Chapter 4 - Her Hand Went to Her Pearls by the Doors
I didn't see her at first because Dad was so close I could smell his cologne and the heat coming off his jacket.
Mom hadn't moved. Her arm was still locked around my back and her other hand was still up a little, like she could keep him from coming any closer if she just held it there. I could feel her breathing against the top of my head. Fast. Hard. Trying to stay even.
The lights from the phones made everything too bright. Little white circles floated when I blinked. Someone to the left kept adjusting their grip and the light kept hitting my eyes, then Mom's cheek, then Dad's bow tie.
He didn't look at me. That was the worst part. He looked only at her, like I wasn't even there between them.
I pressed my face harder into Mom's side. My dress was sticking to my legs and my hair was dripping down my back. I could feel a drop slide off the ends and hit my arm. Cold. I tried not to shiver because I didn't want him to see it.
Then Mom's hand tightened on me. Just a little. And her eyes flicked past Dad's shoulder.
I followed where she looked.
Mrs. Eleanor was standing by the dark wood doors.
She hadn't come forward like Dad had. She stayed back near the doorway where the light from the sconces hit the front of her dress and made it shine. Champagne gold. It caught every little movement. Her gray hair was still pinned up perfect, not a piece out of place, and her pearl necklace sat right at her throat.
Her hand was pressed to her chest, fingers spread over the pearls.
She wasn't looking at Dad. She was looking at me.
I knew that look. I'd seen it that afternoon when she checked my dress before the guests came in, running her eyes down the front to make sure it was smooth. Only now her mouth was open a little and her eyes were wide, and she didn't look angry. She looked shocked, like someone had said something wrong out loud at the table.
My stomach dropped. I grabbed a fistful of Mom's dress at her waist and held it. I didn't mean to, it just happened. My fingers wouldn't let go of the navy fabric.
Mom felt it. I know she did because she shifted her weight and moved me, slow and careful, from in front of her to against her side. Her arm came around my shoulders instead of my back and she pulled me in tight against her hip. My wet cheek pressed to the sleeve of her dress. The fabric was warm from her skin.
Now I wasn't hidden anymore. I was right out next to her, facing the room.
I could see all of them. The round tables with the white cloths pushed back. The chandelier throwing light down on the marble floor where my shoes had left wet marks. The row of people standing with their phones up, flashlights on, still filming. Nobody had put them down. A woman in red held hers with both hands to keep it steady.
And Mrs. Eleanor by the doors, still with her hand to her chest.
Dad took half a step to the side, like he was going to block Mom's view of her. Mom didn't let him. She turned her shoulders, keeping me tucked at her side, until she was facing out toward the tables and the phones and Mrs. Eleanor beyond them.
I felt her arm go heavier around me, holding me there. Not pushing me forward. Just keeping me with her while she looked at the whole room.
May you like
Mrs. Eleanor's fingers tightened on her pearls. She glanced quick at the phones, then back at us.
Mom didn't say anything yet. She just breathed once, deep, and held me closer against her side.
