His tie was loosened, the silk knot pulled down to his collar.

His forehead was shiny with sweat.

“Did you hear me calling you?” he asked, his voice tight.

“I heard you, Graham,” I said.

My voice was quiet.

He stepped into my office, bringing the smell of expensive whiskey and stale air conditioning with him.

He threw his leather briefcase onto my small cream-colored sofa.

“My mother is in tears,” he said.

He pointed a finger at me.

“She called me three times on my drive home from the club.”

“Why is she in tears?” I asked.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Jocelyn.”

He walked over to the desk, leaning his palms on the polished wood.

His gold signet ring clicked against the surface.

“You insulted her at the garden club luncheon yesterday.”

“I told her Hazel was going to public school camp instead of her deportment class,” I said.

“That is not an insult. It is a decision.”

“It is an insult to our family name,” Graham snapped.

“My mother has coordinated that class for thirty years.”

He straightened up and rubbed the back of his neck.