Page 155 of Keller

"Thank you." I keep my Executive Director voice intact.

Silence stretches between us. Carmen's keyboard clicks in the background. Somewhere down the hall, a phone rings.

"Well, I'm going to let you get back to work. Three more weeks, right?"

I still can't believe I'm going to have a baby in three weeks.

"Yep. She'll be here before we know it."

He smiles warmly. "Let me know how I can help you. I hope you got the things I sent for the nursery."

"I did. And I will. It's good to see you, Keller," I say.

"It's good to see you, too."

He nods once, turns, and walks back through the door into the afternoon light.

The string lightsglow softly against the darkening sky. Oak branches hold them like jewelry, casting warm pools of gold across the lawn.

A jazz trio plays near the gazebo, trumpet, bass, and piano weaving together in something slow and easy.

I stand near the beverage table, sparkling water in hand, holding my low back and watching our guests mingle. The turnout exceeded my projections. Mira's networking paid off. Kirk's volunteer coordination ran smoothly, and Carmen handled registration without a single hiccup.

My eyes find Keller across the yard.

He stands in a loose circle of three donors. His jacket's off with his sleeves rolled up. He holds a beer, and his posture is relaxed, shoulders down, weight easy on both feet. He listens while Frank Caldwell gestures about something, nodding at the appropriate moments.

At least it appears so from here.

The baby shifts, pressing against my ribs. I adjust my stance and feel the familiar ache bloom through my legs. It seems like it was yesterday that I could stand for hours. Now, twenty minutes sends complaints through every joint.

The fire pit crackles nearby. The November evening delivered the perfectly cool New Orleans night.

Guests drift toward their cars in small groups, calling goodnight, promising follow-up emails. The catering staff collects empty glasses and stacks chairs along the perimeter.

I should circulate and thank people, play hostess until the last car pulls away. But I have no energy for that tonight. I can't leave until everyone is gone, so I'll stay right here and watch.

Keller walks toward me. He's one of the last guests still here.

"Would you like to sit? You look like you need to take a load off."

"Yes." I don't pretend to be fine. "Please."

He guides me toward two Adirondack chairs near the fire. The heat is nice against the chill settling into the evening. I lower myself carefully, one hand braced on the armrest, and exhale when my weight finally leaves my feet.

Keller settles into the chair beside me. He lifts his beer, takes a pull, and stares at the flames.

"Good turnout tonight."

"It's been a fantastic fundraising quarter." I wrap both hands around my water bottle. "Mira really has done a great job. We wanted to show our appreciation."

"You throw a great party."

The fire pops, and a trumpet riff floats across the lawn as the trio packs up.

Silence settles between us. Not uncomfortable. Just weighted with everything neither of us says.

He shifts in his chair, turning toward me more fully.