Chapter 7: The Donor

I didn't hear anything else the chair said.

When the meeting broke up, Malachy stood beside my chair until the room was empty.

"Endicott," he said. "As in the guy on your steps."

"As in my husband."

"Ex."

"Not until a judge says so. He likes to remind me."

Malachy looked at the door where the chair had gone out, smiling, with his sheet of paper.

"You want me to set the reception on fire?"

"Don't joke about fires."

"Sorry." He meant it. "You want me to unplug the microphone, then? I can do it from the basement. Nobody would ever know."

I almost smiled.

"I want to stand in that room and watch him try."

The reception was in the old wood-paneled hall on the ground floor.

There were white tablecloths, a cello in the corner and better wine than the department could afford.

Winslow had paid for that too.

The faculty wore their good jackets.

The students had come for the food and stood in a clump by the shrimp.

Winslow arrived at six exactly, in a navy suit, and the chair practically ran to meet him.

He shook hands all round the room.

He was charming.

He was always charming in rooms where he wanted something.

He didn't look for me once, and I knew that meant he knew exactly where I was.

At half past six the chair tapped his glass.

Winslow stepped up to the little lectern and smiled out at all of us.

"I won't keep you from the shrimp," he said, and the room laughed.

"I'm not a scholar. But I have lived for five years with someone who believes a woman's private words are worth keeping."

He found me then, by the window.

Every head in the room turned with his eyes.

"This gift is in honor of my wife's work," he said. "Margaret Endicott, who joined you in January."

There was a little murmur, warm and pleased.

My advisor, an elegant woman with grey braids, turned and beamed at me.

The chair started to clap.

I set my glass down on the windowsill.

"Cabot," I said.

The clapping stopped.

My voice wasn't loud, but the hall was built for lectures and it carried.

"My name is Margaret Cabot. I'm his former wife. He signed the papers on New Year's Eve."

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