Chapter 18: Phoebe

Her mother had hung yellow streamers across the living room of the row house.

There were twelve women on folding chairs, a table of tiny sandwiches and a banner that said Welcome Baby in glitter.

Lena sat in the good armchair with a paper plate on her knee and watched the door.

Damian stood against the far wall in a plain dark shirt, trying to look like a man who belonged at a shower.

Cassandra sat beside Niko on the stairs, and Niko was eating his third sandwich.

Her father had been sent to the kitchen to cut lemons.

He had not argued.

Phoebe came in at seven with a three-layer cake held in front of her like a crown.

"Sorry, sorry, the frosting wouldn't set," she said. "Hi, Mrs. Hartwell. I brought the lemon one you like."

"Thank you, dear," Lena's mother said, and did not smile.

Phoebe set the cake on the sideboard and came across the room with her arms already open.

"Hi, mama," she said, and kissed Lena's cheek. "How is she? How's my niece?"

She smelled of vanilla.

Lena let her finish the hug.

Then she put her plate on the floor.

"Phoebe, sit down," Lena said. "I want to ask you something in front of everyone."

"Okay."

"On the night I told you about the baby, we were on the floor of the bindery. Who did you call afterward?"

Phoebe laughed uncertainly.

"Damian, you know that. I said I couldn't leave you alone with it."

"And after Damian?"

"I don't..."

"Who did you tell by Sunday that I was nine weeks pregnant?"

Twelve women stopped chewing.

Phoebe's smile stayed where it was.

"Lena, what are you talking about?"

"Stavros Karras knew about my child before my husband did," Lena said. "I told two people. One of them is standing by that wall.

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