It was then that Tracy let go of my hand.
She stood.
She walked the whole length of the aisle in her sensible shoes.
She climbed the three steps.
She crossed the stage, and she held out her palm to Ted, and said, in a voice that carried to the back of the room without a microphone, “May I?”
Ted frowned.
He glanced at his mother.
He gave Tracy the microphone, because he could not think of how to refuse.
Tracy turned to the room.
“My name is Tracy Mayhew,” she said.
“I’ve been Hilary Overton’s best friend for thirty-seven years.”
“And that plaque isn’t accurate.”
PART 4
“Sit down, Tracy,” said Ted.
He was on his feet, with his face the color of a boiled shrimp.
“This is a private family event.”
“It’s a public hospital,” said Tracy.
“And I’d like to take three minutes of its time.”
