Chapter 8
Paige’s words settled over the table.
Sherry’s fingers tightened around the edge of her folder.
“You’re making it sound sinister,” she said. “I wanted Toby to feel celebrated.”
“You wanted everyone to think you had done it,” Paige replied.
The steadiness in her voice surprised me. It surprised Sherry, too. For a moment, none of us spoke.
I looked at Paige.
“When did you realize the speech meant more than giving a toast?”
“Not when I first saw her practicing it,” she said. “I thought she was being self-important. I thought she wanted to thank herself for organizing things. I didn’t think it meant you were being shut out.”
She glanced at Toby.
“Then he told me he’d called you and said you shouldn’t come.”
Toby lowered his eyes. “I told you there wasn’t room.”
“You told me after you’d already said it to her,” Paige said. “You didn’t ask what I thought.”
“I know.”
I kept my gaze on Paige. “What did you say when he told you?”
“I asked why. He said the seating had changed and Sherry was hosting. I thought about the place card.”
Her hands came together in her lap.
“I knew I’d helped move it. I knew your name wasn’t on the chart. But I hadn’t understood that Toby would actually tell you to stay home.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“No.” Paige swallowed. “I think I didn’t let myself think about what it would feel like to you.”
That answer hurt more than an excuse would have. It also sounded more honest.
“You helped move my place card,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Mom said the seating was being adjusted to fit Toby’s wishes. She said you were fine with a smaller celebration, and that having you at the head table would make the seating complicated.” Paige’s voice wavered. “I didn’t ask Toby. I didn’t ask you. I just moved the card.”
Sherry gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
“I never said Billie was fine with being left out.”
“You said she didn’t want a big party,” Paige replied. “You said Toby wanted the people closest to him at the main table.”
“Those things are true.”
“Not the way you used them.”
The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.
I remembered the crossed-out place on the first chart and the neatly written “B. Huitt—remove” in Sherry’s notes. I had hoped there might be some explanation that made the decision less deliberate. Paige’s account did not give me one. It gave me another person who had gone along without asking.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked her.
Paige looked down at her hands.
“I was afraid it would turn into a fight with Mom.”
“And that seemed easier than letting me know?”
“Yes.” She blinked quickly. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a better answer.”
For a few seconds, I heard only the low murmur of voices from the Grand Hall beyond the meeting-room door. A burst of laughter rose and faded. Somewhere out there, people were eating dinner from a menu built around a recipe I had handed over for a celebration I’d planned.
“I can’t make that choice disappear for you,” I said. “And you can’t make it disappear for me by apologizing.”
“I know.”
Paige didn’t reach for me or ask me to forgive her. I was grateful for that.
Toby shifted in his chair.
“I should have asked if you were coming,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied. “You should have.”
He nodded. No defense followed. It didn’t repair the hurt, but it left the hurt where it belonged instead of asking me to carry it for him.
Paige drew a breath.
“There’s something else I remember about the paperwork.”
Daniel, who had been listening beside the table, leaned forward.
“About the authorization?”
“I don’t know what the authorization was. I still don’t. But I remember the day Mom went to Larks Hall to deal with the final changes.”
Sherry’s expression hardened.
“Paige, you’re guessing.”
“I’m telling Billie what I saw.”
Paige turned back to me.
“We were there together. She had a folder with her. At one point, she took the original booking printout from the table. The one with the first reservation details.”
I thought of the packet Toby had forwarded, the one that included the scan of my genuine signature. I felt the recipe card in my handbag, its worn edge pressing against the other papers.
“What happened after she took it?” I asked.
“She walked out of the room with it. I thought she was going to show it to someone at the front desk, or make copies. I didn’t know she was doing anything wrong.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No. She just said she needed the booking information for the final changes.”
Sherry shook her head.
“That’s not how I remember it.”
“Then tell us how you remember it,” Daniel said.
Sherry stared at him, then at Paige. She didn’t answer.
Daniel rested one hand on the table.
“I want to be precise about what we know,” he said. “Paige remembers seeing Mrs. Lamb leave with a printout. That does not tell us who created the disputed authorization, who signed it, or who uploaded it. I won’t treat it as proof of any of those things.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I want the records, not guesses.”
Daniel nodded.
“The original agreement, your written instruction, and the disputed authorization are all being preserved. I’m also checking the retained event record for the complete message package and the file activity.”
Sherry opened her folder.
“You’re turning a birthday party into an investigation.”
“No,” I said. “The signature on that document did that.”
For the first time since I had arrived, Sherry looked less irritated than uncertain. It lasted only a moment. Then she lifted her chin.
“I believed Billie had approved the changes. I’ve said that from the beginning.”
“And I’ve said I didn’t,” I replied. “Those statements don’t become the same statement because you repeat yours.”
Daniel looked down at the papers in front of him, then reached for his laptop.
“Give me a minute. The system may have retained the upload history.”
He turned the screen slightly away from the rest of us and began checking the event file. I watched the reflections of the room shift across its glossy surface as he opened one record, then another. Paige sat very still. Toby stared at the table. Sherry’s folder remained closed beneath her hands.
Finally, Daniel stopped scrolling.
“I found an activity entry,” he said.
My shoulders tightened.
“What does it show?”
He read the screen again, careful not to overstate it.
May you like
“The venue’s notes record that Mrs. Lamb left with the booking printout. The disputed authorization was uploaded minutes later.”
The room seemed to shrink around those two records: Sherry leaving with the printout, and my disputed signature appearing in Larks Hall’s system moments afterward.
