Chapter 14: The Last Slice

My grandmother sat at the head of her table with a single pie in front of her.

Barrett was on her right, with a napkin tucked into his collar.

The hotel heir and the yacht heir sat across from him, and each had a fork in his fist.

The pie was lemon meringue, and it had one slice left.

"There she is," Barrett said, rising. "Leona. We heard, and we came."

"Heard what?"

"That you left him," he said. "We're here to be your family."

"I have a family," I said. "She's holding a cane."

"Sit," Margaret said. "You're just in time for the contest."

I stayed in the doorway with the overnight bag on my shoulder.

"I haven't held one of those since I was twelve."

"I know," my grandmother said. "Sit."

I sat at the foot of the table, as far from the pie as the room allowed.

"The last slice goes to whoever asks best," Margaret said. "Gentlemen, you have two minutes each."

The hotel heir went first, because he was already standing.

"Margaret, may I please have the pie?" he said. "I'd be grateful."

"No."

"I haven't finished."

"You have," she said. "Next."

The yacht heir stood, put a hand on his chest and said, "A pie is a house for the hungry."

"Sit down," my grandmother said.

"I had a whole second verse."

"I'm sure you did."

Barrett stood last, and he did it slowly, so we would all see.

"Margaret," he said. "I'd like the pie, and I'd like you to know I'm doing it for Ansel."

"For Ansel."

"He loves your pie."

"He has had it twice," Margaret said. "Both times he asked for a smaller piece."

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