Chapter 3 - Dishes Cleared While Eyes Stay Sharp
I kept my hands moving because if I stopped I would have stared too long at my daughter in that chair. The candles had burned a half inch lower and wax pooled at the base of the holders. I stepped in from the side with the empty tray tucked against my apron and started with the guest end of the dark wood table, lifting the white plates one by one over the white runner without rattling the wine and water glasses.
Lily sat where Mr. Balanki had put her. The dark wood chair with the white upholstery looked too big for her, her white socks barely clearing the rung, her pale pink lace dress smoothed flat over her knees like she was afraid to wrinkle it. She had not touched her roll. She kept her elbows tucked in, close to the head of the table, close to him. Every few seconds her eyes cut toward the hallway behind us where the light turned cooler and blue by the stairs, then back to her plate.
Mr. Balanki was still at the head, his long dark hair pulled back from his face, his beard catching the candlelight. His black double-breasted suit jacket pulled when he reached for his water, and the white pocket square stayed sharp. I saw the large gold-tone watch on his left wrist when he set the glass down. He did not look at me. He looked at Lily, then at Selene, then back at Lily, the way a man checks two doors to see which one might open.
Selene sat two seats down in her black long-sleeve satin gown, her dark brown hair pulled back tight, her diamond teardrop necklace catching every time she turned her head. Her small light metallic clutch was not on the table. It was on her lap. She kept both hands low, fingers resting on it under the edge of the tablecloth, and when she shifted to reach for her wine she brought the clutch with her, sliding it against her thigh so it never lost contact.
"That hallway stays cold, doesn't it?" the guest man said. He was in his black tuxedo with the bow tie a little crooked now, his short dark hair damp at the temples, light stubble shadowing his jaw. He nodded toward the blue light past the curtains. "I went looking for the bathroom earlier and ended up by the stairs. Big house."
I froze with a plate halfway to the tray. Selene smiled without letting it reach her eyes.
"The guest bath is down this hall," she said quickly. Her earrings swung. "Not up. Upstairs is private. Storage and such. You didn't miss anything."
"It looked renovated," he said. "That door at the top—"
"Old houses creak," she said, and laughed a short laugh that closed the subject. "You know how it is." She lifted her wine glass with her right hand and kept her left hand down on the clutch. I watched her knuckles whiten around the metal edge.
Mr. Balanki did not join in. He leaned back and studied her for a beat too long, then studied Lily. Lily felt it and pressed herself smaller into the white cushion, her curly light brown hair falling forward. The bow at the back of her dress had come a little loose.
I moved around to clear Selene's side. Up close I could smell her perfume and the melted wax and the garlic from the last course. Her heels were tucked neatly under her chair, black against the rug. She did not lift her lap for me, did not offer space. I had to reach across at an angle to get the bread plate.
"Leave the dessert forks," she told me, not looking up. It was the first direct order of the night and it landed hard. "And take the empties. We're running behind."
"Yes, ma'am," I said. My voice sounded thin.
In the kitchen pass the light was white and loud after the dining room. I stacked the plates by size, scraped a full chicken breast I knew Lily would have loved on any other night into the bin, and stood there a second with my hands on the cold stainless edge. Through the doorway I could hear the low clink of glasses and the guest man trying again to keep talk alive, asking about the wine. I breathed in and out and counted to five the way I did when Lily had a fever and I could not afford to panic. Then I wiped the rims of two clean plates and went back in.
Lily had moved her chair an inch. Just an inch, the wooden leg scraping soft on the floor, closer to Mr. Balanki's end. She wasn't eating. She broke a piece of bread into smaller and smaller pieces and lined them up beside her fork. When Mr. Balanki shifted his arm on the table, the tattoos on the side of his neck showed above his collar, and the ink on his hand moved when he turned his watch face inward, as if he was tired of checking it. Lily watched that hand like it was an anchor.
"You okay down there?" he asked her quietly. Not performative. Just low.
She nodded fast and didn't speak. Her eyes were wet but she wasn't crying. She glanced again toward the hallway, toward the stairs I couldn't see from where I stood, and then she looked at Selene's lap, at the spot where the clutch had to be under the table.
Selene caught the look. Her arms came up and crossed for a moment over her gown, then dropped again to guard the purse. Her mouth tightened.
"She's tired," Selene said to the table. "It's past her bedtime. This was sweet, but let's not make it a whole thing."
Nobody answered her. The guest man cleared his throat and looked into his water glass. The wall sconces buzzed faintly. A curtain shifted with the vent air.
I finished the last sweep with the tray now heavy against my hip. The white runner had a small spot near Lily's plate where water had beaded and I blotted it with the corner of my apron without thinking. Mr. Balanki watched my hands, then looked once more at Selene's hands hidden below the table, then at the blue hallway beyond.
May you like
"Take these back," he said to me, his eyes still on the room. "We'll be ready for dessert in a few minutes."
I nodded and lifted the tray. My arms shook under the weight. Behind me, Lily stayed pinned to the safe end of the table, Selene stayed pinned to her clutch, and the claim about the locked room hung in the warm air unsolved as I pushed through the swinging door toward the kitchen.
