Inés and Rachael were still working on a shared order of tiramisu when Alondra stood up, her black coffee “to go” in one hand and the other on the back of my seat.

“So, does this committee have positions? I vote we make the new girl chair. You up for it, Kacy?”

“Sure.” But I knew I didn’t sound sure. If Alondra really did hear about everything, how long before she heard about me? A simple internet search would reveal that as far as the world was concerned, I couldn’t be trusted. It had felt so good to talk to Dr. Lindsey and even better to be honest with Lena. But my own coworkers at the museum hadn’t believed I was innocent. How could I expect these strangers to trust me?

I twisted my napkin in my hands. “Or maybe …”

“How about cochair?” Elizabeth offered.

“Excellent.” With a wave, Alondra was gone.

On the way home, the traffic seemed to increase every minute. Elizabeth frowned, her hands clenched around the wheel. “So we’ll probably end up at the club, but you and I should visit two or three other places and get estimates.”

We drove in silence for another mile. One difference between Elizabeth and Aimee was this pause. Elizabeth answered my question and then waited, letting me think. Aimee used to answer and then jump into the empty space, filling it with suggestions, sometimes serious, more often not, spinning our conversation off course. Because it wasn’t about getting the job done; it was about bonding, living in the moment.

Then Elizabeth said, “We’ll also need to get the invitations worked up. With your art background, maybe you’d enjoy that?”

“Sounds good.” And it did. That was something I could handle.

“Once you have them ready, we use the Fort Bend Copy Center. After you email it to them, call to make sure they’ve got it. They’re pretty old-school.”

“About the money …” My words sounded artificial, wavery.

“You can either pay and submit a receipt or get an invoice and they’ll give you a check to take back. We’ve got it set up so each check gets countersigned.”

“You can’t be too careful.” So there was no way I could be accused of embezzling, no opportunity that could be misconstrued.

“Was this the kind of thing you used to do?”

“One of the things.”

“Houston’s got a ton of art museums. Do you want to go back to work?”

And a flood of sorrow rose in me, as if by lowering my guard I’d given it leave to suffuse my entire body. But this time I wasn’t braced against it, wasn’t fighting, and instead of bursting into tears or running away, I let it spread out along every limb, warm and heavy. I was tired of pretending I wasn’t sad.