Chapter 9 - The Gala Speech That Broke
I didn't want to look at her again, but Dad kept his hand on my shoulder and turned me just enough that I could see her standing near the double doors. The bat was still on the floor where she'd dropped it. Nobody had picked it up. It just sat there on the white marble like everyone was afraid touching it would mean they were part of it.
The room had gone quiet after they talked to me and Lily separately. A woman from the event staff, the one with the clipboard, stood off to the side whispering to two men in suits. The chandeliers felt too bright. My eyes hurt from crying.
Then Mrs. Keller, one of the donors in a silver dress, cleared her throat and said it too loud, like she didn't mean for everyone to hear.
"Well, it started during her speech."
Dad looked up. "What started?"
Mrs. Keller glanced at the woman in burgundy, then back at Dad. Her husband touched her arm like he wanted her to stop, but she shook him off.
"She was at the podium. They were doing the recognition for the foundation families. And the little girl started crying," she said. "Loud. And the boy knocked the program off the table. It clattered. Everyone turned."
I remembered it then. The podium light was right in my eyes. Lily had been tugging my sleeve because her shoe strap broke and her foot hurt. She'd started that hiccup-cry she gets when she's trying not to. I'd reached for the program to fan her and knocked it off the edge. It hit the marble and slapped loud. A couple people laughed a little, not mean, just surprised.
The woman in burgundy had stopped mid-sentence. I could still see her smile freezing.
"You could tell she was embarrassed," Mrs. Keller said. "She tried to joke about it. Said something like, kids will be kids. But after, in the side hall—"
"We heard her," a younger man in a tux cut in from near the sconces. "She said they ruined her moment. Her exact words."
My stomach tightened. Dad's hand got heavier on my shoulder.
The woman in burgundy finally spoke. Her hair had fallen loose and her voice sounded scratched. "I worked for weeks on that speech. Do you know what it's like to stand up there with donors watching and your—" She stopped and looked at us. "And they start wailing like they weren't taught better? People were filming."
Dad stood up slowly. I felt the air move when he did. "So you were embarrassed."
She stared at him. "Don't twist it. They needed to learn—"
"You were embarrassed in front of donors," Dad said. His voice stayed low, but it shook. "Say it plain."
She crossed her arms over the velvet dress. Her heeled sandal scraped the marble. "Fine. Yes. I was humiliated. She had me up there talking about family values while my own— while they were making a scene. Everyone was staring at me."
Lily pressed closer to my side. I could feel her breathing fast against my vest.
Dad took a step toward the bat, not touching it, just standing between it and us. "So you grabbed that thing to scare them straight?"
"I didn't— I just wanted them to listen," she said. "They wouldn't stop crying. I told them to be quiet and they wouldn't."
"You raised a bat over my kids," Dad said. "That's not discipline. That's you using fear because you got embarrassed."
The room went completely still. Even the staff woman stopped writing. The woman in burgundy opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes went shiny, but angry, not sorry.
"It wasn't about safety," I said before I realized I'd spoken out loud.
Dad looked down at me. "What, buddy?"
My throat hurt. I kept my eyes on the bat. "She wasn't mad because we were gonna get hurt. She was mad because we made her look bad."
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Nobody corrected me. Mrs. Keller put her hand over her mouth again. The young man in the tux looked away. The woman in burgundy stared at me like I'd said something she couldn't take back.
Dad knelt back down next to me and Lily and pulled us in tight. I could feel his stubble against my hair. He didn't say anything else to her right then. He didn't have to.
