Then she nodded.
"You're right."
It was the first unqualified surrender anyone in her family had heard from her in years.
Chloe did not hug her.
Not yet.
But she reached out and took her hand.
That was enough for the night.
Later, when the dance floor filled and the worst tension finally loosened, the photographer called for another family picture.
"Families of the couple, please. Immediate family first."
Diane approached automatically.
Then Luis Ortega, the security supervisor she had ordered to remove Harold, stepped into the edge of the frame with an innocent expression.
"Mrs. Whitfield," he said, "we'll call you."
The surrounding guests burst into laughter.
Diane stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed too.
It was small and embarrassed, but genuine.
Harold waved her over.
"Come on. We're not doing this twice."
She took her place beside Richard.
The resulting photograph captured eight people who looked as though they had survived something together.
In later years, Ethan would keep that one too.
Near midnight, after the last dance, Harold and Martha walked through the hotel lobby toward the valet stand.
Margaret joined them.
"You're not leaving before I say I told you so."
Harold looked at her. "About what?"
"About Table 19."
"You did not tell me anything."
"I thought it very loudly."
Martha hugged her.
"Thank you for stepping in."
Margaret looked at Harold. "He would have let security walk him right out the door just to prove a philosophical point."
"Probably," Martha said.
"I heard that," Harold replied.
The valet hurried forward.
"Mr. Brooks, we brought your vehicle to the front."
The old green Ford sat directly beneath the Ashford Grand's illuminated canopy, between a Bentley and a black Mercedes limousine.
Its paint was faded along the roof.
One headlight lens was slightly cloudy.
The valet had cleaned the windshield.
Diane and Richard emerged from the lobby just as Harold opened the driver's door.
Diane stopped.
"You're still driving that?"
Harold looked at the truck.
"Twenty-six years. Still runs like a dream."
Diane stared at it, then began to laugh again.
This time Martha joined her.
Richard did not laugh.
He was thinking about Monday.
Harold saw it.
"Sit down, Richard," he said, pointing toward a bench near the valet station. "Let's talk about your wife."