Chapter 7 - Where Is Daniel
The air in the ballroom had changed. It was not loud anymore. It was the kind of quiet where I could hear my own breathing and the soft clink of a tray being set down too carefully by a young waiter near the columns.
Tiffany stood about ten feet from me, her white strapless gown catching the chandelier light. Her blonde updo had loosened on one side. She did not fix it. She stared at me, at my left cheek, and then looked quickly away, as if looking too long would make it real for everyone watching.
"You did this," she said. Her voice was low, but it carried. "In front of everybody."
I did not answer that. I looked past her toward the doorway where the marble hallway ran white and gold behind the crowd. The man in the tuxedo was still there, half in, half out, his hands at his sides. The venue manager stood to my right with the dark tray held level, the stack of white contracts squared on it.
I felt the weight of the room waiting for me to explain or apologize. I did neither. I drew a slow breath and said the only name that mattered.
"Where is Daniel?"
It was a simple question. I kept my voice steady. I did not raise it for the back tables.
Tiffany gave a short laugh, a sharp sound that did not suit the gown or the flowers. "Don't. Don't bring him into this right now."
"I am bringing him into it," I said. "This is his wedding too. I want to speak to my son."
A murmur moved through the guests near the dance floor. An older couple I knew from church shifted in their chairs. One of Tiffany's bridesmaids stepped closer to her, as if to form a line. I saw the split happen without anyone saying it — some eyes on me, some on her, no one willing to be first to look down.
Tiffany lifted her chin. "He's busy. He doesn't need to stand here while you ruin the atmosphere."
She said it just like that. Ruin the atmosphere. I felt the words land. I kept my hands still at my sides. My phone was in my clutch now, heavy and silent. My cheek throbbed under the ballroom light.
"He needs to be here," I said.
Tiffany turned toward the hallway, toward the tuxedoed man, and her tone changed. It went higher, tighter, the tone she used when she wanted something handled. "Daniel? Daniel, come here. Tell her to stop this. Tell her she's ruining my wedding."
She called toward the doorway as if she expected him to step out from behind the columns. He did not. The doorway stayed empty except for the witness and the warm light from the hall.
I watched her face as she realized he had not answered. Her mouth tightened. For a second the control slipped, and she looked very young and very angry.
"He's not out there?" she said to the man in the tuxedo. "Where did he go?"
The man glanced at me, then at the manager, then back at Tiffany. He had the look of someone who did not want to be part of a family argument while wearing a rented suit.
He cleared his throat. "He stepped outside, ma'am. Right after... after in the hallway. He said he needed air. He went through the side doors."
I felt something cold and familiar settle in my stomach. Not surprise. Recognition. Daniel had always left the room when voices rose. When he was twelve he would go to the garage. When he was twenty he would go for a drive. Now, in a black suit on his wedding night, he had gone outside.
Tiffany shook her head. "No. He wouldn't just leave. Call him back. Somebody call him back."
The manager shifted the tray slightly in his hands. He looked at me, professional and neutral, waiting for direction. I nodded once.
"Please bring him in," I said to the manager. "He should hear what happens next directly. Not secondhand."
The manager turned to the tuxedoed man. "Can you get him? Side terrace?"
The man hesitated. His eyes moved from Tiffany's white gown to my burgundy dress to the contracts on the tray. Then he gave a short nod.
"Yes, sir. I saw which way he went," he said. "I'll bring him in."
He stepped back into the marble hallway, his shoes sounding sharp on the marble floor. I watched him go until the light swallowed him past the columns.
Tiffany folded her arms across the top of her gown. "Happy?" she whispered. "You got what you wanted. Everybody's staring."
I did not look at everybody. I looked at her.
May you like
"I asked for Daniel," I said. "That's all."
Behind me, the musicians had stopped pretending to adjust their cases. The waitstaff stood still. The ballroom doors to the terrace were closed, and I found myself listening for them to open.
