“That’s nice of you to say. I’ll give some of the credit to thepapas fritasand Tannat wine.”
At first glance you might think a woman with Maya’s formidable presence could be intimidating, but as I discovered when I met her, she’s warm and generous of heart. I remembered thinking once that if I’d met her under different circumstances, we might have become friends.
“I hear you chatted with Jeffrey today, and you’ve just said hello to Eileen, so let me have you meet some others before we head in for dinner.”
In a bit of blur, I’m introduced to two English professors, the dean of faculty, the head of financial aid, a guy from media relations named Chip, and someone’s spouse. Before there’s a chance for any small talk, Maya cocks her chin toward someone across the way, and the next thing I know, Eileen and the waiter are gently herding people toward the table in the room ahead of us.
Logan and Lisa, I notice, enter the dining room through a door from the conservatory, so there’s no immediate contact with them. She’s decided on all white for this event, a sheath dress topped by a three-quarter-length matching jacket, like she mistakenly thinks we’re here to salute the suffragettes.
Stop being bitchy,I tell myself. After this week I’ll never set eyes on Lisa again, so why let her get under my skin?
As I make my way into the dining room, Handler and his wife come through the parlor from the conservatory and approach me.
“Hello again,” he says, his gaze still favoring the middle of my forehead. “Bree, this is my wife, Alison.”
She’s striking, ethereal almost, with long, wavy light-brown hair, almond-shaped hazel eyes, and a delicate-looking face. The long-sleeved black velvet dress she’s wearing is old-fashioned in style but charming on her.
“What a terrible loss you’ve experienced,” she says, shaking my hand. “Though I don’t have children myself, I can only imagine how horrible your daughter’s death has been for you.”
Her voice is soft and silky, as ethereal as she is, and yet she’s also surprisingly direct, something unexpected but appreciated. I’ve had so little patience for some of the strange euphemisms and platitudes people have offered over the years.
“Thank you, Alison,” I say. “Are you still painting? I remember hearing you’re an artist.”
“Yes, still an artist,” she says. “I’m fortunate to be able to do that full time.”
Her pale skin is slightly weathered from the sun, and it takes a minute to realize she’s probably considerably younger than her husband.
I nod to Handler and his wife and begin moving down the long mahogany table, searching for my name card. Maya reappears at my side, clasps my elbow, and leads me to the place on the left of hers at the head of the table. The man standing on the other side of me quickly reintroduces himself as Chip Conway, the associate director of media relations. He’s around thirty, I guess, and the only guy in the room who’s wearing a tie with his jacket.
Lisa and Logan are on the opposite side of the table, and thankfully, at the far end. I sense Logan working hard to catch my eye, and I finally meet his gaze, offering him a small smile.There, I’m trying.
After we’re settled and wine is poured, Maya leans forward in her seat and gently taps her water glass with a knife.
“Thank you all for coming,” she says once the room is quiet, “and a warm welcome to our guests of honor, Bree Winter and Logan Chase. Thursday night will be our chance to properly thank you for your wonderful gifts to Carter College—both the scholarships and the newMuseoffice—and also celebrate your remarkable daughter, Melanie. But I thought it would be nice for some of us to meet in a more intimate setting beforehand. Bree, Logan, we couldn’t be more grateful.”
I smile and add a nod of appreciation. To my surprise, there’s a prick of tears in my eyes, and I fight to prevent them from spilling. I’ve had years to perfect the ability not to choke up in public, so I’m notsure why that’s happening now. Needy for a distraction, I lift my dinner roll off the small plate it’s resting on and discreetly start to butter it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Logan lean forward, clearly ready to speak, and I turn my head in his direction.
“Thank you, Maya, we’re very honored to be guests tonight in this lovely home,” he says. To the untrained ear, he sounds utterly charming, someone very used to being on his feet in public, but I can hear a faint tension in his voice, like he’s fighting to keep his own emotions under control. “On behalf of Bree and myself, I want to say how much we appreciate both this dinner and the upcoming reception. Melflourishedat Carter, and we’re incredibly happy to have her remembered here.”
Murmurs of appreciation follow, and then to my complete shock, Lisa opens her mouth to speak.
“In case we haven’t met yet, I’m Lisa,” she says, exuding confidence and smiling as best as she can with a face pumped with filler. “And I’d like to take just a second to thank you, too—for everything you’re doing and for including me in the events this week. Sadly, I never had the chance to meet Melanie, but I’ve heard so much about her from Logan, and in so many ways, I feel like I know her. It’s wonderful to see her honored like this.”
It takes everything in my power not to fly down the length of the table and stab her in the throat with my butter knife.
Chapter 12
I look away and stare into the middle distance, wiping all expression from my face. But inside I’m seething, anger lacing through me like a brush fire. How dare she usurp this moment for herself? How dare she speak aboutMel? And how dare Logan let her do it?
“Before we begin our meal, I’d like Professor Handler to give us an update on the newMuseoffice,” Maya announces quickly as if on a rescue mission. “It should be finished within a matter of weeks.”
Handler doesn’t miss a beat. The office, he explains, is in the same location it’s been in for years, the basement of the humanities building, but instead of simply being a large room, it’s been expanded and designed to be like the office of an actual literary magazine, with workstations, a meeting room, two podcast studios, and a comfy conversation pit where editors can brainstorm or just hang with their laptops and read submissions.
Everyone nods enthusiastically, and Logan mentions he was at the site Monday morning and thinks it looks fantastic. There’s an awkward moment of silence, but then, almost miraculously, two waiters enter the room, serving a beet and goat cheese salad, and guests begin speaking among themselves.
Chip directs his attention to me. He’s a nice-looking guy, with light-blue eyes, a clean-shaven face, and conservatively cut brown hair, the kind of style you’d see on an upstate politician.
