Chapter 6: The Luncheon

On Wednesday I went to the Foundation Luncheon at the Pfister Hotel in a borrowed navy suit.

Nobody had invited me. Nobody had told me not to come, either.

The ballroom was full of round tables, white linen and donors in good jackets.

I stood at the door with my bandaged hand in my pocket and looked for one woman.

She sat at the front table, small and straight-backed, with silver hair and a cane hooked on her chair.

She was the foundation's biggest donor, and she held one of the nine board votes.

Four years ago I had replaced her son's heart.

He was thirty-one now and ran marathons.

I crossed the room.

Alastair stood at the next table, shaking hands. Janelle stood beside him in a cream dress, one palm resting on her stomach.

She saw me first.

She did not flinch. She gave me a small, wounded smile and turned her face into Alastair's shoulder.

I walked past both of them.

"May I sit?" I asked the woman at the front.

"Laurel," said the donor. She looked at my coat, my hand and my face. "I wondered if you'd come. Sit."

I sat.

A waiter set down a plate of chicken I had no intention of eating.

"I have watched the video," she said. "I watched it twice."

"Then you know what I did."

"I know what you did on a stage at nine at night." She folded her napkin. "Now I want to know why you're in a hotel ballroom at noon."

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