Chapter 1 - The Shout Across the Ballroom
The music cut out in the middle of the song and the chandeliers seemed too bright. I could smell flowers and cake and hot candle wax, and my shoes pinched where the strap rubbed my heel. Mrs. Lauren stood past the edge of the dance floor with her veil slipped back off her shoulder, her face red under her makeup, one arm out straight and her finger aimed right at my chest. Everybody turned at once. The clink of forks stopped. Someone laughed once, short, and then swallowed it.
In her other hand she held up nothing, just an empty palm, and then she swung that pointing hand a little like she wanted the whole room to look at what I had. I looked down because everyone else did. There was a little gold circle in my hands and it was warm from where I'd been holding it too tight. That was the contradiction I couldn't fix in my head. I hadn't taken anything, but there it was, sitting in my skin.
My name is Lily, and I was six years old at my dad's wedding.
The ballroom that afternoon had been set for pictures. White walls and tall windows with the sun coming through, round tables with low flowers I wasn't supposed to touch. The reception was in full swing by seven. The DJ had the lights low under the chandeliers. Dad had loosened his dark tie just a little when he danced with me standing on his shoes. Then Lauren couldn't find her ring for the toast, and the planner checked the little pillow and the little box and the table linen.
I remember the close-up part moment by moment. Lauren's drop earrings swung when she turned her head. Her white sleeveless dress made a soft sound when she moved fast. She crossed the floor in her heels and stopped two feet from me. Her eyes were fixed on my closed hands. Open them, she said. I did. The ring rolled a little in my sweaty palm and caught the light. A woman behind me gasped. My dad said my name in a way he'd never said it before, sharp and low.
She stole the ring.
My dad came down to my level but he didn't feel low and safe. His short brown hair was damp at the forehead and his white shirt pulled at his shoulder when he leaned in. His face was stern the way it got when I lied about brushing my teeth, his mouth a flat line. The pink tulle of my dress itched at my neck and my braid had come loose and stuck to my wet cheek. My hands shook so bad the ring clicked against my fingernail. I tried to breathe and couldn't get enough air to get the words out right.
Daddy, I didn't do it, please trust me.
For a second nobody moved. Dad stared at the ring and then at Lauren and then back at me, and I could see him trying to decide which of us to believe in front of all those people. Lauren's hand stayed in the air. A man at the cake table lifted his phone and Dad saw it and his jaw tightened. My eyes burned. I kept thinking if I held still enough, someone would say it was a mistake and the music would start again.
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Then I heard shoes on the wood floor, steady, coming from the side near the guests. The videographer cut through the circle with his black camera riding on top of the gimbal in his hands. He was middle-aged and calm, his dark suit jacket pushed back, and he didn't look at Lauren first. He looked at my dad. He stopped just outside the light and lowered his voice so the microphones wouldn't all catch it, but I was close enough to hear every word.
I recorded the hallway.
