Chapter 7 - The Green Dress At The Drinks Table
The murmuring got louder after nobody moved. Not loud, just that low party hum where people pretend they aren't watching. I could feel the heat from the fireplace on my left and the cold still coming off the open door behind us. My boots left a wet print on the marble every time I shifted my weight.
The woman in green didn't look at me anymore. She turned her smile on.
She went to the drinks table like nothing had happened. Her heels clicked on the marble. She picked up a crystal glass with two fingers and held it out toward the man and woman standing near the decanters.
"I'm so sorry about this," she said. Her voice was suddenly light and bright, the kind she'd use when Dad's friends came over for Christmas pictures. "His grandfather drove a long way in the snow. He's confused and overtired. You know how it is at his age."
Grandpa's hand stayed on my shoulder. I felt his fingers tighten just a little. He didn't answer right away. He breathed in through his nose.
She kept going, tilting her head. "We were playing a game. I told him he got to be in charge of the coats. He loves having a job." She laughed a little, looking right at the older woman by the drinks table. "Kids and their chores, right? He made such a mountain out of them."
My sister made a small sound next to me. Not a word. Just air. I looked up at her and her mouth was pressed flat. Her cream sweater had a little pull in the sleeve where she'd been twisting it.
Grandpa let a second pass. The brass candlestick was still on the side table, not in anyone's hand now. The three-tier cake stood white and untouched beside the garland.
"M'am," Grandpa said, quiet, to the woman by the drinks table. He didn't raise his voice. It was the same calm he'd used when he said "Don't speak to him like that." "You were standing by the door when we came in. You saw my grandson with the coats on the floor. You heard what was said to him. Could you tell us what you heard?"
The woman with the glass didn't want to. I watched her eyes flick from Grandpa to the woman in green and back. Her husband in the dark suit shifted and looked down at the drinks.
Grandpa waited. He didn't push. He just kept his eyes on her and kept his other hand on my back.
The woman in green smiled wider. "Oh, please, don't put our guests in the middle of a family moment. He's just—"
"Were my words not clear?" Grandpa asked, still to the guest, still even. "What did she say to the boy when he was holding those wet coats?"
The silence stretched. Melting snow kept dripping on the marble by the door with a faint tick. My socks were damp.
The guest woman swallowed. Then she gave a short, reluctant nod toward the woman in green. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"She said, 'You stay with the dirty coats,'" she said, and looked away quickly, down at her glass.
I felt my sister's hand find mine. Her palm was cold. The words landed in the room exactly as they'd sounded when they'd been said to me by the door. No one tried to laugh them off after that.
The woman in green's smile dropped. Her face went still, then tight. The color came up in her neck above her green dress.
"Fine," she said, and her voice snapped back to that sharp edge. She set her glass down hard enough that the stem rattled against the wood of the drinks table. "Fine. You want to make this ugly in front of everyone? Then hear me clearly."
She pointed at the pile of coats still lying on the marble, the bright red scarf on top now soaked through at the edge.
"Leave those coats where they are. Leave those children where they are. And get out of my house," she said. She looked straight at Grandpa. "This is my house. I decide who stays under this roof. Get out of my house and don't come back until you can respect it."
My dad was still by the fireplace. He didn't step forward. He didn't say anything. He just kept his hands in his pockets and stared at the garland.
Grandpa didn't move toward the door. He didn't let go of me either. His overcoat was still damp on the shoulders, and I was still holding his sleeve where I'd grabbed it.
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"No," Grandpa said. It was low and flat. "I'm not leaving them here."
The guests didn't drink. The woman who had spoken stared down at the marble floor. The woman in green stood at the drinks table with both hands now gripping its edge, breathing fast, waiting for someone to agree with her. No one did.
