Chapter 8 - For My Daughter's Room
The band had packed up and the lights in the ballroom were already turned up too bright. It was after ten and the catering staff was stacking chairs against the wall. My daughter had fallen asleep on my shoulder once and then woken up again, tired and flushed, her ivory dress wrinkled. She'd been crying off and on for the last hour, that quiet, exhausted cry she got when she was overtired.
My wife found us by the hallway that led back to the bridal suite. She'd changed out of her lace dress into the white jumpsuit she'd planned to wear to the hotel. Her hair was still done. She smiled when she saw me, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"She's beat," she said, reaching for our daughter. "Let me take her to my place tonight. You can stay here, sign in the morning when you're clear-headed."
I shifted my daughter higher on my hip. She clung tighter to my tux jacket.
"She's not going to your apartment," I said.
My wife's hand dropped. She glanced down the hallway where Soielaydo was standing near the service door, holding his leather folder.
"Don't do this," she said, her voice low. "If you don't sign, I'll have to file. I'll show the court you're unstable. That you ruined our wedding night and kept my daughter away. You won't see her after the honeymoon."
The words landed exactly how she wanted them to. My daughter wasn't hers, not legally. Her mother and I had split two years ago and I had primary custody. My wife had no claim. But she knew how it would sound on paper, a new stepmother saying the father was erratic on the wedding night. A judge would at least listen.
I didn't answer right away. I could feel my daughter's breathing against my neck, fast and shallow.
"You've got our schedule down," I said finally. "You know when I have her every week."
"Of course I do," she said. "I'm her stepmom."
It was the way she said it that made something click. Last month she'd insisted on taking my daughter for the final fitting of that ivory dress. Just the two of them, a girls' afternoon, she'd said. She'd kept my house keys on the kitchen counter for twenty minutes while I was loading the car. I'd thought nothing of it at the time. Now I remembered how she'd texted Soielaydo right after, and how the copy of my house key on my ring had a fresh, tiny scratch on the edge when I got it back.
"You used the fitting to get my keys copied," I said.
She didn't flinch. She looked at my daughter instead.
"You're scaring her," she said.
My daughter was staring at her, lip trembling. I pulled my phone out and stepped back.
"I'm calling my sister," I said.
My wife's mouth tightened. "You're going to make this ugly in front of her?"
"I'm going to keep it calm in front of her," I said. "That's the point."
I called my sister with one hand while I held my daughter with the other. She picked up on the second ring. I kept my voice even and told her I needed to bring my daughter over for the night, that the reception ran late and she was overtired. My sister didn't ask questions. She just said her door was unlocked and the spare room was made.
I slipped my daughter's little white cardigan over her shoulders. My wife watched, her arms crossed now.
"We have a hotel suite here," she said. "Soielaydo can drive us."
"She's sleeping at my sister's," I said. "We'll talk tomorrow."
Soielaydo had walked closer. He didn't say anything. He just watched me the way a guy watches a deal fall apart.
I carried my daughter through the side exit to the parking lot. The night air was cool and the asphalt was still warm from the day. My truck was parked under a light. I got her buckled into her car seat, her ivory dress bunching up around her knees. She was already half asleep again, her head tipped to the side.
The drive to my sister's apartment was fifteen minutes down the county road, past the dark gas station and the closed diner. I kept the radio off. In the rearview I could see my daughter's eyes closing, opening, closing. At a stoplight I reached back and held her small hand. She squeezed once and let go.
My sister was waiting in the doorway in sweats, her porch light on. She didn't mention my tux or the fact that I was supposed to be on my wedding night. She just opened the back door and unbuckled my daughter herself, lifting her carefully so she didn't wake fully.
"Same room as last time," she whispered.
I followed her inside. The apartment smelled like laundry and coffee. My sister had left the nightlight on in the spare bedroom and pulled the quilt back. I laid my daughter down and she curled on her side, still in her dress, her breathing evening out. My sister tucked the quilt around her and brushed the hair off her forehead.
"She's good here," my sister said quietly.
I stood in the doorway and watched my daughter sleep for a long minute. My bow tie was undone in my pocket. My phone was heavy with the photos I'd taken.
"Thank you," I said.
My sister nodded toward the kitchen. "You want to stay too?"
May you like
"For a bit," I said. "Then I have to go back."
Outside, through the window, I could see my truck waiting in the lot. Back at the venue hotel, my wife and Soielaydo were still there with the folder and the deed. But my daughter was here, safe, and that was the only piece of ground I was sure of tonight.
