Chapter 7: Help Eats First

On Saturday evening Norma held a dinner in my dining room for six women from the club.

She had invited them on Thursday night, after I went to bed, by text.

I found out because the six women were in the hall at seven, hanging their coats, looking pleased.

Norma had a plan.

She would seat them at my table, with my china, and watch me serve them in front of the whole club.

She had told them I'd come to apologize.

I let her tell them.

By noon I had called Joyce, and then Timothy.

I had asked him to cook, and he had said yes without asking why.

At five I took the gold-rimmed bone china out of the cabinet and set the long table myself.

Nine places in all.

When Norma led her guests in, in her best pearls, she stopped in the doorway.

"Meredith," she said, bright and brittle. "How lovely. You've set out the Spode."

"It's my Spode," I said. "Sit anywhere you like."

The women sat.

Norma took the head of the table, as she always did.

I had set her place there on purpose.

On the gold charger lay a plain white paper plate.

The six women saw it and said nothing.

Norma looked down at her own place, and I watched her face change.

"What is this?"

"Family eats first," I said, pleasantly, "and the help eats after. Tonight, I'm the family."

Norma went very still.

"Timothy?" I called toward the kitchen. "Dinner's ready."

He came in with a covered dish in both hands and his sleeves rolled up.

He had been in the kitchen for two hours.

"Sit," I told him. "Head of the table."

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