Chapter 11 #2
She gestures with her arm for me to precede her into the parlor.
It’s an impressive room with pale-yellow walls, antique furniture cushioned in various yellow fabrics, and walls lined with oil portraits and landscapes.
About a half dozen or so people are gathered inside, including Maya, who notices me right away and heads in my direction.
There’s no immediate sign of Logan, but seconds later I spot him and Lisa in the adjacent conservatory, speaking to Jeffrey Handler and a woman I assume must be his wife.
“Oh, Bree, it’s wonderful to see you,” Maya says, clasping my hand. Eileen recedes discreetly into the background. “I know you were undecided about attending the reception, which I don’t blame you for, but we’re very glad you changed your mind.”
“Thank you, Maya, and thank you for this tonight.”
Maya is tall, close to six feet, with dark-brown skin, nearly black eyes, and slightly wavy black hair cut to just beneath her chin.
Other than a few ribbons of gray in her hair, she hardly seems to have changed since I saw her last. And though she’s dressed without pretension tonight in pants and a dark-orange blouse, she exudes, as always, college president.
“Uruguay is agreeing with you, Bree. You look very well.”
“That’s nice of you to say. I’ll give some of the credit to the papas fritas and 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 new Muse office—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 not sure 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. Mel flourished at 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.