Chapter 4
My son didn't look at his wife when he asked. He turned to the woman in the black dress.
He'd moved between us, one hand still light on the arm of my chair, the other raised just enough to keep space. The chandelier was burning above us and I could see its reflection warped in the marble at his feet. My cane was still across my lap. My hands wouldn't let go of it.
"Tell me what you saw," he said to the maid.
She hadn't straightened up. Her hands were still on my handles, not pushing, just holding. Her dark hair had come a little loose from the bun and her black heels were planted flat like she was bracing.
"I was blocking her," she said. She said it plainly, not loud. "She was wheeling your mother toward the side door. It's locked. She knows it is."
My daughter-in-law cut in before he could answer. Her gold dress caught the light when she stepped forward.
"Don't listen to her," she said. "She's lying. She grabbed the chair first. She always—"
"Megan," my son said, but he didn't take his eyes off the maid. "Let her finish."
The maid's voice stayed even. "Mrs. Henderson asked to go to her bedroom. Not here. I was taking her down the hall when Mrs. Megan stopped us here in the foyer and took the front of the chair."
I felt my breath catch. That was exactly it. I'd asked for my bedroom. My suite was past the staircase, quiet, with the door I could close. Not here under the chandelier where everyone could see. I hadn't wanted to be displayed.
Megan laughed once, sharp. "Her bedroom? She doesn't know where she wants to go. She gets confused at night. Ask her. Mother, tell him you wanted to come out and see the guests."
She looked at me then, expectant. Her blonde hair was pinned up and her eyes were bright in a way that made my chest tighten. I didn't answer right away. I looked at my son's face.
I shook my head just a little. "No," I said. My voice was thin. "I asked to go to bed. She was helping me. I didn't want to be here."
The maid's hands tightened for a second on my handles, like she was relieved I'd spoken.
Megan's face changed. The smile dropped. She stepped around my son like he wasn't there and pointed at the maid.
"You're finished," she said. Every word was clear. "I'll throw you out myself. Get your hands off that chair and get out of my house."
She said it right in the foyer, with my son standing two feet away. He heard it live. I saw his jaw move. The same words from before, not softer the second time.
"You need to stop," he said to his wife. His voice was low. "You don't get to say that. Not in here. Not to her."
"It's my house too," Megan said. "And she works for us. I decide who—"
"She works for my mother," he said. He cut her off clean. "This is my mother's house."
The marble made everything sound louder than it should have been. For a second nobody moved. The chandelier hummed faintly. I could feel the cool air on my cheeks where the tears had been.
My son looked down at me, then at the maid. He made a decision.
"Go to the kitchen," he told her. "Don't leave the house. Wait there. Please."
The maid hesitated. She looked at me. I nodded once, small.
"I'll be right here," she said to me, quiet, before she let go of the handles.
She stepped back slowly, her heels clicking once on the marble, then walked toward the hallway that led to the kitchen. She didn't run. She didn't take anything with her.
Megan watched her go, her arms crossed hard over that gold gown. Her color was high now. When the maid disappeared around the corner, she turned on my son.
"You just chose her over me," she said. "In front of your mother. You think that's going to help?"
He didn't answer her right away. He knelt down next to my chair and put his hand over mine where I held the cane. His hand was warm. Mine was cold.
"Did she really try to take you to that side door?" he whispered to me, so only I could hear.
I nodded. "Yes," I whispered back. "It was locked. I knew it was locked."
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Behind us, Megan made a sound and walked hard toward the bar cart by the staircase, her gown rustling. She didn't leave the foyer. She poured nothing. She just stood there with her back to us, contained, but her shoulders were tight and her fists were closed.
My son stayed kneeling by my wheel. He didn't tell the maid to come back. He didn't tell his wife to leave. He just kept his hand over mine and kept his eyes on the hallway where the maid had gone, making sure she stayed.
