Chapter 18: The Lunchbox Comes Home

Dell's POV

The Gorski Wing held its heritage reception on a Saturday afternoon, with a string trio and white tablecloths and forty donors in good coats.

Cass wore a black dress she had bought at a thrift store for eleven dollars, and her nose ring.

I wore the one dress I owned.

"If anyone stops you at the door," Cass said, "you're my plus-one."

"I have a trespass notice."

"It's a public building, in a public township, on a public day. They can call the sheriff. I hope they do."

We walked in together at two-fifteen.

The lobby of the Wing smelled of lilies, and of the floor wax I remembered from my childhood.

A glass case stood against the far wall, lit from above.

Inside it, on blue velvet, lay a child's rosary and a pair of work gloves.

There was a framed photograph of eleven men in hard hats, and beside it a green Thermos lunchbox.

A little brass plate sat underneath it.

Sabina stood by the registration table in her gray suit, handing out programs.

She did not look at us.

She was holding a ring of keys in her left hand.

As Cass passed, the ring slid out of Sabina's fingers and ticked on the table, with one small brass key sticking out of it.

"Oh," Sabina said, to no one. "Silly me."

Cass did not break stride.

She picked up the ring on her way past.

I followed her across the room.

The trio was playing something slow.

A woman in pearls gave me a long look, and then whispered to her husband.

Bernadette was at the head of the room in her navy blazer, shaking hands.

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