Chapter 8: Dancing Feet

The green dress had arrived at noon in a white box with Muriel's card tucked under the tissue.

*Chin up. R.*

It fit perfectly, and I never found out how Muriel knew my size.

At nine that night I walked into the Tourneur Autumn Gala on Jonas's arm, and three hundred people turned to look.

The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and long tables.

A banner over the stage read *Tourneur Fund for Children's Care*.

Muriel went ahead of us in a gold jacket, nodding to the people she approved of.

"Smile," she said over her shoulder. "Let them wonder."

I smiled.

Under my glove, my watch ticked against my wrist.

Brett's father found us at the third table.

He shook Jonas's hand with a grip that was a shade too hard.

"Mr. Arceneaux. We're glad you came. About tomorrow's meeting."

"We'll discuss it tomorrow," Jonas said.

"Of course. Of course."

His eyes shifted over my shoulder, and I knew without turning who he had seen.

Kelsey was coming in through the far doors in a wheelchair, Brett pushing.

She wore white, with a cast on her left leg from toe to knee.

It was an actual cast.

That was a real escalation.

"They've upgraded," Muriel murmured. "Good for them."

The lights dimmed.

Diane Tourneur climbed the steps to the stage with a champagne flute in one hand and took the microphone with the other.

"Friends," she said. "Thank you for being here for the children."

Applause rolled around the room.

"Tonight I want to honor someone who has been part of this family since the day she lost her father."

Her voice caught.

"Kelsey, will you come up?"

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