Tricia held the door open for her sister, who carried a large tray with the deviled eggs and a full-sized carrot cake. “Ah, there you are,” Michele called over the cacophony issuing from the speakers. “You can set that down over on that table in the corner.” Angelica nodded and threaded her way through the crowd, which was at least three-deep at the bar. The eats table was loaded with platters of cold cuts, various rolls, condiments, pasta and potato salads, grapes, berries, and pineapple, different cheeses, and cookies. Nigela Ricita had been very generous. Suddenly, the music ended, catching several people off guard, who’d been yelling to be heard. Looking sheepish, they lowered their voices. Within seconds an old Beatles tune—and much quieter—issued from the sound system: “In My Life.” The crowd stopped talking, listening to the haunting lyrics, growing somber. When the music ended, Michele raised her glass.
