folded in half, with someone's footprint across it.

Hallie said a word I won't write down.

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