I check my watch again, and I haven’t missed any calls or texts. If he’s here, he’s not looking too hard to find me. And if he’s not here, he’s not making any apologies.
As the DJ “brings it down” and plays a slow song, I make my way over to the refreshment table, where about half the Chamberlain boys stand. Here’s something that matches my high school experience—the mass exodus of boys from a dance floor when a slow song starts. I check the cookie platters and the level of water in the decorative but not very practical jugs. Not bad.
“Everything,” comes an energetic whisper in my ear, “feels better through the sugar haze of these cookies.” I turn to see Wanda Chamberlain balancing three cookies on a tiny plastic plate.
I feel my shoulders relax as I laugh. “Welcome to your party,” I say, with a smile that feels natural replacing whatever’s been on my face for the last hour.
“How did you know this was my party?” Wanda asks.
I shrug. “Just a guess. Isn’t everything around here about you? If it’s not, it should be.” I grin at Wanda, who stands smiling back.
“It should be, indeed. I mean, after all, the place is named for me.” With a smile that proves she’s playing, Wanda motions to a table. “Let’s chat a minute.”
Before I agree, I glance around the room.
Wanda sees my hesitation. “The party will continue to go on if you’re not watching it, you know.”
I laugh. “Okay. Let’s sit.”
We walk toward a charming table in a corner, and I place myself where I can see the room. Wanda sits beside me and pats my hand.
“This is part one, right?”
My eyebrows go up in question.
She speaks again. “Of your trial for the chair position?”
I nod.
“And how do you feel it’s going?”
I scan the space. “I don’t have anything to compare it with, but it seems like lots of people are here and they’re having a good time. The kids did a great job with their responsibilities. The millions of string lights haven’t blown a breaker. The power hasn’t gone out.”
Wanda laughs. “Parties can be tough on the electrical grid,” she says with a knowing nod. I wonder if there’s a story there.
“This place would be very different without power.”
She nods. “Colder. So much colder,” she says.
“Sounds like you have some experience,” I say, hoping she will tell more of whatever story is in her memory now, but she shakes her head.
“You will too, before the year is out. Heating int eh faculty residences is a bit unreliable. Ah, but that’s a discussion for another time,” she says, patting my hand. “I have a few good memories and a few terrible ones about how things worked—and didn’t work—at Chamberlain in my day, but none of them are conversations for a dance.”
“Okay, but are you really going to tell me someday?”
She tilts her head toward me. “I have no problem giving away family secrets,” she says with a wink. “At the right time.”
Now Wanda looks around the room. “Where’s your companion?”
I swallow. “My what?” I ask. I heard her just fine, but I’m not sure how to answer. Obviously, Wanda means Dexter. How am I supposed to respond? If I say he’s not here, I look like I’m a six-year-old, tattling. If I admit I don’t know why he’s not here, I look like an incompetent team member.
When in doubt, change the subject.
“He put one of his set-design students in charge of decorating,” I say, leaning close so Wanda can hear over the music. “Her name is Lilian. If I see her, I want to introduce you. She’s terrific. She’s the one that made sure the cookie platters match the chargers under the candle arrangements. Chargers,” I repeat, pointing at the plate holding the candles at our table. “That’s a word I didn’t know until today.”
Wanda puts both hands on the table and looks into my face. She says nothing, just nods, which could mean anything. Or nothing. I’m pretty sure which anything it means, but since Wanda isn’t saying another word about Dexter Kaplan, I’m not either.
By some unspoken mutual decision, we watch the dance for a minute. I blink against the DJ’s bright laser lights, wishing it was either dark or bright. The flashes make it impossible to see anything. I blink a few more times, averting my eyes from the light stands at his station. If DJ work doesn’t pan out for this guy, he can market at-home laser surgery kits.