Chapter 8
I woke to the sound of the chandelier humming.
Not the light itself, but the faint buzz the big fixture made when it had been left on all night. It carried down the hall from the foyer to my suite. My door was open an inch. I'd left it that way on purpose after the maid brought my charger back and set it on the nightstand where I could see it.
My son hadn't slept. I could hear him in the kitchen, a mug set down too hard, a chair dragged. The house smelled like coffee that had been reheated twice.
I didn't get up right away. I sat on the edge of the bed and put both hands on my cane and felt the brakes on my chair locked the way I'd left them. My hands were still a little stiff, but the charger light was green. That felt like something.
When I wheeled myself into the hall, she was already dressed.
She stood at the bottom of the curved staircase in the gold gown again, or one exactly like it. Hair up. Phone to her ear, shoulder lifted, speaking in that bright voice people use for donors. The morning light coming through the front windows was cool and blue, but the chandelier was still on, warm spots on the marble.
"Yes, good morning," she said. "We're just keeping things very quiet here. My mother-in-law is resting comfortably. We had a little late night, you know how it is, but she's comfortable and we're handling everything."
I stopped my chair just short of the foyer where the hall stays shadowed. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but her words stopped me cold. Resting comfortably. I was awake, dressed, three feet away in the hall listening to her describe me as if I were in another wing, asleep.
My son came out of the kitchen with two mugs. He saw her on the phone and then he saw me in the hallway. He didn't say anything. He just slowed down.
"The foundation brunch is still at eleven," she went on, turning a little so the gold caught the chandelier light. "We would love to have you stop by. She's always so grateful for the support. It means so much to our family."
I kept my hands on the armrests. I could feel my pulse in my thumbs. A part of me wanted to roll forward into that light and say, I'm right here. I'm not resting. I was up all night listening to your shoes on my floor.
I didn't.
My son set the mugs down on the little table by the staircase. He looked at her, then at me again. I gave him the smallest shake of my head. Not now. He understood, I think, because his mouth tightened and he stayed where he was.
She laughed softly into the phone. "You're so kind. We'll send photos from last night once we've rested. Thank you again."
When she hung up, she slipped the phone into a small clutch and saw us both at once. Her smile changed, just a flicker.
"Good morning," she said to me, like she hadn't just told someone I was in bed. "Did you sleep?"
I let a second pass before I answered. "Enough," I said.
The maid came down the hall behind me with a folded blanket. She nodded at me, then kept her eyes down when the blonde looked at her. She didn't speak at first. She just tucked the blanket over the back of my chair, the way she always did.
"Could you bring Mother some toast?" my son asked her. His voice was even. "And coffee light."
"Right away," she said, and left for the kitchen. Her heels were quiet on the marble.
The blonde checked her watch. "I have to be at the club by ten thirty to set up the table," she said to my son. "Will you be here? The Hendersons asked about the tower pledge. I told them we were all aligned."
"We're here," he said. He didn't look at the gold dress anymore. He looked at the chandelier, then at the camera dome tucked up in the crown molding above it. I followed his eyes. A little black circle, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.
When she turned toward the mirror to fix an earring, he stepped closer to me and crouched so we were level. He kept his voice low.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered.
I nodded. My hand tightened on my cane.
"That's not what happened," he said. Not a question.
"No," I whispered back. I could feel the cool air from the foyer on my face. "But if I argue with her now, she'll make it about manners. In front of whoever calls next."
He stared at the marble inlay for a minute. I could see him working it through, the discrepancy between the story for the donor and the woman in the chair right behind the speaker.
"What do you want to do?" he asked me.
I thought about the phone in her clutch, about the charger green on my nightstand, about the way documentation had sounded like a cold word the night before and now felt like the only warm one.
"Don't tell her we heard," I said, very quietly. "Let's look. The camera up there. It sees the foyer. It saw last night."
He didn't answer right away. He glanced over his shoulder at his wife, who was texting now, gold strap shining.
"Tonight," he said finally, under his breath. "After brunch. I'll pull the footage in the study. You and I. No one else needs to know yet."
May you like
I nodded once. The maid came back with a plate, and the smell of toast cut through the coffee. The blonde smiled at all of us, that public smile, and said she would save us seats if we changed our minds about coming.
I took the plate with both hands and kept my cane across my lap where I could see it.
