Daddy, I Saved This Bread For Mommy While The Champagne Kept Flowing...

The hallway smelled like wet cardboard and onions.

It was narrower than the ballroom, with gray walls and bright lights that made everybody look tired. Daddy walked beside me instead of carrying me. He kept hold of my hand, but he let me choose how fast we went.

Mara followed us. Beatrice stayed behind the doors.

I heard her say something to a man in a black jacket. I couldn't understand the words, only the sharp sound of them.

At the end of the hall, a metal door stood open to the loading area. Cold air pushed inside. A white van idled beyond the dock, its headlights shining over stacks of folded tables.

Mara pointed to a plastic cart near the wall.

The cart was empty except for a torn label stuck to one side. WEST ROOM. DINNER SERVICE. 7:30.

Daddy bent over it. He touched the label with one finger but didn't peel it away.

"Was this here when you saw her?" he asked.

Mara nodded. "The box was on top. Two men moved it toward the side entrance."

"Why?"

"I asked. They said the west room was being reset."

Daddy looked at me. "Were you in the west room?"

I shook my head.

"Did somebody give you the bread?"

I looked at the piece in my hand. It had a bite missing from one corner. I remembered the long hallway before the ballroom, the dark coat in front of us, the plate carried past my face.

"A lady dropped it," I said.

Mara lowered her clipboard. "Where?"

"Near the kitchen."

Daddy's expression stayed calm, but his eyes moved to the service doors.

"Did you take it from the floor?"

I nodded.

"Why didn't you ask for another piece?"

I stared at the bread.

Because people had been looking at me. Because the kitchen door had shut. Because Mommy had said bread was still food even when it touched the ground. Because Daddy had told me not to let go of him.

I couldn't make all of that fit into an answer.

Daddy crouched. "You can tell me later."

Mara stepped closer. "The kitchen keeps a staff meal basket. If she was there, there should've been something recorded."

"Recorded?" Daddy asked.

"Every meal that leaves the kitchen is counted. Mrs. Hall tracks the numbers."

I looked at the clipboard. There were columns of writing and several lines crossed out in red.

Daddy reached for it, then stopped before touching it. "Can I see?"

Mara hesitated. "I shouldn't show you private event records."

"Then don't show me private records. Tell me whether the basket was supposed to be full."

Mara looked toward the ballroom doors. "It was supposed to have twelve meals."

"How many were there?"

"None."

The van engine coughed outside. My fingers had started to hurt around the bread.

Daddy noticed. "You can loosen your hand."

"No."

"You don't have to give it to me."

"I know."

He sat on an overturned crate so his face was level with mine. "What do you want to do with it?"

"Take it to Mommy."

"Okay."

His answer came too quickly. It made my chest hurt.

Mara looked away, giving us a little space. Daddy took a clean napkin from his pocket and held it out.

"For your hand," he said.

I wrapped the bread in the napkin but didn't let go of it.

The kitchen doors swung open. A young man in a white coat pushed out a rack of empty trays. He saw us and stopped.

Mara stepped into his path. "Where are the west room rolls?"

His eyes went to the clipboard. "Ask Mrs. Hall."

"She sent me to find out."

"No, she didn't."

Mara's face tightened.

Daddy stood. "What's your name?"

The young man looked frightened. "Evan."

"Did you see my daughter near the kitchen?"

Evan glanced at me. "There were people everywhere."

"That's not what I asked."

Evan swallowed. "I saw a child by the pantry."

"Was she alone?"

He shook his head. "A woman was with her."

"What woman?"

"I don't know. She had a blue scarf."

The answer landed in the space between us. Daddy's shoulders changed. He looked down at me.

"Mommy?" he asked.

I didn't answer.

Evan pushed the rack backward. "I have to go."

Mara caught the edge of it. "Who took the west room food?"

Evan's eyes filled with worry. "It wasn't taken. It was redirected."

"By who?"

He pulled the rack free. "I don't know."

The kitchen doors shut behind him.

Daddy didn't chase him. He looked at me instead.

"Where is your mom?" he asked.

My throat felt scraped raw.

"She said she'd wait by the fountain."

"There isn't a fountain here."

"I know."

Mara stepped close. "What fountain?"

I looked at the loading dock, the gray pavement, and the dark road beyond it.

"The one by the bus stop," I said. "The broken one."

Daddy closed his eyes for half a second. Then he opened them and took out his phone.

"First, we're getting you somewhere warm," he said. "Then we find the bus stop."

Mara shook her head. "There are no buses running from this road tonight."

Daddy looked at her.

She pointed toward the parking lot. "I can drive you."

He did not answer right away.

Mara kept her hands visible at her sides. "You don't know me. You shouldn't trust me. But your daughter is cold, and the nearest diner is three miles away."

Daddy studied her face. "Why help us?"

Mara glanced at the empty cart.

"Because I saw that box leave," she said. "And because I should've stopped it."

Daddy slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"Fine," he said. "You drive. We stay together."