Chapter 5
The applause kept going after Dad stepped back from the podium. People stood up around the round tables and the chandeliers threw light across all of it. Vanessa stayed beside him with her hand on his arm, the pearls catching that light every time she turned her head. I watched Mom. She didn't clap. Her hands were flat on the edge of the table and her breathing was loud enough I could hear it.
Mom leaned toward me. "I need to talk to him before the photos," she whispered. "Not out here."
I nodded. She wasn't looking at Dad anymore. She was looking at the side of the stage where a woman with a headset and a clipboard was guiding Dad and Vanessa behind the black curtain. There was a narrow doorway back there I'd seen the waiters use. Mom brushed under her eyes with her fingertips and stood up. She squeezed my hand once.
"Stay with me, okay?"
We had to move through the tables while everyone was mingling. Men were getting up to get drinks and women were fixing their dresses for the photographer who was setting up his backdrop near the stage. The air smelled like coffee and perfume. Mom walked straight toward the woman with the headset. The woman's badge said Hotel Coordinator.
Mom kept her voice low. "Excuse me. Is there a way I could have two minutes with my husband before the photos start? It's important. Just two minutes."
The coordinator glanced toward the curtain. "They're in the dressing suite for touch-ups. It's pretty tight back there."
"I understand," Mom said. She didn't raise her voice. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. He'll want to hear it before he goes back out."
The woman looked at me, then at Mom's face, and I saw her decide. "Hallway behind the stage, first door on the left. Knock first. They're on a schedule."
"Thank you," Mom said.
The hallway behind the ballroom was different. The carpet was gray and thin and the walls were plain white. No chandeliers. Just bright overhead lights and a cart with folded tablecloths. I could hear the ballroom murmur through the wall and the clink of glasses from the bar. A small sign on the door said Private — Dressing Suite. The door was closed. We could hear someone laughing inside, Vanessa's voice.
Mom knocked. Two soft knocks. She straightened her shoulders. I stood right next to her and held my silver clutch with both hands. My palms were damp.
The door opened about a foot and Vanessa was there. She hadn't taken the pearls off. They sat exactly the same against the champagne satin, two rows, perfect. Her lipstick was fresh. She looked at Mom, then down at me, and smiled like we were supposed to be happy to see her.
"Hi," she said.
Mom said, "Is he available? I need to speak to him privately for a minute."
Vanessa didn't move to let us in. She kept one hand on the doorframe. Her other hand drifted up and touched the pearls lightly.
"He's changing his jacket," she said. "Can I help with something?"
"It's about the necklace you're wearing," Mom said. Her voice was even. "I need to speak to him directly."
Vanessa's fingers stayed on the pearls. She tilted her head a little.
"He gave these to me," she said. "Properly. He wanted me to have something meaningful to wear tonight. He said they were important and he wanted me to feel part of the family."
I felt my chest get tight. I looked at Mom to see what she would do.
Mom didn't reach for the necklace. She didn't step forward. She took a small breath and let it out slowly.
"They were my mother's," Mom said. "They were in my jewelry box in my apartment. He didn't ask."
Vanessa's smile thinned. "He said you two were separated and you weren't using them. He said it was fine."
"It wasn't fine," Mom said. Quietly. "And I'm not going to beg you in a hallway for something that wasn't yours to receive."
Vanessa let go of the doorframe and crossed her arms. The pearls shifted against her dress.
"I don't think it's fair to make this my problem," she said. "He gave them to me. If you have an issue, you should take it up with him. But I'm not taking them off because you changed your mind."
Mom looked at her for a long second. Her eyes were red but she wasn't crying anymore. She gave a small nod, like she was filing something away.
"I'm asking to speak to him," Mom said again. "Two minutes. Without an interpreter."
Vanessa glanced back into the room. I couldn't see Dad. I heard him cough somewhere inside.
"He's busy," Vanessa said. "The photographer is waiting. Maybe after."
She started to close the door. Not fast. Slowly, like she was doing us a favor by not slamming it.
Mom put her hand out, not to stop the door, just to hold the space. "Tell him I'll be at our table until the photos are done. Then we're leaving."
Vanessa nodded once. "I'll tell him."
The door clicked shut. The lock turned. In the hallway the overhead light buzzed. Mom stood there with her hand still half-raised, then let it fall to her side. She didn't knock again.
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"Okay," she whispered, more to herself than to me. "Okay."
She turned and put her arm around my shoulders. Her hand was shaking a little against my blue dress. We walked back toward the ballroom the way we came, past the cart of tablecloths, and the door stayed closed behind us.
