Chapter 5

"Who told you to move my painting?"

I stopped the hotel worker in the hall.

The display stand at the main entrance was empty. My sunflower leaned against a wall beside the coat check.

"I was told to keep it safe until they settle the program," she said.

Guests would have to collect their coats to see it. I took a picture of the painting, then one of the empty stand. The worker looked miserable, so I let her go and found the gala organizer.

She called Adrian's office while I waited. When she hung up, she said the final decision would be made tonight.

"Tonight? The programs have already been handed out."

"That's why we haven't changed them yet."

I carried the painting to a brighter part of the hall and sat beside it. I had worked on it for months, often after visiting Mom at the hospital. That morning she had called to ask which earrings went with her yellow sweater. I told her to wear the pearls she claimed were too fancy.

At six-thirty, guests began to arrive. I changed into a green dress I had brought in a bag. The hem was wrinkled. I stood in the bathroom and pressed it flat with my hands.

Adrian was there when I came out. Salvatore had him talking to guests. Adrian spotted me across the room. His eyes dropped to my dress, then rose to my face.

"Where's the painting?" he asked.

"By the coat check. It's guarding everyone's jackets."

Salvatore gave me a thin smile.

"The Voss Foundation's main donor is here. We all want the children's program to continue."

"I do too," I said.

"That's why I gave them my painting."

Adrian asked where the organizer was. I pointed her out.

"I'll find out what's happening," he said.

I almost reminded him of his promise. He knew.

The door to a meeting room stood open as I passed. Elena was inside with the donor's assistant, showing him a budget. She explained what the foundation could keep paying for and what might have to stop. She looked worn out, but she answered every question.

When the assistant left, Elena came to the door.

"I asked for the eight o'clock slot," she said.

"I know it's yours."

"How long do you need?"

"Twelve minutes. The donor leaves at eight-thirty. After that, I may not get another meeting."

"My introduction and the auction are in those twelve minutes."

"I know. If I had another way, I'd take it."

I believed her. The money would help real children. My painting was real too. I had spent months making it and years trying to get Nora Hayes printed on a program.

"Speak to Adrian," I said.

"I've already told him I don't agree."

Elena nodded. She did not ask me again.

At seven-forty, Mom arrived with a nurse. She wore her yellow sweater and the pearl earrings. She complained about the wheelchair before the nurse had stopped pushing it.

"I can walk," she told me.

"She just won't let me stand for long."

I straightened her collar. Her hand cream smelled of oranges, the same kind she had used when I was a child.

"Where's the painting?" she asked.

I showed her the sunflower against the wall and said they would move it later. Mom looked at the painting, then at me. She knew I was worried, but let me have another minute.

Music began in the ballroom. The organizer hurried toward Adrian with two copies of the final program. He stood with Elena and Salvatore. The donor's assistant waited nearby, checking his watch.

"We have one opening slot," the organizer said.

"The host needs his notes now."

One page had my name and Sunflower on it. The other had the Voss Foundation's presentation. Adrian took both. Salvatore urged him to hurry. Elena held her files and said nothing.

I walked up to my husband. He lifted his head when he heard my shoes.

"My mother is here," I said.

"She's waiting to hear them say my name."

He looked toward the front row. Mom saw him and waved. She had no idea what we were deciding. Adrian gave her a small nod, then turned back to me.

"You promised," I said.

"I remember."

"Then don't make this choice for me."

The organizer handed him a pen. Onstage, the host finished his welcome and began to call the first guest forward. Adrian looked once more at the two pages. He gripped the pen and turned to the organizer.

"Take the eight o'clock name off..."