Chapter 8: The Chin

I stood up, and the legs of my chair scraped the hardwood.

"Mrs. Chalmers, I have one request," I said.

"Anything, sweetheart."

"My mother's job. Item nine, consent agenda, last Tuesday. I want it withdrawn."

For a quarter of a second, her face did something it had not planned.

"I don't know what you mean," Barbara said.

"Yes, you do."

I went to the sideboard.

The lemon pie sat there with its crimped edge, a little lopsided, still faintly warm.

I picked it up in both hands.

"He made this for me," I said. "I'm taking it."

"Hallie, don't be childish."

"Mrs. Chalmers, I'll see you at the Gala."

Lindsey was looking at me from across the table with something like a smile.

I paused next to her chair.

"My mother makes toast at midnight when she can't sleep," I said, low. "It's on Putnam Street. The porch light's on."

"I can't," she whispered.

"I didn't ask you to. I said where it is."

I walked out through the front hall, past a portrait of Barbara in pearls.

Ray Chalmers caught up with me on the porch.

He was in his socks.

He had followed me out without his shoes, and he stood on the cold stone with his hands hanging.

"Hallie," he said. "I didn't know. I need you to know I didn't know."

"I believe you."

"I would have, I would have said something, I'd have..."

"I believe you, Mr. Chalmers."