Chapter 5 - Her Hand Closed Around His Shoulder
I didn't hear her coming because the band had started again on the other end of the roof. A slow number with a brushed snare that made the glasses on the high tops hum. The boy was still holding the watch between us, his thumb on the edge of the lid like he was afraid it would snap shut, when a shadow cut across the warm light on his face.
I looked up and she was there.
She was younger than I'd expected, maybe early thirties, dark hair pulled into a low ponytail, a plain black dress that didn't belong at a charity gala. No jewelry. Her eyes went first to the boy, doing that quick scan mothers do, hands and mouth and shoes, and then to me, and then down to the brass in his hands.
"Milo." Her voice was steady but a half-step too fast. "There you are."
He didn't flinch. He leaned a fraction closer to me. That tiny shift hit me harder than anything he'd said.
"I told you to stay by the dessert table," she said, and she put her hand on his shoulder. Not hard. Just closed around it.
"He's fine," I said. My throat was raw. "He was just—he was showing me—"
I stopped. The watch was open. The little photo caught the light. I saw her see it.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. She didn't gasp or step back, but her breathing changed. I knew that change. I'd felt it in my own chest a minute earlier.
"Milo, close that up," she said quietly.
"Mom, this is—" he started.
"I know who this is," she cut in, too sharp, then softened it. "I'm sorry. This is Ms.—"
"Elena," I said.
She nodded like the name meant something and also nothing. "I'm Sarah. Thank you for keeping an eye on him. He wanders when there's music."
It was polite. It was also a wall going up brick by brick. She moved half a step forward, putting her body between me and him without making it look like that.
I tried to keep my hands still. My clutch was damp where I'd been holding it. "He asked me if I'd lost something," I said. "That watch. I—I've seen one like it."
Sarah glanced at the watch again, then away. "It's his. He brings it everywhere. Don't you, baby?"
Milo looked up at her, worried now. "I was just asking her about the lady."
"I know," Sarah said. "We talked about not doing that with people we don't know, remember?"
The words landed flat and practiced. I could tell she'd said them before. He nodded and closed the watch with both hands, careful, like it might break. The click was small and final.
I crouched a little before I could stop myself, so I was closer to his level. The satin of my dress pulled tight across my knee. "You did nothing wrong," I told him.
Sarah watched me do it. I felt her measuring how close I was, how long I looked at him.
"Are you with the foundation?" she asked me.
"I'm on the board," I said. "This is—my husband's table was inside. I just came out for air."
It sounded thin even to me. My earrings swung forward when I leaned and I had to push one back. My eyes were still wet. She could see that.
"Are you okay?" she asked, and for a second her voice wasn't guarded. It was just a woman asking another woman.
I almost told her. The photo. The name Clara beating in my head. Instead I said, "He surprised me. That's all."
A waiter passed with a tray of champagne and Sarah shook her head without looking. Behind her, the city glowed low and orange through the glass railing. Someone laughed too loud near the heaters.
Sarah bent and held out her hand to Milo. "Let me hold that for a minute, okay? It'll be safer in my purse."
He hesitated. He looked at me. "Can she hear it?"
My stomach dropped.
"Not tonight," Sarah said quickly. "Give it to Mom."
He placed the chain in her palm, slow, letting the brass pool there. She closed her fist around it and slipped it into a small black purse and zipped it. The sound of that zipper closed something in me too.
I stood up. "Sarah, I don't want to overstep," I said. "But if he ever wants to talk about—where it came from. I'd be glad to listen."
Her face didn't move, but her eyes flicked to my dress, my earrings, the party around us, and back. Two different worlds trying to figure out how we'd collided out here by the railing.
"He's got a lot of questions," she said after a pause. "He's at that age."
"I understand," I said. And I did, in the worst way.
She started to turn, her hand back on Milo's shoulder, steering him toward the stairs. He twisted to look at me as they went.
"Wait," I said.
They both stopped.
I fumbled my clutch open. My fingers shook pulling out one of the foundation cards I kept for donors. Thick stock, my name embossed. I held it out. "In case—if he loses it, or if you need anything. About the—"
I didn't finish. Sarah looked at the card for a long moment. I thought she would leave it in my hand.
Then she took it, slid it into the side pocket of that purse without reading it. "Thank you," she said.
"Mom," Milo whispered, tugging her sleeve. "Tell her bye."
Sarah's mouth pressed together. "Say goodnight," she told him.
"Goodnight," he said to me. His eyes were still on mine, earnest and tired.
May you like
"Goodnight, Milo," I said.
She led him toward the crowd, one hand on his back now, her purse held tight against her side. At the edge of the lights he looked back once more. Then a group of men in tuxedos closed between us, and they were gone.
