“Jim Phillips is a lawyer from Washington who’s helping us.” Derry smiled at me. “He’s originally from Minneapolis. He worked for Hubert Humphrey. He’s a fabulous man. I’m glad you’ll get to meet him.”

“Is he married?” Irise giggled. She was drinking wine, sitting very close to Charles William.

“I don’t think so. No, of course he’s not.” Derry smiled back at her.

“Pass those plates,” Charles said. “I am now serving this roast.”

We were having dessert when the missing member of our party appeared. He was a short man with a smile as wide and eager and open as Derry’s own. He took the empty seat next to mine and turned the smile upon me. “Southern belles,” he said. “Where do you beautiful girls come from? What do your mothers do?” He was turned around in the chair toward me. His shirt collar was rumpled. His tie was rumpled. His jacket was rumpled. He needed a shave. His hair needed combing. He was an utterly adorable and charming and disarming man.

“Well, I’m not a southern belle,” I said. “I have two children. I wouldn’t be caught dead being a southern belle. I’ve lived half my life in the North.”

“Where in the North? How far north?”

“Southern Illinois. I lived there from the sixth to the ninth grades. It is my favorite place in the world. Where I was happiest.”

“You have children? You’re only a child.”

“I have a baby face and two little boys. But I’m not married anymore. I don’t think I am, anyway. My father’s lawyers are getting me a divorce. I don’t know why it’s taking them so long.”

“I’m a lawyer. Did Derry tell you that?”

“How’s it going by the way?” Charles asked. “At the court-house?”

“Not well. But there will be appeals. There will be many trials and many appeals. It seems a damned long road. God, I’m tired tonight.”

“First you eat and then we’ll talk about it. Derry, get this man some roast beef, please.” Derry got up and in a minute she and Aurora had put plates of bread and salad and roast beef and potatoes swimming in butter before Jim Phillips and he began to eat. I watched all this with great attention. Suddenly I became very conscious of the clothes I was wearing. I had on a short pleated plaid skirt and a navy blue sweater my babies had almost ruined by spitting up on when I burped them. I had had it cleaned several times but I imagined I could still smell the sweet decaying smell of thrown-up breast milk. I raised my fingers to my pearl necklace and ran my fingers around it.

“What is the case about?” I asked.