Chapter 5
The chandelier wouldn't let me look away.
It hung straight above us, all those little candles lit, and the light hit the marble and bounced back up. I could see every crystal doubled on the floor, bright on white with that thin black inlay running like a border around where my chair was parked. My son was still kneeling beside me. The blonde had stepped back to the bar cart by the stairs, and I could hear the clink of a glass.
For a second nobody touched my chair. That was new. The brakes were still off, but his hand was light on the armrest, not gripping, just there. I realized I'd been holding my breath. I let it out slow and felt the cane wobble a little against my knee.
He leaned in closer so his face was level with mine. I could smell his cologne, something clean, and see the gold buttons on his jacket catch the warm light from above.
"Mom," he said, quiet, so only I could hear it. "What do you want right now? Just tell me."
I didn't answer at first. I looked past him at the foyer. From down here everything was built to be seen. The curved staircase swept up white and perfect, the balustrade shining, the whole room made for people to stand at the top and look down. I'd sat in this spot for galas before, parked right where the reflection was prettiest, where guests coming in would see me and say how lovely I looked. How well cared for.
My hands tightened on the cane.
"I want to go to my room," I said. My voice was thin. I swallowed and tried again. "Not here. I don't want to be parked here for guests. I want the elevator to my bedroom. My own bed."
He nodded, just once. He didn't look away.
"Your bedroom," he repeated. "Via the elevator. Not carried up the stairs."
"Yes," I said. "I can do that myself if someone just pushes me to the hall. I don't need to be out here."
Behind him I heard heels on marble. The blonde was coming back, her gold dress catching that cool blue from the windows mixed with the warm candle light. She had a glass in her hand, not for me.
She stopped on the other side of my chair, just out of reach this time.
"Sweetheart, we can't move her now," she said to my son, but loud enough for me. Her voice had gone smooth again, hosting voice. "The caterer is about to bring trays through the foyer. And the Wilsons will be here any minute. If we wheel her through the back hall it'll throw off the whole flow. She is fine right here for a little while. Everyone expects to see her."
I stared at that black inlay on the floor. It boxed me in perfectly. Like they'd measured where a wheelchair should sit so it didn't block the staircase in photos.
My son didn't stand up. He kept his eyes on me.
"She said she wants her room," he said.
The blonde laughed a little, took a sip. "She's overwhelmed. It's been a lot of noise. She doesn't know what she wants. This is the best place for her to be seen and safe. The elevator is slow and the hallway is crowded right now."
I felt my cheeks get warm. I looked at my son.
"I know what I want," I said. It came out steadier than I expected. "I don't want to be furniture."
He heard the pause before I said it. He glanced up at the chandelier, then down at the reflection, as if he was seeing the same thing I was. How the light made a stage out of the marble, and I was the piece they'd placed in the center.
The blonde set her glass down on the little table by the bar cart, a little hard.
"Don't be dramatic," she said to me, softer now, almost kind. "You're comfortable here. Let's not make this difficult."
My son put his hand on my hand where it held the cane. Not to take it. Just to cover it.
"Mom, do you want me to take you yourself?" he asked.
I nodded. My eyes filled again but I didn't look away.
"Yes," I said. "You push me."
He stood then, and he went behind my chair. I felt his hands take the handles, properly, the way you're supposed to ask first. He clicked the brakes off with his foot and I felt the chair shift, just an inch, out of that perfect boxed inlay.
The blonde stepped forward. "Where are you going? You're going to leave me to greet everyone alone?"
He didn't answer her right away. He was already turning me, slow, away from the staircase and toward the hallway where the elevator was. The chandelier light slid across the floor as we moved, and for the first time that night I wasn't sitting where they'd put me.
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"We're going to check her room," he said over his shoulder. "We'll be back."
I held the cane tight against my leg and let him push me out of the light.
