Chapter 3 - Upstairs in the Dark
My dad didn't let go of my hand. That was the first thing I remember about leaving the table.
He pushed his chair back and stood, and I stood with him because his palm was still warm around my fingers. He looked at Lorraine and said it like it was nothing.
"We'll be right back," he said. "She left her sweater upstairs."
Lorraine hadn't moved. Her arms were still crossed, her clutch flat on the dark fabric of her dress. She glanced at the clutch like she was checking it was still there.
"Julian, the donors are coming at eight," she said. Her voice was tight and low. "We don't have time for this."
"It's thirty seconds," he said. He wasn't smiling anymore, but he wasn't raising his voice either. He squeezed my hand once. "Come on, sweet pea."
I didn't have a sweater. I knew I didn't have a sweater, and I think Lorraine knew too. But nobody said that.
We had to pass Ellis to get to the doorway. He was still standing half behind the dark door where the light cut a vertical line across the floor. As we got closer I could see his earpiece blinking. He looked at my dad, then at me, and he stepped back half a step to let us through. He didn't look at Lorraine.
The hall outside the dining room was cooler. The chandelier light didn't reach there. The table had been all warm light and polished reflections, but out here the runner was dark and the walls were quiet. I could hear the soft hum of the house.
My dad kept me on the family side of the hallway. I knew because I'd been told to use the other side before. On Sundays when Lorraine had people over, the woman who helped with the kitchen would take me down the narrow back corridor with no pictures on the walls, past the laundry and the side door to the parking lot. That's where staff went. That's what Lorraine had meant when she told me to be staff. It wasn't just a word. It was a hallway.
Tonight my dad walked us straight down the middle, past the big framed photos, past the staircase with the thick banister. His silver watch clicked faintly against my hand when he moved.
"Which room?" he whispered to me as we started up the stairs. He bent a little so his shoulder was closer to my ear.
"The one with the bright mirror," I whispered back. My throat felt dry. "Where she gets ready."
He nodded. He didn't ask me if I was sure.
At the top of the stairs the carpet got thicker. The upstairs suite was different from the rest of the house. The doors were heavier, painted white, with handles that felt cold even in summer. Lorraine's dressing suite was at the end, next to my dad's office. Before the dinner I'd been looking for my hair bow. I'd gone up without being called because Lorraine was downstairs talking to the caterer, or I thought she was. The door had been open a crack then. I'd seen her at the vanity with the black clutch open, pulling something silver out and sliding it into the little drawer under the mirror. She'd seen me in the reflection. She'd said, "You shouldn't be up here, sweetheart."
Now the door was closed. All the way closed. The little light above the door was off.
I stopped two feet away and pointed.
"There," I said. My hand was shaking a little. "That's where I saw her."
My dad tried the handle. It didn't turn.
It was locked.
He tried it again, slower this time, like maybe he'd missed something. The metal didn't even jiggle. He let out a breath through his nose and crouched down so we were eye level. His wavy hair fell forward a little.
"You saw her put something from the clutch in there?" he asked quietly. His voice was even, like he wanted me to think carefully.
I nodded. "The shiny card. She put it in the drawer. The one with the key."
Before he could answer, Lorraine's voice came from downstairs.
"Ellis!" she called up the stairwell. Her heels were already clicking on the wood at the bottom. She wasn't yelling, but it was sharp enough to carry. "Ellis, I need you up here please!"
My dad stood again. He put his hand on my shoulder, just like he'd done downstairs at the table. His other hand stayed near the locked door, not touching it, just there.
May you like
From the stairwell I heard Ellis answer, "Ma'am," and the soft sound of his shoes starting up the stairs, faster than ours had been.
Lorraine's steps kept coming. She was coming up to stop us, and the door in front of us stayed locked, and somewhere inside that room, behind that white paint and that cold handle, was the drawer I had seen.
