Chapter 7: Saturday

The Aldrich house in Hartsdale had a long gravel drive and a front door that was never locked.

I had walked through it a hundred times with a duffel bag and a cold.

Tonight I rang the bell.

Helen opened it herself, in a cream cardigan, with her silver-blond hair brushed behind her ears.

"Roxanne." She took my face in both hands. "You look thin."

"I'm fine."

"You are not fine. Come in."

The dining room was the same as always.

Candles, the good plates, and a roast on the sideboard.

Chandler sat on his mother's right, in a blue shirt that matched Camilla's dress.

Camilla sat in the chair that had always been Chandler's father's, beside him, and she smiled at me as if we were still friends.

My place had been laid at the far end of the table, by the kitchen door.

It was where I had sat since I was fifteen.

I sat down in it, and for the first time I could see it clearly.

It was the seat for someone who might need to get up and help.

We ate.

Helen asked Camilla about her major, her family, and her plans after graduation, and Camilla answered each question with perfect, shining manners.

She mentioned twice that her father worked in finance.

She mentioned that she had been so worried about me, and that she was glad I had come.

"Roxy is a scholarship girl," she told Helen, with a pretty little laugh. "She works so hard. I always say, somebody has to."

"Do you?" Helen said mildly.

"Of course! I love her."

Chandler took a long drink of water.

Helen set down her fork.

"Roxanne, dear," she said. "Chandler tells me there was a misunderstanding. Will you tell me what happened?"

The table went quiet.

Camilla's hand slid over Chandler's.

"Mom, it's really nothing," Chandler said. "Roxy's tired. She works too much."

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