It was with great reluctance that Jo agreed to attend today's luncheon with her mother. Tiffany Smith was tolerant of Jo's month long absences, her reluctance to conform to traditional standards, even her absolute refusal to consider a husband. However, what her mother refused to accept was her determination to shutter herself inside for month's on ends. The accident had obviously ruined Jo's previously abundant confidence — almost as though such confidence came exclusively from her ability to perform magic at will — and Tiffany refused to abide by it.

She excused herself from her mother's side as soon as she could do so without drawing attention. The event was a bit much for the still recovering brunette, even if her headaches had more or less faded into being caused only by overexertion. Jo stood alone in a far corner silently watching the mingling until the bell rang for everyone to take their seats. Oh, no. In the flurry of activity, Jo lost track of Tiffany and hadn't the slightest idea where their table was. Too embarrassed to admit such a fault, she remained (mostly) hidden in the corner until she spotted the oh-so-familiar face of J. Alfred Darrow.

The words he used to comfort her that day in his flat was never far from her mind, for she did frequently believe it was her own folly that caused her injury and the death of two others. Had she listened, had she heeded the warnings, perhaps her tale of woe would be nonexistent today.

It was by instinct that she walked across the room with the determination to take the single remaining free chair, that just so happened to be directly across from her dear friend. "I wouldn't say anyone," Jo said cheerfully in lieu of greeting as she sat down. "I certainly hope you know me. Hello Miss Fisk, Mr Darrow."