Page 28 of Buttons

Sarah points at me triumphantly. “See? She gets it!”

A chime cuts me off as a notification slides into the top corner of my screen.

[CALENDAR] Julian Plaza: Final Reminder. Children’s Hospital Gala (Tonight, 7:00 p.m.)

Sarah, who had been reaching into her bag for a granola bar, freezes. She squints at the screen. “Julian Plaza?” She darts her eyes between me and the name. “Wait, liketheJulian Plaza?”

I swipe the notification away, but the damage is already done. The browser refreshes, and for a split second, the login name at the top of my donor-tracking software is visible:Elowen Plaza (Admin).

“Elowen?” Beatrix asks, noting my trembling fingers.

“It’s an old account,” I mutter. “I haven’t moved all my files over yet.”

“Shit,” Sarah breathes, the granola bar forgotten. “You’re the wife?”

“Estranged wife.”

She doesn’t care about my correction, because she says, “You’re our in! We were literally discussing connections, and now we’ve got this gala.”

“Most of Seattle’s wealthiest donors will be there,” I say. “One night networking there could do more than a year of bake sales.”

“Perfect!” Sarah claps her hands. “We can crash it!”

Oh gosh. “If anyone associated with the shelter crashes the gala, we’ll never get invited to opportunities like these again. We’ll have to use the invitation, otherwise, they’ll never let you through the door.” The thought of walking into that ballroom alone, facing Julian, makes my stomach hurt.

“But the invitation is in your name,” Beatrix interrupts.

“The organizer knows me well. I’ll ask her to substitute my name for Sarah’s.”

“Me?” Sarah laughs. “I work full-time at the elementary school. I’m teaching night classes at the community center three evenings a week. Tonight’s my only night to catch up on grading.”

“Besides,” Beatrix adds, “Sarah would tell the first condescending rich person exactly where to stick their checkbook.”

“I would not!” Sarah protests, then reconsiders. “Well, okay, I might, but only if they really deserved it.”

“What about you?” I turn to Beatrix, grasping for alternatives. “You’re the shelter director. You know these animals better than anyone.”

Beatrix gestures to her worn jeans and practical boots. “Do I look like I own anything suitable for a black-tie gala? And even if I did, I can’t leave the shelter unattended overnight. Not with Blinxy needing her medication every four hours.”

They’re right, of course. I’m the logical choice. I have the invitation, the connections, the experience. I even have a wardrobe, as I packed formal dresses when I left Julian, not because I expected to need them, but because they were mine.

“I don’t know,” I say, hearing the uncertainty in my voice. “Julian will be there.”

“So?” Sarah’s eyes flash with protective fire. “Screw him. You have every right to be there. Do it for the animals!”

She’s right, I know she is. These animals need funding.

“If I went,” I say slowly, testing the idea, “I could introduce myself as the shelter’s new community liaison. Use my existing connections to open doors.”

“Exactly!” Sarah bounces in her chair. “You’d be amazing. You’re organized, articulate, and you actually care about what happens here.”

“I wouldn’t have much time to prepare,” I continue, thinking aloud. “The gala starts at seven.”

“How much preparation do you need?” Beatrix asks. “You’ve done this before.”

“I’d need to go home and change, and then figure out what to say.”

“So go,” Beatrix stands, decision made in her typical no-nonsense way. “Take the rest of the afternoon. We’ll manage here.”