Chapter 2: Carried On His Shoulder
I don't remember deciding to hold on tighter. I just did.
Dad's shoulder was hard under his tuxedo. The satin on the lapel scratched a little against my cheek when I turned my face into his neck. He smelled like the cologne he'd put on that morning and like coffee. His hand was big on my back, holding me up. I could feel his breathing, fast at first and then trying to slow down.
He carried me that way, one arm under me and the other braced against my back, and I had my arms around his neck the way I'd done when I was smaller. My dress had ridden up a little and my legs were bare against his side. I didn't look back at the hallway we'd come from.
We moved toward the light.
From behind his shoulder, I could see the hallway open up. The dark wooden doors we'd been near were ajar now, just a few inches, and the light from the ballroom spilled out across the marble in a bright stripe. You could see dust in it. The chandelier was lit beyond the doorway, and the sound of people talking got louder with every step, then quieter, like someone had turned the volume down when they saw us.
Dad's shoes made a soft sound on the marble. He didn't say anything. His steps were quick but not running. I felt his chin brush the top of my hair.
We stopped right at the threshold where the hallway marble met the ballroom floor.
Lauren was standing there.
I saw her first over Dad's shoulder, and then he turned a little so I was looking right at her. She was in her white dress, the strapless lace one that fit tight and then flared out. Her hair was down over her shoulders. She had one hand up near her cheek, not quite touching it, her fingers curled in. Her mouth was closed. She wasn't smiling the way she had in the pictures earlier. Her eyes moved from Dad's face to me and then down, fast.
The ballroom was behind her. I could see tables with white cloths and the tall chandelier throwing light down on everything. There were people standing near the open doors, holding drinks, turned to look at us. Their faces were blurred because I was crying and because I wasn't really looking at them. A photographer off to the side had his camera down by his chest.
Between Dad and Lauren, on the polished marble floor, there was something I hadn't noticed until Dad stopped.
A chain.
It was heavy and silver and coiled in a loose pile, like someone had dropped it and it had settled in loops. The links were thick, not jewelry. It caught the chandelier light and threw a little glare back up. One end trailed toward the baseboard near the doors. It was just lying there between us, on the clean floor where people were supposed to dance.
I stared at it because I didn't know what it was for.
Dad stared at it too. I felt his whole body go still. His hand on my back tightened a fraction. His breathing stopped for a second and then came back shallow. He didn't step over it. He didn't step around it. He just stopped with his foot a few inches from the nearest loop.
Lauren didn't move either. She held that same position, her hand near her face, her eyes slow. Her expression didn't break into anything big. It stayed restrained, shocked but controlled, like she was trying to keep her face still for the pictures. I saw her throat move when she swallowed. She didn't reach for the chain. She didn't reach for me.
No one behind her said anything for a long moment. The quiet in that ballroom doorway was different from the hallway quiet. It had a lot of people in it. I could hear a glass clink somewhere and someone cough, and then nothing again.
Dad's shoulder shifted a little under me and I felt him adjust his hold, pulling me higher against him. My cheek slipped a little on his lapel and I gripped his collar.
May you like
He looked at Lauren across that chain. She looked back.
We stayed like that in the doorway, with the light from the chandelier coming down on all of us and the guests watching and not speaking, and the chain sitting between us on the marble where everyone could see it.
