After the first dance, Helen crossed the room to Owen’s table and sat beside him. The reception moved around them, but their small corner of it had gone quiet. She had been building toward one question since the garden. She asked it plainly, without armour. “What was given to you, Owen? Nine years ago. What was it that saved your life?”
Owen turned to face her. He had known this question was coming since Richard’s phone call three months ago. He didn’t answer in words. He reached across the table and took Helen’s hand, gently but without hesitation, and guided it toward his chest, and pressed it there, and waited.