Chapter 17: The Baby Shower

The great room at Harrow Ridge had been done up in pale yellow.

There were paper lanterns, a cake with a duckling on it, and a long table stacked with wrapped gifts.

About fifty women sat in rows of folding chairs, and every one of them turned her head when Dessa and I walked in.

"Smile," Dessa muttered. "Pretend it's a funeral you're enjoying."

"It is a funeral."

"Then enjoy it."

Margo rose from the armchair at the front.

She wore the cream cardigan, and she had one hand resting on her flat stomach.

"Fern," she said, and her eyes filled. "You came. I wasn't sure you would."

"You asked nicely."

"We're family." She took both my hands before I could stop her. "I know how it looks. But I lost him too, and I thought, who else would understand?"

Her palms were warm and dry.

"Sit," she said. "Please. There's tea."

I sat in the second row, and Dessa dropped into the seat beside me with her arms folded.

For half an hour Margo opened gifts.

There were little hats and a knitted blanket, and she held each one to her cheek and wept.

The women passed tissues down the rows.

A few of them looked at me with a pity that I didn't want, and a few looked at the floor.

When the last gift was open, Margo stood with her hands clasped.

"I wanted you all here," she said, "because I can't carry this alone. I lost Torin's child. I lost the last piece of my husband this family had."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to go on."

A woman near the front blew her nose.

"That's a lie," said a voice from the back of the room.

Every head turned.

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