She looked confused.
A few minutes later, she returned without it and spoke briefly to the bartender.
The bartender glanced toward the private room, then toward me.
That was when the black leather folder appeared.
Now it sat beneath my hands with the total printed at the bottom.
The bartender waited.
I could tell he expected anger, tears, or at least a request to divide the bill.
Any of those responses would have been reasonable.
Instead, I looked across the room at the people who had eaten a meal charged to the woman they had just agreed was not family.
Blake had ordered wine without asking what it cost.
Lila had photographed the cake I had arranged.
Warren had praised inclusion while refusing to look at me.
Celeste had controlled every detail, including the chair I was not allowed to use and the card she expected to pay for it all.
