Chapter 3 - Clean It Up Quietly
The marble felt cold through my tights. I didn't remember sitting down but I was on the floor now, pressed up against Rosa's legs, my arms still locked around her waist. Her uniform smelled like bleach and warm laundry. Somebody's shoe had stepped on the white cloth and dragged it halfway under the banquet table.
Dad was breathing hard. He had put himself between Mom and us, one arm out. His wine glass wasn't in his hand anymore. I saw it on the floor by the column, tipped over on its side. The red wine had spread out in a thin circle and nobody had cleaned it yet. His hands were empty and they were shaking.
People were all around us in a half-circle. I could hear forks stopping. A man coughed. Mrs. Keller from church had her hand over her mouth.
Dad turned his head just enough to talk to them without looking away from Mom. His voice sounded different, low and flat.
"Let's give us some room," he said. "Please go back to your tables. Enjoy dinner. Give us a minute."
Nobody moved at first. Then a chair scraped. Then two men stepped back, and a woman in a green dress pulled her husband by the sleeve. They shuffled back toward the banquet table, but they didn't sit right. They kept watching. I could feel their eyes on my back.
Mom smoothed the front of her gown with both hands. Her bun had come a little loose. A piece of blonde hair stuck to her cheek where there was sweat. She smiled, but not like a real smile.
"Thank you," she said to the guests. Her voice was sweet again, party-voice. "Just a little spill. These things happen." Then she looked down at Rosa. Her smile went away.
She pointed at the gray bucket by the column. The mop handle leaned against it. The dark cloth lay crumpled next to it.
"You're just making this worse," Mom said quietly. "Pick that up. Clean it. Then go to the kitchen and stay there until I call you."
Rosa flinched. I felt it through her legs. Her hands came down and rested on my shoulders. They were shaking too.
"Yes, ma'am," she whispered. She started to bend for the cloth.
"Stop."
Dad said it. Just that one word, sharp. Rosa froze halfway bent over.
Dad looked at Mom. Then at Rosa. "No one is leaving this room. No one is cleaning anything yet."
Mom stared at him. "Daniel, don't do this in front of everyone. You're embarrassing us."
"I said not yet," Dad said. He didn't yell. His jaw moved. He glanced down at me, and his face changed for a second. Softer. Scared.
My arms hurt from holding so tight so I loosened them a little, but I didn't let go. Dad crouched down. His black suit pulled tight across his shoulders. Up close I could see a red spot on his white shirt collar, maybe wine. His hands hung between his knees, fingers laced together to keep them still, but I could still see the shake.
"Hey, bug," he said to me. His voice was quieter now, just for us. "Can you stand up for me?"
I shook my head. I pressed my cheek harder into Rosa's skirt.
Mom made a small sound. "She's fine. She's overtired. Rosa, take her upstairs and—"
"No," Dad said without looking up. He held his hand out to me, palm up, steadying it. "We're going to sit over by the doors for a minute. Just us. Rosa, come with us. Stay right there."
Rosa nodded. She didn't pick up the cloth. She left the bucket where it was, gray and full of gray water, with the mop still leaning. The overturned chairs were still on their sides behind Mom. The white wine stain by the column kept spreading a little.
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Dad stood and lifted me. I was too big to be carried but he did it anyway. He set his hand on the back of my pink dress, over my sash, and guided me away from the table. My shoes slipped on the marble. Rosa walked right beside us, close enough that I could grab her hand.
Behind us, I heard Mom's heels click once on the floor. Then stop. She didn't follow.
