Chapter 2: Don't Go Downstairs Yet
She didn't step back when I didn't answer. She just shifted the baby a little higher on her shoulder and lowered her voice.
The hallway was too quiet. Downstairs I could hear the quartet warming up, faint through the floor, and the soft clink of catering trays being set out. Up here the air coming through the half-open white paneled door was warmer, and I could smell hairspray and that clean laundry smell from the infant's clothes.
"Mr. Vance, what are you going to do?" she had just asked me, and I hadn't answered yet.
I looked at the brass backplate on the door. My hand was still near the edge where I'd stopped myself from pushing it open. I realized I'd been holding my breath.
"Who else was in there?" I said. My voice came out quieter than I meant it to. "When she said that."
The woman glanced toward the gap in the door, then back at me. Her expression didn't change much. That calm, concerned look she'd had since I first saw her.
"Just me," she said. "And the baby."
"Was someone telling her to say it? Was she reading something? Rehearsing?"
She shook her head once, small and definite. "No."
I wanted that to mean more than it did. I wanted there to be an explanation where I'd misunderstood the words.
"You're sure she wasn't coerced," I said. "She wasn't on the phone. No one else was prompting her."
"No," she said again. "She wasn't performing."
The baby made a soft sound against her dark suit, a little exhale, and settled again. The pale yellow onesie was thin cotton, and I could see the tiny stitching along the shoulder where the snaps were. The color was almost washed out in the warm hallway light. I stared at it for a second too long because it was easier than looking at the door.
"Then why would she say it like that?" I asked.
The woman adjusted her hold, her white collar trim catching the light. She kept her voice low enough that the staff downstairs wouldn't hear if someone came up the back stairs.
"I was helping her with her veil," she said. "She was standing by the mirror. The baby was fussy and I was holding him so she could get ready. She thought the hallway was empty. She wasn't talking to me, really. She was talking to herself, and then to whoever she was on the call with. She said, 'Don't go downstairs yet. You need to hear this.' And then -"
She stopped. She didn't need to repeat the next part. No, I don't love him. I'd heard it clearly through that warm gap in the white paneled door.
"She didn't know you were out here," she said.
"And you didn't stop her," I said. It wasn't an accusation. It was just what happened.
"I didn't know what to do," she said. "I was holding the baby. She looked... she looked like she needed to say it out loud to someone."
We stood there for a beat. The door stayed half-open, that line of light on the carpet not moving. I could hear the bride's voice faintly now from inside the suite, lower, like she was still on the phone, but I couldn't make out words. She hadn't come to the door. She hadn't seen me.
"What did you mean about David?" I asked. "When you said David stopped the marriage license from being filed."
The woman's eyes went to the hallway behind me, toward the stairwell that led down to the ballroom and the venue office. She pulled the baby a fraction closer.
"He told me this morning," she said. "He said he went to the clerk's office. He didn't file it. He said he did it for you. He thought if you had time -"
"If I had time to hear that," I said.
She nodded.
I let my hand drop from the door edge. My tuxedo jacket pulled a little when I did, and I felt the white rose boutonniere brush against my lapel. I hadn't realized I'd been bracing myself against the frame.
Downstairs, someone laughed, loud and bright, and then the quartet started a proper song. The sound rose up the stairwell. They were waiting for us.
The woman watched my face. "You haven't decided," she said quietly.
I shook my head. I looked at the infant again, that pale yellow, the way she held him so steady despite everything. Her calm made it harder to pretend I hadn't heard what I'd heard.
"I'm not going down there yet," I said.
She let out a breath she seemed to have been holding.
"Not until I know if that's true about the license," I said. "I need to see it for myself before I walk into that room and pretend I didn't hear anything. Or before I say anything to her."
"Where will you go?"
"The office," I said. "Where they keep the paperwork for the venue coordinator. If David pulled it, there'll be a hold or a missing filing. I know the coordinator keeps a copy."
She nodded once, her low bun not moving. She didn't ask me to stay. She didn't ask me to go in and confront the bride right then. She just kept her voice down and kept the baby between us and the door, like she was guarding both sides of the conversation from being overheard.
"Will you stay here?" I asked her.
"Yes," she said. "I'll stay by the door. She won't come out until she's called. I won't tell her you were here."
May you like
I stepped back from the white paneled door slowly, so the floorboard wouldn't creak. The brass knob caught the warm light as I moved. I didn't push the door closed and I didn't open it wider. I left it exactly as I'd found it, half-open, that spill of light still on the carpet.
I turned toward the back hallway that led to the venue office, leaving the woman with the infant in front of that door, and the voice inside still talking low behind it.
