Carol stayed with me for several minutes.
She asked about Arthur.
I told her about the forty-one years we had shared.
I told her how he used to come home smelling of machine oil and laundry detergent.
She laughed when I described the first delivery truck we bought.
"It was older than both of us," I said.
Carol smiled.
"That sounds like Arthur."
I hadn't expected to talk about him so comfortably that evening.
For a while, we discussed ordinary things.
Her children.
My son.
Our grandchildren.
The people who were no longer with us.
Then another classmate approached.
His name was Richard Bell.
He had been on the school basketball team.
I remembered him as a tall boy who rarely spoke to anyone outside his group.
He stopped beside our table.
"Martha, is it really true?"
I looked up.
"What's true?"
"That you own a big laundry company?"
I smiled.
"Yes. I do."
He pulled out the chair opposite us.
"How big are we talking?"
I hesitated.
I didn't particularly enjoy discussing money.
But I also knew that pretending the business was small would be silly.
"We supply several hotels, restaurants, and hospitals."
Richard's eyebrows rose.
"How many?"
"Eleven hotels, six restaurants, and two hospitals across three counties."
He stared at me.
"That's quite an operation."
"It took a long time."
Carol nodded.
"She built it with her husband."
I appreciated that she remembered.
Richard looked toward the ballroom entrance.
"Is that why the manager came over?"
"Partly."
I explained that Caldwell Linens & Laundry had worked with the Fairmont Plaza for many years.
The hotel was one of our established clients.
He nodded slowly.
"I had no idea."
"Most people don't."
He sat back.
Then he asked a question I hadn't expected.
"Do you still work?"
I laughed.
"Not every day."
"But you're involved?"
"Mostly with major contracts. My son handles the daily operations."
Richard shook his head.
"I retired ten years ago. I can't imagine still negotiating contracts at your age."
I looked at him.
"Arthur used to say that I would retire when I stopped having opinions."
Carol laughed.
Richard joined her.
For the first time that night, I felt like I was simply another woman at a reunion.
Not the girl in the old dress.
Not the woman wearing an apron.
Just Martha.
A few more classmates joined us.
They asked about the business.
One wanted to know how we had started.
Another asked whether we still owned the original laundromat.
I told them the story.
I explained the nursing home contract.
The first industrial machines.
The delivery trucks.
The difficult years when Arthur and I weren't sure whether we would survive financially.
I didn't leave out the mistakes.
There had been plenty.
I remembered one machine that broke down during a major hotel delivery.
We had worked through the night trying to meet the deadline.
Another time, a truck broke down in the middle of winter.
Arthur drove out himself with replacement equipment.
We hadn't been successful because everything had gone smoothly.
We had been successful because we kept finding ways to solve problems.
One classmate shook his head.
"You two really built something."
I smiled.
"We did."
Then I looked at the empty chair beside me.
Arthur should have been there.
He would have enjoyed hearing people ask about the business.
He never liked taking credit, but I knew he would have been proud.
That thought made me miss him.
I reached for my glass of water.
Across the room, Brenda was watching.
She wasn't pretending not to.
Her friends had become quieter.
I could see one of them speaking into her ear.
Brenda nodded, but her eyes remained on me.
Eventually, she stood and walked toward our table.
The people around me noticed.
The conversation slowed.
She stopped beside Richard.
"May I speak with Martha for a moment?"
Richard looked at me.
I nodded.
He stood.
"Of course."
Carol also rose.
"I'll get us some coffee."
She gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving.
Brenda pulled out the chair opposite me.
She sat down carefully.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Up close, I could see the small lines around her eyes.
Her hands were folded tightly in front of her.
She looked at the leather portfolio resting beside my chair.
Then she looked at me.
"I didn't know."
I waited.
She continued.
"I didn't know you had built a company."
I folded my hands in my lap.
"You never asked."
Her eyes moved toward the table.
"That's true."
I hadn't expected her to agree so quickly.
She glanced toward the coffee station.
"The apron."
I looked at her.
"What about it?"
She shifted in her chair.
"I suppose that was rather inappropriate."
I didn't answer immediately.
The word inappropriate seemed very small compared with what I remembered.
But I didn't want to turn the conversation into an argument.
"It wasn't necessary," I said.
She nodded.
For a moment, I thought she might apologize properly.
Instead, she looked toward the ballroom.
"I was under a lot of pressure organizing this event."
I almost smiled.
There it was.
An explanation.
Not quite an apology.
I had heard similar explanations from people before.
They were stressed.
They were tired.
They didn't mean it that way.
I knew how easy it was to make someone else's feelings sound like an inconvenience.
I looked directly at her.
"Brenda, you didn't hand me that apron because you were worried about the event."
She stopped moving.
"You handed it to me because you thought it would make people laugh."
Her lips parted slightly.
Then closed.
I continued quietly.
"And you knew exactly why they would laugh."
She looked down.
For the first time since she had approached me, she didn't seem to have an immediate response.
I didn't raise my voice.
I didn't need to.
The ballroom had already heard enough laughter that evening.
Brenda rubbed her thumb against the edge of the table.
"I suppose I did."
That answer surprised me.
I hadn't expected an admission.
I wasn't sure what to do with it.
Carol returned carrying two cups of coffee.
She placed one in front of me.
Then she looked at Brenda.
"Would you like one?"
Brenda shook her head.
"No, thank you."
Carol sat down beside me.
Brenda remained for another moment.
Then she stood.
"I'll let you enjoy your evening."
I nodded.
She walked away.
Carol watched her return to her table.
Then she turned toward me.
"Are you all right?"
I looked at the coffee.
The surface trembled slightly as I moved the cup.
"Yes," I said.
And this time, I almost believed it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: When Brenda Finally Sat Across From Me Without an Audience, I Learned That Some People Remember Their Cruelty Differently
At Seventy-Three, I Thought I Had Finally Outgrown the Girl Who Used to Make Me Ashamed of Everything I Wore
Part 6 of 10
