Chapter 1 - The Altar Stopped Feeling Like A Wedding
The flowers were too white. That was what I kept looking at because I didn't want to look at her. The arch curved over Dad and Claire with roses packed so tight the lights made them glow, and the air smelled sweet and warm like a church on Easter. My shirt stuck cold to my back and my hair dripped down my neck. Dad stood in his black tuxedo in front of me, his shoulders squared, and Claire stood in her white lace gown with the long sheer sleeves and her veil pinned up behind her blonde hair. They were supposed to look happy. Nobody breathed like anyone was happy.
Claire saw me first. Her smile stayed on for the people in the chairs, but her eyes went wide and fixed on me, then on Dad. She was at her peak, perfect makeup and flowers and music just stopped, and everything she had planned was coming apart because I had walked in wet.
My name is Sophie. I was thirteen and I wasn't supposed to be there that morning.
The organ had gone quiet. I could hear my own breathing and the soft rustle of Claire's dress when she shifted her weight. Dad hadn't moved since he turned and saw me by the side of the arch. His hand came back behind him without him even looking, finding my wrist, pulling me in close behind his leg. His gold wedding ring caught the light. I stared at that little flash of gold because it was easier than looking at Claire's mouth.
She leaned forward just a little, her hands clasped tight around her bouquet. Her voice came out low and fast, trying to smile through it. "Sophie, don't, Daniel, please, not here."
Dad didn't answer her right away. I felt his fingers tighten around my wrist. My chest was shaking and I knew my voice would shake too. I had practiced what I would say all the way there in the wet seat, but when I looked up at the back of his tuxedo jacket, only one thing came out. "We've never been to Portugal."
Somebody in the front row coughed. Claire's face changed. She paled under her makeup and her mouth opened a little and then closed. Her eyes darted from me to Dad to the guests and back to me. "Daniel, you don't understand," she said.
Dad turned his head just enough to look at her. His jaw was tight. He wasn't yelling. He spoke low, the way he did when he was trying not to scare us and was already angry. "Don't tell my daughter to stop."
Then he let go of my wrist. I thought he was going to step toward Claire. He didn't. He brought his left hand up in front of him and with his right hand he grabbed the gold wedding ring on his finger. I watched his knuckles whiten. The ring stuck for a second on the joint, then slid free. He held it between his thumb and finger for a moment, staring at it. The whole room was so quiet I could hear the wet drop fall from my hair onto the floor.
Claire stared at his empty hand. Her bouquet trembled. Tears stood in her eyes but she didn't cry. She mouthed his name again and shook her head.
Dad stepped back and shifted his weight, putting himself square between us. I grabbed a handful of his jacket and pressed my forehead almost against his arm. Behind us, someone whispered. Nobody stood up. Nobody told us to leave.
May you like
He looked down at me then, just a quick glance, his face softer for half a second. "What did you say, baby?" he asked. "About Portugal?"
My throat closed. I could feel Claire watching me, begging me without words to be quiet. I tightened my grip on his jacket and said it before I could stop myself. "She told us you sold our house."
