Chapter 2
The doors kept opening and I couldn't get up. I stayed on my side on the cold marble with the orange liquid seeping toward the white papers, and Carla put her hand flat on my shoulder to keep me still. Her name tag was crooked. She was breathing hard. Diane hadn't stepped forward to help me. She stood near the overturned wheelchair, her black dress straight, her low bun still neat, her hands now clasped tight in front of her.
The man in the light gray suit came through the double doors in three quick strides, his briefcase swinging at his side. He was in his thirties, white shirt, dark tie, pocket square folded sharp. He stopped halfway down the hallway when he saw me on the floor, his mouth open. The chandelier light caught the polish on his black shoes. He looked at me, then at Diane, then at Carla, and didn't seem to know where to look first.
"Ma'am - what happened?" he said. His voice echoed on the marble. He crouched a little, not touching me, glancing at the orange spill beside my face. "Did she fall? Someone call - "
Diane answered before Carla could. She smoothed her dress with both palms, and her voice was suddenly calm, even. "She fainted. She tipped the chair herself. I was bringing her water."
Carla didn't stand up. She kept her hand on my shoulder and said, "That's not what happened."
I could feel the marble cold through my sleeve. The beige eyelet of my wrap dress was spotted with orange where the splash had reached me. I tried to shift my weight, and a sharp ache ran through my hip where I'd hit. I let out a small sound I hadn't meant to make. The man in the suit flinched.
Carla looked directly at him. "She forced a cup to her mouth. I grabbed her arm. Then she pushed the wheelchair and let go. It rolled. I saw the whole thing from the service hall."
Diane's eyes narrowed, but her shocked expression from before was gone. She folded her arms, earrings swaying. "You're mistaken, Carla. You weren't even in the hallway until after she fell. You know how unsteady she is. The doctor said bed rest."
The man set his briefcase down carefully on the marble, away from the spill, and pulled his phone from his inside pocket. "I'm calling building security and an ambulance. No one move her until they check her. Okay?"
He knelt beside me on the opposite side from Carla, keeping a few inches of space. "I'm Daniel Reyes," he said to me quietly, not loud enough for Diane to use. "I have a meeting here with the foundation. Are you hurt anywhere besides your hip? Can you move your fingers for me?"
I moved them. They shook. I stared at the small dark cup lying on its side near Diane's shoes, empty now, a dark ring inside it. The white papers were everywhere - maybe ten sheets - some under the wheelchair, some with orange soaking into their edges. One sheet near my hand had typed text and a logo at the top, but the liquid was bleeding into the letters so I couldn't read them.
Daniel followed my eyes to the papers. "Are those - " he started.
Diane stepped forward quickly, her black flats crunching a paper. "Those are private foundation documents. Leave them."
Carla reached past Daniel and, without asking permission, slid the driest sheet toward herself with two fingers, folding it once and tucking it into the pocket of her uniform. Her other hand never left my shoulder. "For her," she said to Daniel, her voice low. "In case someone says these got thrown away."
May you like
Diane stared at Carla's pocket. Her mouth tightened.
I tried to push myself up on one elbow and failed. Carla and Daniel both said, "Stay down," at the same time. From the far lobby, beyond the double doors Daniel had left open, I could hear a radio crackle and hurried footsteps coming our way - security, or paramedics - and Daniel stood to wave them in, his gray suit jacket pulling at the shoulders, while Diane finally took one slow step backward, toward the chandeliers blurring behind her, as if she could put distance between herself and the cup on the marble.
