Chapter 11 - What She Kept Between Us and the Door
I could feel Mom shift her weight before she moved. Her arm was tight around my side, her hand flat against my ribs through my wet dress, and she turned us just enough that her shoulder was between me and Mrs. Eleanor. I was still dripping onto the marble. Every time I breathed I heard the fabric stick and pull.
Mrs. Eleanor stood near the dark wood doors with her hand still at her pearls. Her mouth opened like she was going to say my name the way she did when she wanted something fetched. Sweet, then sharp at the end.
"Lily, honey," she said. "Come here to me."
Mom didn't answer right away. She moved her other hand down and took mine. My fingers were cold and pruned. She squeezed once and then stepped sideways, pulling me with her away from the doorway, away from Mrs. Eleanor's reach. It wasn't a big step. It was enough that everyone saw it.
Richard made a sound in his throat. "Elena," he said. "Don't do this in front of everybody."
Mom looked at him, then back at Mrs. Eleanor. "She stays with me," she said.
I stared at the floor so I wouldn't have to look at the phones. The lights made white spots on the marble. My hair hung heavy over my shoulders and water ran down my neck. I kept thinking about the pitcher on the service cart outside the kitchen hall, how heavy it had been, how Mrs. Eleanor had told me to hurry and refill the glasses before the toast. I hadn't told Mom that part yet. I hadn't told her I'd been sent back and forth while the grown-ups watched.
Mrs. Eleanor tried again, softer this time. She held her hand out a little. "You're frightening her," she said to Mom. "Let her come stand with me until this calms down."
That was when I understood what Mom had meant out on the floor. She's done. I had thought she meant I was done crying, or done being looked at. But standing there with Mom's arm locked around me, I realized she meant the errands. No more running to the kitchen in my good dress. No more carrying trays I could barely lift. No more waiting by the wall while they finished talking. Done meant I didn't have to go when Mrs. Eleanor held out her hand.
My chest got tight. I pressed closer to Mom's side. My mom's navy dress was getting wet where I leaned, dark going darker. She didn't flinch or push me off.
"No," I whispered. It came out so small I wasn't sure anyone heard it. Mom heard it. Her hand tightened around mine.
Mrs. Eleanor saw it. Her hand dropped back to her side. The shock on her face changed into something harder. She glanced at the guests with their phones up, then at Richard, like she was counting what this would cost her.
"You can't just decide that," Richard said. His voice was low. "You don't get to cut her off from her family."
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Mom didn't raise her voice. She kept me pulled in against her hip, her body angled so I was behind her shoulder. "I can decide who she serves," she said. "And it's not you. Not anymore."
Nobody moved toward the doors. The wood stayed closed behind Mrs. Eleanor. The chandelier hummed somewhere above us and the warm light caught on all those phone screens. I kept holding Mom's hand and I didn't step toward Mrs. Eleanor, even when she looked right at me waiting.
