Blessed are the Meek by Kristi Belcamino Read Free Book Online Page B

. . . getting older. If you want to have children, you may not want to wait too long.”
    I bite my lower lip and look away. What can I say? In a corner of the restaurant, several small children run and squeal, chasing one another around as their parents finish their meal. I can feel my mother’s eyes on me like searchlights. I dip my head and rummage in my handbag for my lipstick. It’s better than admitting what I feel deep down inside—­that lately, I can’t bear the thought of becoming a mother.
    After lunch, I drive my mother back to her home in Livermore, in the East Bay south of Contra Costa County, where my newspaper is located. We pass by the cemetery. I sneak a glance at my mother out of the corner of my eye. She is sitting ramrod straight, staring straight ahead.

 
    Chapter 10
    T HE F AIRMONT H OTEL was the first place Tony Bennett sang, “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” and is possibly the nicest hotel in the city. The beaux-­arts-­style massive white building sits atop Nob Hill. Tonight it is lit up in all its magnificence. I pull up to the valet stand in my beat-­up old Volvo sedan. At least it’s clean. I spent an hour vacuuming and waxing it.
    Normally, I would’ve walked or taken the bus from my place. But I knew my dress would’ve provoked whispering from the older women on the bus. Tromping up the hills of San Francisco in black velvet and stilettos would’ve been absurd.
    The valet, a boy with freckles and close-­cropped hair, opens my door for me. As I get out, my sandal’s spiky heel catches the hem of my dress, and I trip, falling right into the valet’s arms. His face is as red as his uniform as he helps me regain my footing.
    When I look up, it’s my turn to blush. The mayor is a few feet away on the sidewalk, smoking. By the amused look on his face, he obviously saw the whole thing. Figures. Heading toward the door, I hold up the torn hem on my dress so it doesn’t drag on the ground. I’ll find a bathroom and assess the damage.
    â€œMaybe I can be of some assistance,” the mayor says, coming over and offering me his arm. “Adam Grant.”
    The jig is up.
    â€œGabriella Giovanni.”
    The look on his face is blank.
    â€œI’m with the Bay Herald. I’m attending your dinner this evening.”
    â€œAha! Well, then, how fortunate I had the chance to meet you beforehand,” he says, taking my elbow and leading me inside. “Shall we?”
    The doorman tips his hat as we enter. Grant leads me to the concierge’s desk. “Ethan, Ms. Giovanni has had an unfortunate accident. Do you think we can fix her up?”
    â€œYes, sir. In a jiffy. I’ll send housekeeping right over.”
    Grant leads me to a tufted chaise lounge nearby. “Sit. I’ll keep you company.”
    â€œAre you serious?”
    â€œWhy, yes.” He pats the seat beside him.
    â€œThank you. You’ve been very kind, but I can take over from here.” The thought of him watching someone sew my dress is humiliating.
    â€œOh, I would be remiss if I left you alone here. I like to think my mother raised me better than that.”
    â€œBut you’re going to be late for your own dinner,” I say, and glance at my watch.
    â€œThat’s one of the perks of being the host now, isn’t it? The party doesn’t start until I arrive.” He reaches into the inside pocket of his tuxedo and takes out a small phone. “Denise? I’ve been delayed a few moments, so can you keep everyone entertained? Maybe offer another round of champagne and aperitifs? Fabulous. And one other thing, can you do a bit of rearranging at the dinner table? I’d like you to move Gabriella Giovanni’s seat so she’s at my side. Thank you kindly.” He snaps the phone shut.
    â€œYou didn’t have to do that.”
    â€œIt was my pleasure.” I look away from his eyes, crinkled