Chapter 4 - Second Pour
I made it back to the long table with the water pitcher sweating against my palm.
That was the trick Rosa taught me on my first banquet. If your hands shake, carry something cold and heavy. People blame the condensation. They don't look at your face. I kept my eyes on the rims of the glasses and moved left to right down the side opposite the windows, where the daylight was too bright off the silver chargers.
I could feel them before I could see them. Vivian in red at the center, Marcus right beside her.
She'd recovered. That was the first thing I noticed. Her voice was back to that smooth hostess pitch, laughing with the older woman across from her about the florist being late. The cut-crystal stemmed glass was back in her hands, both hands wrapped around the bowl like she was warming it. She didn't drink. She just held it. When I got closer I saw her diamond drop necklace catch the chandelier light every time she turned her head.
Marcus wasn't talking. He was turned a quarter away from her, watching the table. Watching me.
I started with the far end. "Water, ma'am?" My voice came out thinner than I wanted. The woman nodded without looking up. I poured. The pitcher was heavy and I had to use both hands to keep the spout steady. My sleeve rode up half an inch. I tugged it back down fast with my wrist.
By the time I worked my way toward them, Vivian was mid-story.
"—and I told the kitchen, just keep it simple, but you know how it gets back there," she said, smiling. She glanced up at me as I approached and that smile didn't move. "Oh, perfect timing. Emma's back and perfectly composed. See?"
I didn't answer. I moved to the guest to Marcus's left and lifted the water glass slightly to pour.
Marcus shifted in his black suit. I saw the edge of the ink climb above his white open collar when he turned his head toward Vivian. His voice was low, almost lazy. Not like a challenge. Like curiosity.
"What time did that happen?" he asked. "The thing in the kitchen."
Vivian laughed a little. "Oh, right before service. During plating. It was nothing. Just a little mishap."
"Right before we sat?" he said.
"Mm-hm. Everybody was rushing." She lifted her glass a fraction, both hands still on it. "You know how kitchens are."
I kept pouring. The water hit the glass a little too fast and rose too high. I stopped, set the pitcher down soft against the white tablecloth so it wouldn't clink.
Marcus nodded. "Who was on with her?"
Vivian's fingers tightened around the crystal. Just a fraction. "I didn't catch all that. One of the leads was back there. Doyle, I think. It was handled."
At the name my stomach dropped. I didn't mean to react. I swear I tried to keep my face still. But my left hand jerked where it rested on the back of the gold chair, and a little water sloshed over the rim onto the cloth. A dark spot spread fast.
"Sorry," I whispered. "Sorry, I'll get that."
I reached for the folded napkin tucked at my waist. My hand was shaking for real now. I blotted at the spot while the ice shifted in the glass.
Vivian kept talking over me. "See what I mean? She's just tired. Long shift, hot kitchen. Overly sensitive today."
"Is she?" Marcus said. Quiet. Same two words as before, but this time not to me. To her.
He wasn't looking at her, though. He was looking at my hand on the chair back. At the cuff I'd pulled down. I felt heat climb up my neck and I forced myself to let go and pick up the pitcher again.
"Emma," Vivian said, bright now. "Why don't you top off Mr. Hale's water too, and then check on bread?"
It wasn't a request. It was a dismissal with a smile.
I stepped around behind Marcus to get to his glass. Up close I could see the beard along his jaw, the slicked-back hair, the watch on his wrist. He didn't move away. He sat very still while I poured, and I tried not to breathe too loud.
"When you say mishap," he said to Vivian, without taking his eyes off the pitcher in my hands, "you mean something spilled? Something broke?"
Vivian paused. Just half a beat. "A tray. A lot of noise. She got startled. That's all it was."
The water in Marcus's glass reached the line. I stopped. My thumb was pressed white against the pitcher handle.
Marcus finally looked up at Vivian. "I see," he said.
He didn't say anything else. He didn't look back at me. He leaned back in his chair and picked up his own fork, and the conversation around us started to move again, guests turning to each other, silverware scraping faintly on plates.
May you like
But as I lifted the pitcher and stepped back, I caught it out of the corner of my eye. His gaze flicked once, fast, to my sleeve. To the spot I'd kept tugging down. Then back to his plate.
He knew I was lying by staying quiet. And he wasn't going to say it out loud. Not here.
