Chapter 4: The Luncheon

Friday morning, Teddy found the petition on the kitchen table and asked what paternal meant.

"It means the dad's side," I said.

"Is Grandma Hartwell on the dad's side?"

"Yes."

"Is she nice?"

I looked at the paper. It said the children had been "concealed" and that they were "at risk."

"I'm going to find out," I said.

I left them with my mother and drove into the city.

The Hartwell Foundation luncheon was printed on a banner outside the ballroom doors, with a sunflower logo and the words Families First.

Four hundred donors sat at round tables with white cloths.

I had put on the only dress I owned that was not scrubs.

A guard at the door looked at my face, then at my invitation-less hands, and opened the door anyway.

I think he had been at the party.

Rafe's mother stood at the lectern with a note card.

She was a tall woman with silver hair and a pearl collar, and her voice reached the back wall without a microphone.

"A child's first right," she said, "is to know the family that is responsible for her."

I walked down the middle aisle.

People turned their heads one table at a time.

She saw me when I was halfway there, and she finished her sentence.

"Thank you," she said. "We'll take a short break."

I reached the lectern and put the petition on it.

"You filed this at eleven at night," I said. "You sent a stranger to my door while my kids were asleep."

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