Chapter 1: The Cloth In My Hands
The chandelier light caught the edge of the cloth in my fist and made it glow. It was just a small off-white cloth, crumpled and warm from how tight I was holding it, but the man in the dark blue suit was staring at it like it was something sharp. He'd dropped down to his knees right there on the ballroom floor so his face was level with mine, his silver-gray hair combed back and his white shirt open at the collar, and the golden light from the wall sconces was all behind him. I could feel my cheeks hot and wet and my shawl slipping off one shoulder.
That didn't make sense. Everyone else in that room was standing tall in fancy dresses and suits, laughing with glasses in their hands, and the woman in the deep burgundy velvet dress with the sparkly blue necklace was at the top of it all, watching everything like she owned the place. But this man wasn't looking at her. He was looking at me, at the cloth I wouldn't let go of, and his hand was real gentle on my arm like he was afraid I'd run.
My name is Ellie. I was seven.
The doors to the ballroom had been open for the gala and the air smelled like perfume and polished wood. Mom had told me to keep the cloth folded and to not show the ring to anyone except him. I'd pushed through the legs of the grown-ups until I was in the middle of the floor, and then he'd seen me crying and knelt down. He leaned in close, his eyes going to my fist, and his breath was slow and quiet.
He said, "Where'd you get that ring? That ring?"
I didn't open my hand right away. Inside the cloth was Mom's thin gold ring, the one she always twisted when she was tired. I could feel it hard against my palm. I sniffed and tried to keep my voice from shaking too much. I said it exactly how I'd practiced on the bus.
"My mom gave it to me before she passed away."
He stared. His mouth opened a little and his eyebrows pulled up. I saw his chest rise and fall fast. Then I said the other part Mom made me memorize.
"Her name is Caroline."
His face changed. All the color seemed to leave it under the warm light. His eyes got wider and his lips parted. He whispered it like he wasn't sure he'd heard me right.
"Caroline?"
Behind him, the woman in burgundy made a small sound. I saw her from the corner of my eye, hands clasped tight in front of her dress, her diamond and sapphire necklace catching the light. Her mouth was open too, but not like his. Hers was terror. She said one word.
"No."
I didn't know if she was talking to me or to him. The man didn't look at her. He kept looking at me, and he put his hand lightly on my shoulder. His fingers were shaking a little. I could hear the soft chatter of the other guests had gone quiet, and everybody's eyes were on us now, blurry in the background behind the bright chandelier.
I thought about Mom in our apartment, how she'd pressed the cloth into my hand and told me not to lose it for anything. I thought maybe this man didn't know who I was at all, and that scared me more than the staring. So I asked him what Mom told me to ask.
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"You knew about Caroline? Mom said you were supposed to know the truth."
He didn't answer. His hand stayed on my shoulder, his eyes still locked on mine, and the woman in burgundy took a quick step forward on her heels. At the far end of the ballroom, the tall double doors started to swing open and two staff in black jackets stepped in, looking straight toward us.
