Chapter 12 - The Heavy Dark Door
Mom didn't ask if I was ready. She just started walking, and I had to keep up with her or get left in the middle of all those lights.
Her arm was tight around my side. My wet dress stuck to my legs when I moved and my shoes made a soft squeak on the marble. I tried not to look at anyone. I could still feel all the phones pointed at us, those little white circles too bright. My hair dripped down my back and I shivered.
"Stay with me," Mom said, low, just for me.
I nodded against her shoulder. "Okay."
The doors looked so far away. They were dark wood and tall, with brass handles that caught the light from the sconces. A man in a suit stood near them, and when he saw us coming he stepped back fast, like he didn't want to be in the way. Nobody else moved.
Behind us I could hear Richard's shoes on the floor. He wasn't running now, but he was close. "Elena," he said. "Don't do this out there."
Mom didn't turn around. Her fingers pressed harder into my side, steadying me.
Eleanor's voice came next, thin and sharp. "Elena, please. The doors." Her pearls must have moved when she breathed because I heard a little clink, or maybe I imagined it. She sounded scared, not mad.
We got to the doors and Mom slowed for just a second. The sconce beside the door threw warm light across her face and across my wet hair. I could see dust in the light and the grain in the wood up close. The handle was cold when she reached for it.
She looked down at me. "Hold my dress," she said.
I grabbed a handful of her navy sleeve. It was dry and warm. My fingers left a damp spot on it and I felt bad, but she didn't flinch.
She pulled. The door was heavy. It didn't swing easy like a bedroom door. She had to lean her weight into it, and the hinge made a low groan. Cold air from the hallway slipped in around the edge and hit my wet legs. I sucked in a breath.
The light shifted as the gap got wider. The warm sconce light stretched out into the dimmer hall, a long triangle across the carpet out there. For a second I could see my own shadow in it, small next to Mom's.
"Last chance," Richard said behind us. He was only a few feet away now. I didn't look, but I could hear him breathing hard through his nose.
Mom pushed the door all the way open and held it with her foot. She looked back once, not at Richard, but past him at the room. At all the people still filming.
"We're going out," she said. Clear enough for them to hear.
Then she guided me forward. One step over the metal strip in the doorway. Then another. My squeaky shoes went quiet when we hit carpet. The air was cooler and smelled like clean linen and nothing sweet, not like the ballroom.
I glanced back before the door closed. I couldn't help it.
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Eleanor was still by the center, her hand flat on her chest, her mouth open. Richard stood with his hands half up, stopped in place. Around them, the guests hadn't lowered their phones. The lights were still on, all those little circles pointed at the empty space where we'd been, then swinging toward us at the door.
Mom let the heavy door start to close. It moved slow. She kept her hand on my back the whole time, pushing me gently forward, away from the marble and the chandelier light, into the hall.
