Hello.” The crowd quiets down as we all turn to face the woman the painting hangs just above. The woman who fetched Clara begins speaking. “For Emma, baby.”Ĭlara walks toward the swathed painting and stands to the side of a podium that’s surrounded with more flowers than I’ve ever seen.
I’m-” Clara looks like she’s going to faint. “I’ll be right here,” Bruce says, giving Clara a final squeeze. It’s time,” she says with nary a glance our way. And just like clockwork a fragile-looking doyenne approaches our little circle by the bar. “Not yet,” Clara says, her eyes flicking from the painting to her parents. I’m sure they’ll send over one of their cronies when it’s time for the unveiling,” Clara says. “Have you talked to your parents?” Jill asks.
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