Chapter 11: The Party

Roberta revoked her power of attorney at nine the next morning, in a notary's office across from the courthouse.

She wore sneakers and a face.

"I read every word of it," she told me on the sidewalk. "Twice. Out loud."

"How did it feel?"

"Like finding a spider in my shoe and stepping on it."

Landon didn't know.

That was why we went to the party.

My mother holds a holiday open house at the Haverkamp showroom every year.

A hundred floor lamps glowed in a hall of sofas, with a string quartet in the window and eighty guests in cocktail clothes.

The bank was there.

So were the press, the board's old friends, two local councilmen, and my aunts in matching sequins.

I wore the black dress again.

Elias wore a clean white shirt he'd ironed himself and a plain gray jacket.

He stood against a wall of walnut credenzas, holding a glass of seltzer.

He had never once looked more at home.

At nine, Landon tapped a spoon against a champagne flute.

He stepped up onto the low display platform where my mother stages her best bedroom set, and the quartet hushed.

"Friends," he said. "I'd like to share two pieces of news."

My mother beamed beside him.

"First, Huddleston Partners will close on the Haverkamp bridge investment on the twentieth, saving two hundred and twelve jobs."

Applause.

"Second." He lowered his voice, rueful and charming.

"Roberta and I have decided to part ways, quietly and with respect. I wish her every happiness."

A shocked murmur.

Roberta stood three feet from the platform, very straight, and said nothing.

"And since a man should never stay alone for long," Landon went on, lifting his glass toward me,

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