“At that gala, you’ll be sitting in the back row by the kitchen doors,” Margaret said.

“The front tables are saved for families who’ve actually achieved something,” Margaret said.

I straightened the brass button on my left cuff, keeping my eyes on my mother’s face.

“Regional command issued the seating chart for official personnel,” I said.

“I’ll move your place card to the back wall myself if you try to sit anywhere near the stage,” Margaret said.

At three o’clock the heavy side door swung open onto the wet gravel lot.