Chapter 5 - The Side Door
Dad didn't put me down. He held me against his suit and I could hear his heart beating fast under the white shirt. The ballroom was loud with music and glasses clinking, and the lights from the chandeliers made everything look yellow and warm. Grandmother stood by the big white cake with the roses on it. She was still holding her champagne glass. She smiled at the people watching us, but her mouth was tight.
I kept the plastic bag squished under my arm and the bitten roll in my hand. Crumbs got on Dad's jacket. I tried to brush them off.
Dad stopped a few feet from Grandmother, close to the dark curtain where the hallway door was. I could feel the cold air coming from behind that curtain. It smelled different from the ballroom, like metal and cleaning spray.
"Mother," Dad said. His voice was low. He wasn't yelling, but his arm got tighter around me. "The service hallway door. The exit to the side lot. It's locked."
Grandmother took a small sip from her glass. She didn't look at me. She looked at Dad like he was making a mistake in front of everybody.
"Andrew, this is a seated dinner," she said. She kept her voice sweet. "Staff have rules for a reason. That corridor is not for guests. You know how it looks if someone walks in that way."
A lady in a black dress walked past with a tray of little cups. The music kept playing. Nobody stopped dancing except the two men near the columns who were watching us.
Dad moved a step closer to the curtain. I could see the edge of the gray hallway behind it where the light was white and cold.
"I'm not asking about guests," he said. "I'm asking about my wife. She is outside that door right now."
My stomach hurt when he said that. I squeezed the bitten roll harder. It got soft in my hand where my fingers pressed. I didn't want it to break apart, so I held it against my shirt. The pink shirt was already stained. I tried to cover the spot with the bread bag.
Grandmother set her champagne glass down on the table next to the cake. She smoothed the front of her purple dress. Her pearl necklace moved when she breathed.
"She was not dressed for this room," she said, quieter now. "I told the staff no reentry that way. No sneakers, no side doors. We have donors here. Photographers. I did what I had to do to protect the evening."
I didn't understand all of the words, but I understood her eyes. She looked at my shirt and at the bag in my lap and then looked away fast. My face felt hot.
Dad breathed in through his nose. I felt his chest go up and down.
"You told them to bolt it?" he asked.
"It was a staff instruction," Grandmother said. "For safety. For dress code."
A server came around the cake carrying an empty silver tray. He was young, with short hair, and his black vest was too big. He must have heard because he stopped and looked scared.
Dad turned to him. "Son, the side door at the end of the service hallway. Is it bolted?"
The server glanced at Grandmother, then down at the floor. He nodded once.
"Yes, sir," he said. His voice shook a little. "We were told to bolt it from the inside. No one in or out that way during speeches. Mrs. ordered it."
The cold from behind the curtain touched the back of my legs. I thought about Mom out there in the dark parking lot with the cars and the trash cans. I thought about how her hands had been cold when she gave me the bag.
Dad was quiet for a second. The band played something bright with trumpets. A woman laughed too loud near the cake.
"So she is still out there," Dad said. It wasn't really a question. "At the service entrance."
The server nodded again and backed away with his tray. Grandmother picked up her glass again. Her hand was steady.
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"Andrew, don't make a scene," she whispered. "Take her to clean up. We'll send someone when it's convenient."
Dad didn't move toward the tables. He looked down at me, then back at the curtain and the cold light behind it. I held my breath and pressed the roll so tight my knuckles turned white.
