Chapter 8 - The Hallway Was Quieter Than The Table
I got out to the hallway with nothing left to carry and my ankle on fire.
Mr. Hale had turned to refill the other end of the table himself. He'd waved me off when I reached for the decanter. "Go get fresh linen," he'd said under his breath, not looking at me. "Be quick." It wasn't kindness. It was to get the limp out of the room for a minute.
The hallway air was cooler. The runner muffled my steps. I held the empty tray against my ribs with both hands and tried to walk normal. The chandelier light didn't reach here, just the small wall sconces, and for a second I let my face do what it wanted. I breathed through my mouth so I wouldn't make a sound.
Behind me the dining room hummed low. Silver against plates. Someone laughed. Then the door clicked.
I knew it was him before I turned. Not from footsteps. From the way the air changed, the way I straightened without deciding to.
Mr. Romano stopped a few feet back, near the framed mirror. He had a folded napkin in his hand like an excuse. He held it up a little.
"They were out at the sideboard," he said. "I said I'd grab one."
It was a lie and we both knew it. But it was a careful lie. It gave me room.
I nodded. "There's more in the pantry. Second shelf."
He didn't move toward the pantry. He didn't move toward me either. He stayed where he was, hands at his sides now, the napkin hanging loose. He looked at the tray first, then at my skirt, then back up. Not staring. Just seeing.
"You've been off it when you can," he said quietly.
I didn't answer right away. My right shoe felt too tight to think around. The bandage had bunched under my sock.
"It's all right," I said. "I'm fine to finish."
"I didn't ask if you were fine," he said. He said it without edge. "I was going to ask when it started hurting. Tonight, or before tonight?"
That was all. Not who. Not how. Just when.
My throat went dry. Mr. Hale's voice was still in my head from the table. It's probably just a blister. Easy words. Words that made everything small enough to wipe away.
I heard myself use them.
"It's probably just a blister," I said. "From this morning. New shoes."
He nodded once. He didn't argue. But something in his eyes changed, just a flicker, like he'd set something down so he wouldn't scare me with it.
"New shoes will do that," he said.
"Yes," I said.
Silence sat between us. The sconce buzzed faint above us. Down the hall the kitchen door swung and banged soft. I tightened my grip on the tray until my knuckles ached.
He glanced toward the dining room door, then back to me. "I'm not going to make you stand here and talk," he said. "You came out to get a minute."
I swallowed. "I need the linen."
"Take your time," he said. He stepped back half a step to give me the wider side of the hall. "I'll say you showed me where they were."
I started to walk past him. My limp slipped out on the second step, sharp enough that I caught the wall with my fingertips. I hated that he saw it.
He didn't reach for me. He just waited until I was steady again.
"Thank you," I whispered.
May you like
He gave a small nod and went back toward the dining room. He didn't rush. The door opened, letting out a wash of warm light and voices, then closed again behind him.
I stood alone in the quiet hall with the empty tray and the lie still ringing in my ears.
