imagination, except by those who had passed through such times before.
The breathless last to join a cheery group of friends around a bistro table—Marian had many groups of friends—she was kissed and greeted, her wine was poured, the olives and the bread were passed her way. How are you, honey, Clark asked, and Sue, always knowing what meant the most, asked how that young firefighter was, her godson, the one who was hurt, the one the story in the paper was about? Kevin, replied Marian; he's doing very well, we're very grateful. Tomiko asked how her day had gone, how many forms she'd filled out for people (in, Sam said, you fill forms in), was it still as hard as in the beginning, working with the victims?
Marian smiled and said, Oh no, but she wasn't working with the families, those were the volunteers with the really hard jobs, she didn't know how they did it. She tasted the wine, a dry chardonnay, and nodded approvingly. Her clients were the businesses, she told them, the stores, the offices, the take-outs, and the delis. Some of them had given so much, you know that one locksmith opened his shop and told the rescue workers, Just take what you need. And now everything was gone. Everything! And the restaurants had been feeding the rescue workers, and people had donated water, breathing masks, whatever they had, people had given whatever they had. It was wonderful, now, to be able to really do something for them.
Sam reached around the table and topped off people's wineglasses. Katie asked Tomiko how the baby was. Ulrich, as usual serious about the menu, recommended that people try the mussels, they were exceptional the last time he was here, although of course that was before, but that shouldn't make a difference, should it, now that they'd reopened? Sue picked up a story she'd been telling Jeana; Marian overheard something about cell phones, being connected into some stranger's call because the lines were all still so weird downtown.
“Everything all right back at the office?” Sam asked quietly, just making sure; he'd left for meetings of his own long before Marian had gone to hers. Marian smiled and nodded. “I wish we had more phones, though.” Sam shrugged agreement, brought the wine back to her. Everyone in Lower Manhattan wished they had phones. The MANY Foundation's office was luckier than most: two weeks ago, one of their six lines had been restored.
They nibbled on bread and olives; they sipped their wine. Around the table people's faces were glowing, as they leaned forward to hear one another better, as they nodded and laughed. This was not the wine, Marian thought, not the candles. This glow—she could feel it in her own smile as she watched her friends—was the light of what used to be a simple pleasure: ending a day of hard work with good food and good friends.
By the time the waiter came to take their orders—Marian had decided on the rigatoni with goat cheese and three varieties of mushrooms—no one had yet mentioned the Fund. No one had asked Marian if there were new developments, what would happen to the money if the allegations in yesterday's Tribune article turned out to be true.
Eventually someone would bring it up. This was the sort of juicy story that would have been irresistible when gossip was fun. No one had the heart for gossip now. But Marian was entwined in this story—much more than they knew—so someone was bound to bring it up. When they did, she would answer as honestly as she could, because these were her friends.
Marian listened to the talk around her and told herself she was glad that, for the time being, no one was asking. She told herself that their silence on this subject betokened nothing other than courtesy, an unwillingness to bring up what was sure to be a difficult subject, for her, their friend. She buttered bread with quick impatient strokes as she scolded herself for imagining that Ulrich, the most morally strident of them, had avoided her eyes since she'd sat down.
And she hoped that, when finally the topic came up, Sam would remain calm. It would only serve to make everyone uncomfortable if he exploded here the way he had in the office yesterday when the third Tribune article ran. Sipping her wine, Marian watched him. He and Clark were leaning toward each other, both talking at once, Clark shaking his head and laughing, Sam's