Fifteen Years After My Father Changed the Locks, He Seated Me at Table Twenty-Two

“Arthur Vance handed Howard the cashier’s check at nine this morning,” I said.

“Gerald’s check was refunded to his bank account by wire.”

“I know,” Clare said, a small, stubborn set coming into her chin.

“David told me when he brought the flowers to the dressing room.”

Outside the window, golf carts hummed across the gravel driveway, dropping off early guests near the white arbor.

Laughter and the faint clink of crystal stemware drifted up from the patio below.

“Dad told the table captains you wouldn’t stay through dinner,” Clare said.