Chapter 12 - Coffee Service Put Me Beside Him Again
The coffee cart weighed more than it looked. I knew it before I touched the handle because I'd watched Marta push it in from the kitchen, her wrist flexing under the weight of the silver pot. When Mr. Hale nodded toward me, I understood. He wanted me on it. He wanted me moving again, in front of everyone.
My right shoe was still on. The bandage underneath had gone damp with sweat and bunched at the edge. Each step from the side table to the cart sent a hot line up through my ankle into my calf.
I gripped the cart with both hands and pushed. The wheels caught for half a second on the edge of the rug, then rolled. The crystal cups rattled faintly in their saucers. I kept my eyes on them so I wouldn't have to look at the table.
Mr. Hale watched me come around the left side. He didn't say anything. He just shifted his water glass an inch to make room, like that was approval.
Mr. Romano was at the far end, turned a little in his chair. He hadn't asked for coffee yet. No one at that end had.
"Start there," Mr. Hale said quietly, and tipped his chin toward Mr. Romano's side.
I nodded and steered the cart down the length of the dark wood. The chandeliers threw small moving lights across the silver as I went. I could smell the coffee and the wax from the candles and the white flowers going soft in the centerpiece.
By the time I stopped beside Mr. Romano, my ankle was throbbing in a steady beat. I locked the wheel with my foot — my left foot — and reached for the first cup.
"Careful," Mr. Romano said. It wasn't loud. He put his hand near the edge of the cart, not touching me, just steadying it. "I've got it."
I glanced at him. His beard caught the light. The tattoos moved at his neck when he swallowed.
"Thank you," I said.
I poured. My hand shook once and a few drops hit the saucer. I wiped them with my thumb before I set it down in front of the empty place beside him. The second cup I poured for him. The steam rose between us.
He waited until I set the pot back down. "How's the ankle holding up?" he asked. His voice stayed low, under the talk from the other end of the table.
I should have said fine. That was what Mr. Hale wanted to hear. It's probably just a blister. Say blister and keep moving.
I looked at the cart instead. "It's worse than that," I said. My voice came out smaller than I meant. "It hurts more than a blister would."
It was the first true thing I'd said all night about it. My chest went tight after I said it, like I'd taken up too much space.
Mr. Romano didn't react right away. He picked up his cup, then put it back down without drinking. "Do you want me to ask him for seated duty for you?" he said. "Just for the rest of service. Pouring from the side table. No walking the room. I can ask Hale so it doesn't come from you."
My stomach dropped. I looked fast toward Mr. Hale. He was listening to the man on his right, but his eyes kept cutting to us.
"No," I said. "Please don't."
"Emma—"
"If you ask, he'll know I said something," I said. I kept my hands on the cart handle. My knuckles were white. "It'll be worse after. When you all leave. I still have to work here."
That was as close as I could get to explaining it. I couldn't say who'd hurried me down the back stairs with a tray that was too heavy, who'd told me to keep quiet about the twist and the swelling. Not with Mr. Hale eight feet away.
Mr. Romano studied me for a second. He didn't push. He nodded once, short.
"All right," he said. "I won't ask."
Relief hit so fast my eyes burned. I blinked it back and unlocked the cart wheel.
"But listen," he added, quieter. "When we break for dessert, there's a hallway past the kitchen doors. Second door on the left stays unlocked. It leads out to the side porch. If you need air — or if you need to not be in here for five minutes — you can step out there. No one will stop you. I'll make sure of it."
I stared at him. "Why are you telling me that?"
"So you have a choice," he said. "You don't have to use it. But you should know it's there."
From the head of the table, Mr. Hale cleared his throat. "Emma."
I straightened. "Coming," I said.
May you like
I pushed the cart forward another foot, toward the next guest. My ankle flared when I put weight on it. I bit the inside of my cheek and kept going.
Behind me, I heard Mr. Romano pick up his coffee cup. He didn't say anything else. He didn't have to. The hallway door and the porch were still in my head with every step I took.
