Chapter 5 - Facing the Lights With Her Hand on Me
I felt Mom turn before I saw her turn. Her arm stayed locked around my side and pulled me in tighter until my wet shoulder pressed into the navy blue of her dress. The cold from my light blue dress bled right through her sleeve. I could hear her breathing change, harder and more even, like she had decided something and was trying to keep her hands steady while she did it.
The marble floor was slick under my shoes. Every chandelier light seemed brighter now that we were in the middle of the room. I kept my head tucked low against her ribs because I did not want to look at all the faces. The warm air from the wall sconces did nothing for me. My hair hung heavy down my back and dripped onto my arms, and I could feel water running down my neck and pooling at the collar of my dress.
Phones were everywhere. I had seen one woman holding hers up when Mom ran in, and now there were more. Little squares of white light floated in the dark gaps between tables. Some shook a little as people tried to hold them still. I heard the soft shift of shoes on marble as the crowd moved in closer around us, forming a tighter circle. Nobody stepped away. Nobody put their phone down.
Dad was still close on our left. I could feel him there without looking, his black tuxedo jacket in my side vision, his weight leaning forward. He had gone quiet after Mom stood up to him face to face. The air between them still felt hot and tight. I waited for his hand or his voice to cut back in, but he did not move past us. Mom's body blocked him.
Across the room near the dark wood doors, the older woman in the champagne gold dress had not moved. Her gray hair was still pinned up neat, and her hand was still pressed to her pearl necklace at her chest. Her mouth was open a little, like she had stopped in the middle of walking out. The doorway light caught the shimmer in her dress every time she breathed. I knew she was watching us, and I knew everyone else saw her watching.
Mom's fingers pressed into my side through my wet dress. Her other hand came up and rested flat against my upper arm, holding me anchored to her. I could feel the tremble in her palm that she was trying to hide. She shifted her feet, planting herself wider on the marble, and turned her shoulders square to the crowd.
The room got quieter. Not silent, because the phones made small sounds and someone breathed hard behind us and the chandelier hummed faintly above, but the talking stopped. I stared at the floor and watched the reflections move. Warm light stretched long across the marble. Blurred phone lights wobbled in the shine. A dark drip from my hair hit the floor and spread.
Mom lifted her chin. I felt it more than saw it, the way her chest rose and her arm tightened one last time before she spoke. She was not looking at Dad anymore. She was not looking at the woman in gold by the door. She was looking out at the circle of people with their phones up, at the men in suits and the women in long dresses who had been watching since she ran in.
Her voice came out low and firm and carried across the marble. She said we were finished in a way that did not leave space for anyone to argue with her in that moment. She said she's done. We're all done.
May you like
The words landed and stayed there. I felt them in her side where I was pressed against her. My face burned even though I was still cold and wet. I did not know exactly what done meant, only that she meant me and she meant her and she said it to the whole room instead of saying it quiet where only family could hear.
Nobody answered. The phone lights did not go down. If anything, more arms lifted. I saw the glow reflect off the dark wood doors behind the older woman. I saw it catch on Dad's bow tie when he shifted his weight. Mom did not move after she spoke. She kept me pinned to her side, her hand hard on my arm, her eyes on the crowd, holding the line she had just drawn while everyone kept recording.
