“I hope you have a supermodel lined up to go with you.”
“No date. You?”
“Surely the grapevine,” she nodded toward their mothers’ homes, “has already told you I don’t.” She pulled her gaze away from his and took a deep breath before blurting out, “Listen, not that I’m a supermodel, but I brought this fairly outrageous dress to wear with my new Manolo Blahniks. It might, I don’t know, give our classmates something to talk about other than her if you arrive with the woman no one’s seen in fifteen years, even if it is just me. And I wouldn’t mind having company when I walk into that restaurant. It’d just be, you know, old friends … ”
He held up his hand. “Slow down. So, you’re volunteering to be my date?”
“I just think it might be advantageous for both of us if we went together.”
“That sounds more like an offer to carpool.”
“Really, just old friends doing each other a favor.” She searched his face trying to anticipate his answer. “So … yes? No?”
“Now why would I turn down the chance to walk in with the class mystery woman in an outrageous dress and expensive shoes? Pick you up … when? ”
“How about I pick you up? I don’t think my new dress would fare well on your motorcycle.”
“I’ll bow to your transportation preferences. But the Bellevue’s right around the corner from my apartment. I’ll walk over so you won’t have to look for a parking space.”
“Great. Maybe come by at five and have a drink before we go so we can catch up?” The offer slipped out before she could think about it. “I’m in suite 832.”
“I’ll see you at five.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Say hi to your mom for me.”
At her mother’s door, she dug around in her purse for the key, listening for the sound of Tony’s cycle taking off so she could relax. Her mother opened the door before Margo could get it unlocked. “Hello, dear.” She reached up and kissed her daughter. “Was that Anthony I heard?”
“Yes, Mom. He said to say hi.”
Dolores Keyes’ eyes lit up. “I’m glad you had a chance to talk with him. Did he say anything about the reunion ? I hear he’s going alone.”
“He was, but we just made arrangements to go together.”
“Oh, good.” She pulled at her daughter’s hand. “How silly to stand on the doorstep talking! I like your hair. It’s a little longer than before, isn’t it?” She closed the door after Margo. “Oh, and don’t let me forget to give you the sticky buns I got for you.”
The evening had begun the way visits with her mother always did — a comment about her hair and a bribe of sticky buns. It continued in its usual trajectory with Margo talking about Portland and her mother talking about friends and family in Philadelphia.
There was no mention of what had obsessed Margo every time she thought about this trip. But then they never discussed that subject.
In the fall of her senior year of high school, her father had been arrested on federal racketeering charges along with some of his clients, members of the Philly mob. All through that year, as one trial after another hit the headlines, Margo and her mother had dealt with the humiliation of learning that Kenny Keyes was not the kind of lawyer they thought he was. He’d been convicted and sent to federal prison. Dolores Keyes hadn’t uttered his name since.