Chapter 2: Water In My Shoes
The water was colder than I expected for August.
My hand was inside the vest pocket and my fingers had found the phone. It was still there, sealed in the little waterproof pouch I'd taped inside the lining that morning. The record light was warm against my fingertips. I could feel it vibrating once, a tiny buzz that meant it was still running. I gripped it hard and didn't pull it out.
If I pulled it out wet and bleeding in front of all of them, it would look like I planned this.
I let my hand stay where it was.
Someone laughed. Not loud. Just one short sound from the terrace behind me and then it stopped. The fountain water kept moving around my ankles, pale blue going pink near my left leg. I could feel the cut throbbing now that the shock was wearing off, a sharp sting every time the water shifted.
"Maya." It was Carla, the catering captain. She was crouched at the marble rim, not in the water. Her black polo and her headset made her look almost like she belonged to a different event than the guests. She didn't offer a hand. She leaned in close enough that I could smell her perfume over the chlorine and blood. "Honey, you need to get out of there right now. Come on. Don't make this a thing."
I looked at her. Then I looked past her.
The heiress hadn't moved. She was still standing three feet from the fountain's edge in that plum satin dress, holding a champagne flute that wasn't mine. Her smile hadn't changed. If anything it had settled, more composed now, like she was posing for a photo and waiting for me to get out of the frame. The diamond earrings caught the sunset light every time she breathed.
Behind her, the older man in the tuxedo had his hands clasped in front of him. His mouth was still slightly open. He kept glancing from me to the heiress and back down to the water, like he wanted someone else to do something first.
Carla's whisper got lower. "Up. Now. Side steps. We will get you to the back."
I nodded once. The movement sent water dripping off the end of my ponytail and down the back of my white shirt. The shirt was transparent where it was wet. I could feel it clinging to my vest.
I let go of the phone inside the pocket. I left it running.
I put both hands on the marble rim. The stone was slick. I had to press my palms flat and push down hard to get any grip. My right foot found the little submerged step inside the fountain, the one for the maintenance crew. When I put weight on my left leg the cut pulled open and a fresh line of heat shot up my shin.
I didn't make a sound. I breathed through my nose.
Carla finally extended a hand, just fingertips. I took it because I needed the leverage, not because she was helping. She pulled me just enough to get my right knee up onto the edge. Water poured off me in a sheet. My trousers were torn from the knee to mid-calf, the black fabric hanging open to show the skin underneath. Blood was mixing with water and running down into my shoe.
The heiress watched me climb. She didn't step back to give me room. She sipped her champagne.
I got my other foot up and swung my weight over the rim. My vest was heavy and dripping. For a second I was half on, half off, balanced on the marble, and I thought I might go back in. Then my shoes hit the terrace stones.
The sound they made was loud in the quiet. A wet squelch, then another. Every step I took left a pinkish footprint on the pale stone that faded as the water spread. Pain was sharp now, not dull. Each time my left foot pressed down I could feel the fabric rubbing the cut.
Carla was already guiding me by the elbow, not toward the guests, away from them. Past the flaming torch, past the little round tables with the white tablecloths. No one with a gown or a tuxedo moved to help. A couple of women turned their heads to watch me pass. One man held his phone up for a second, then put it down when Carla looked at him.
"Keep walking," Carla murmured. Her fingers were tight around my arm. "Service corridor. You're okay. You're okay. We just need you out of view."
Behind me, I heard the heiress say something very soft to the man beside her. I couldn't make out the words. She was still smiling. I knew that without turning around because I could hear it in the lightness of her voice.
The terrace stones were warm from the sun even though I was freezing wet. I left a trail all the way to the edge where the catering staging area started, where the white tents and the stacked trays were. The other servers had lined up by the kitchen entrance. None of them met my eyes.
I stopped just beyond the line of sight from the guests, on the concrete pad by the ice bins. Water was pooling around my black lace-up shoes. My shin was bleeding steadily now that I was out of the cold water, a thin line down into my sock.
Carla let go of my elbow.
May you like
"Stay here," she said.
And she left me there, dripping, while the gala music kept playing on the terrace.
