might “look” to the Houston society types. She’d been thinking about connecting with the students, encouraging them to dream of a life beyond minimum wage work. She’d been thinking of them and what they needed. There hadn’t even been anyone from the Foundation there that day. It had never occurred to her that the teacher snapping photos might send them in to the Foundation or that a few of them might end up in the photomontage that played in the background at tonight’s annual gala. And it had certainly never occurred to her that members of Houston high society might be offended by pictures of her playing a pickup game of basketball with former gang members.
“No, Portia. You clearly weren’t thinking. That photo...” Celeste sighed.
God, Portia hated that sound. It was how-could-you-do-this-to-me and what-did-I-do-to-deserve-you all rolled into one exhalation of disappointment.
“It’s not that bad,” Portia tried to explain. She kept her voice low, painfully aware that they weren’t really alone. Sure, her mother had dragged her off into one of the hotel’s service hallways, but the gala’s waitstaff were filtering past with trays of drinks and appetizers. A couple of them had even slowed down, straining to catch what they could of the argument.
“It would be bad enough if it was just the photo,” Celeste said. “But with Laney’s pregnancy, everyone is watching you, waiting to see how you’ll—”
“Laney’s pregnancy?” Portia interrupted. Nausea bloomed in her stomach, turning those butternut squash appetizers into bricks. “Laney is pregnant?”
Laney was Portia’s ex-husband’s current wife.
Not that Portia had anything against Laney. Or Dalton for that matter.
She was thrilled, just thrilled, that they’d found love and were blissfully happy. She really was. Or she really tried to be. But it would be easier if her own life didn’t feel so stagnant.
And now Laney was pregnant? Portia and Dalton had struggled with infertility for years. But apparently all Dalton needed was a vivacious new wife.
Portia pressed a palm to her belly, willing the appetizers to stay put.
“Laney is pregnant,” she repeated stupidly.
“Yes, of course she is. They haven’t announced it yet, but everyone has noticed the bump. Honestly, Portia, how do you miss these things? All of Houston has noticed, but you’re blissfully unaware of it?”
“I just didn’t—”
“Well, you need to. You simply have to be more concerned when gossip is brewing around you. And for God’s sake, try not to provide all of Houston with photographic evidence of your midlife crisis.”
“It’s not a midlife crisis!”
Celeste’s gaze snapped from self-pity to anger. “It’s a photo of you and five gang members, one of whom is staring down your dress and another of whom has his hand entirely too close to your person.”
“He was blocking. He wasn’t even touching me!” Was that really how the photo looked to other people? “Mother, it’s just a picture. There are fifty pictures in the slide show that illustrate the amazing work the foundation does. One of them happens to have me in it. It’s not that big a—”
“It is a big deal,” Celeste snapped. “The fact that you think it isn’t only shows how naive you are. A woman in your position—”
“My position? What is that supposed to mean?”
“A woman’s position in society changes when she goes through a divorce. You’ve seen this in your own life and in Caro’s. Thank God you’ve fared better than she has. So far.”
“Right,” Portia said grimly. “Caro.”
After her divorce from Dalton, Portia had stayed friends with her former mother-in-law. Caro Cain wasn’t the warmest person, but she was still easier to deal with than Portia’s own mother. And right now, Caro needed every friend she had. Her divorce from Hollister Cain had left her a social pariah.
“Do you know how many people are out there snickering about that photo?” Celeste demanded.
“Nobody but you cares about that photo!”
Celeste took a step closer. “This is how the world works. Stop being naive.”
“It’s not naive to want to help children.”
“Fine, if you want to help children, I can have Dede set something up.”
“I don’t need Daddy’s press secretary to set up a photo op for me.”
“Fine. If you don’t want my help, do this on your own. Go make puppets with a kid with cancer, but for God’s sake, stay out of the ghetto, because—”
But Celeste never got a chance to finish her thought, because just then, one of the waitresses walked by with a tray of champagne and somehow tripped, spilling a flute of the amber liquid down the sleeve of Celeste’s dress.
The older woman reared back, gasping in shock.
The waitress stumbled again and barely stepped out of the way before Celeste whirled on her. “Why you clumsy, little—”
“Mother, it’s okay.” Portia grabbed her mother’s arm, more out of instinct than out of fear that her mother might hit the girl.
Celeste jerked her arm free, her mouth twisting into a snarl. “I’ll have your job for this!”
“Let me handle this, Mother.” Portia looked nervously around the hall. It was empty now except for this one waitress. “Go on to the bathroom and clean up what you can. Champagne doesn’t stain. It’ll be okay.”
Celeste just glared at the waitress, who glared back, her jaw jutting out.
Portia guided her mother a step away toward the doorway that led into the ballroom. “I’ll handle it. I’ll talk to the girl’s supervisor.”
“That clumsy bitch shouldn’t be anywhere near a function like this.” Then Celeste flounced off to clean herself up.
Portia turned back to the waitress, half surprised to still see her there. The young woman looked to be in her early twenties. Her hair was dyed a dark maroon, cut short on one side and long on the other. She wore too much eye makeup and had a stud in her nose. And she was glaring belligerently at Portia.
“My name’s Ginger, by the way. If you’re going to go tattle to my boss.”
Portia held up her hand palm out in a gesture of peace. “Look, I’m not going to have you fired, but maybe you could just stay out of Celeste’s way for the rest of the night.”
Ginger blinked in surprise. “You’re not?”
“No. It was an accident.”
“Accident. Right.” Her tone was completely innocent, but there was a slight smirk to her lips as she stepped toward the door into the ballroom. Her smirk made her look so familiar. “Thanks.”
“Wait
