Chapter 17: The Memorial Gala

Gwen said nothing more about her book that week, and she barely said anything else.

My mother held the memorial gala on the second Saturday, because the invitations had gone out before the funeral.

Two hundred guests were coming.

A white tent stood on the lawn, with strings of lanterns running up to the house.

At seven I stood on the boathouse dock in a dark green dress, and I couldn't reach my own zipper.

"Turn around," Kendrick said.

He had come down the lawn in a black suit he had no job to wear.

His fingers found the zip at the small of my back.

He drew it up slowly, and stopped halfway.

"I'm not asking for anything," he said at my ear.

"I stopped waiting for permission when the keys went on the table."

"Then don't wait," I said.

He turned me around, and his mouth came down on mine.

Far up the drive, the first cars began to crunch on the gravel.

He backed me against the boathouse wall, where the shells hung in their cradles out of the lantern light.

His hand slid up under the green silk.

I made a noise I should have been ashamed of, and he swallowed it.

"Quiet," he said, smiling against my mouth. "Two hundred people."

"Then be quick."

"No."

He went down on his knees on the old boards, in his good suit, and pushed the silk up my thighs.

I put my hand over my own mouth.

He took his time, his mouth hot on my wet pussy and his tongue circling my clit.

He kept his eyes on my face the whole while, and when my knees started to go, he slid two fingers inside me and held my hips against the wall.

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