Chapter 14 - Out From Chandeliers
Dad didn't put me down. He just tightened his arms around me and turned us away from Grandmother and the cake.
I could see over his shoulder as he walked. The chandeliers were too bright above us. The light hit the glasses on the tables and made little sharp spots that hurt my eyes. People didn't dance anymore. They just stood and watched us.
Mom walked close on Dad's left side. I heard her shoes on the floor. She kept one hand on Dad's sleeve. Her other hand held my bag of rolls because I couldn't hold it right with my face pressed in. The plastic crinkled every time she took a step.
A man in a gray suit moved out of our way near a column. A lady with red lipstick whispered something to another lady and then stopped when Dad looked at her. The music was still playing but it sounded far away, like from another room.
Dad walked steady. I felt his tie brush my arm. He smelled like soap and the warm air from the ballroom. My bitten roll was still in my hand, getting soft where I'd held it too long.
We passed the long table where the cake sat. White roses. Three layers. I saw a smudge on the bottom plate where someone had touched the frosting. Grandmother was still standing there. She didn't follow us. She held her champagne glass up in front of her dress with both hands now, like she was cold. Her mouth was a straight line. She watched us go.
Mom didn't look back at her. She looked at the doors ahead.
The doors to the hallway were heavy and dark wood with gold handles. A man who worked there pulled one open for us. The warm air left as soon as we stepped through.
The hallway was cold. The fluorescent lights buzzed over us. It smelled like mop water and old concrete. I shivered once and Dad pulled me closer.
"It's cold in here, huh?" he said low, just for me.
I nodded against his shoulder. My pink shirt felt damp where I'd cried on it. My blue pants stuck to the backs of my knees. But the cold felt better than all those eyes. Nobody was whispering in here. There was just the buzz and our footsteps.
The metal tray was still on the floor where I'd left it. It looked dull under the white light. Dad stopped beside it. He looked down at it for a second.
Mom bent down and picked it up. She didn't say anything. She just held it flat against her side with the bag. A couple crumbs fell off and hit the concrete.
I stared at that spot. That was where I'd been crouching when Dad found me. The wall had a gray mark where my shoe had rubbed. The bag had sat right there.
Dad shifted me higher on his hip. "You okay?" he asked Mom.
She breathed out. "Yeah," she said. She put her hand on my back. Her hand was cool from holding the tray. "You still got your roll, baby?"
I held it up a little so she could see. "Uh-huh."
"Good," she said. She smoothed my ponytail with her fingers. They shook just a little.
We stood there in the quiet. Behind the closed doors I could hear the music start up louder again, like the party was trying to pretend we hadn't left. In front of us the hallway stretched long toward the back doors with the little wired windows. I could see night outside through them.
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Dad started walking again, slow. Mom walked with us. The lights clicked and hummed above each section we passed. My head bobbed on his shoulder with each step.
I wasn't scared of the hallway now. Not with both of them here.
