Chapter 14 - I Closed My Handbag and Walked Back Toward the Lights
I closed my handbag with both hands. The clasp made that small click I knew too well, and I stepped away from the dark sedan. The gravel shifted under my heels, wet and loose, and caught the string lights in little flashes.
Olivia was still standing too close to me. Her veil had picked up damp at the edge. She kept glancing from my face to the path that led back to the flower-covered gate, like she wanted me to decide so she wouldn't have to ask again.
"You said you'd stand with me," she said. "If I talk to them."
I nodded once. "I will."
I pulled my phone back out. My fingers were cold enough that I mistyped the passcode the first time. The screen lit my hands. I could hear the low murmur from the chairs, the restless moving that had replaced the music. Under the white tent the musicians sat with their bows resting, waiting.
I called the number on the bank alert. It rang twice. A woman answered with the practiced calm of a Saturday evening shift.
"This is Helen," I said. "I'm lifting the hold I just placed. On the catering and vendor authorizations. All of them."
Olivia's mouth opened a little. She didn't interrupt.
The woman asked me to confirm the last four, and I did. She asked if I was acting under pressure, and I almost laughed. "No," I said. "I'm acting because people down there did the work and they should get paid, no matter what happens with my daughter and me."
I waited while she typed. The wet air smelled like crushed grass and flowers and car exhaust. Behind me the driver kept the rear door open, unsure whether to close it.
"Hold's released," the woman said. "You'll see the authorizations go back through tonight."
"Thank you," I said, and hung up.
Olivia let out a breath she must have been holding for a while. "Mom—"
"Don't," I said, not unkindly. "Let's just walk."
We started up the path together. It wasn't far from the sedan to the gate, but the ground made it slow. Wet gravel grabbed at my light heels. Twice I had to stop and steady myself, and Olivia slowed without being asked. She lifted the front of her gown a few inches so it wouldn't drag. Her light pink manicure was chipped on one nail. I noticed that and didn't say anything.
Halfway up, she reached for my arm and then stopped herself, her hand hovering. I shifted my handbag to my other hand and let her link her elbow lightly through mine. We didn't look at each other. We just kept walking toward the arch.
The young man with the clipboard saw us coming. He straightened. He still held that dark clipboard tight in both hands, earpiece blinking faintly. He looked tired and young and caught in the middle of something he hadn't been hired to handle.
"Ma'am," he started.
Olivia spoke before he could finish. "She's with me."
He glanced down at his list, then back up at me. For a second I saw him replaying the first minutes — Ma'am, your name isn't on the guest list — and wishing he could take back the job of saying it.
I stopped a foot from the gate. The flowers over it were damp, white petals dark at the edges. "It's all right," I told him. "You're doing what they told you to do."
He swallowed. "I'm sorry about earlier."
I nodded. I didn't need more than that.
He flipped a page on the clipboard, uncapped a pen, and drew a careful line. "Can I have your name for check-in?" he asked quietly.
"Helen," I said. "Olivia's mother."
He wrote it. The pen scratched. Then he stepped to the side, out of the center of the entrance, and gestured us through with an open hand. It was a small movement, but it changed the whole shape of the gate. I felt my shoulders drop a half inch.
Olivia didn't move right away. She looked past the arch to the rows of white chairs, to the crowd turned half toward us, phones still up in some hands. She squeezed my elbow once, hard.
Under the tent, one of the violinists looked toward the coordinator, who gave a short nod. The bows lifted. The first notes came out soft and tentative, then steadier — something low that filled the space without pushing it. The murmur from the guests eased. Someone sat back down.
Olivia and I stood just inside the flowers. Not up front. Not center. Just inside, where everyone could see we had come back together but no one could mistake it for finished.
"Stay by me," she whispered.
May you like
"I'm here," I said.
The lights were on bright above us. The wet ground reflected them back. We didn't walk any farther yet.
