Chapter 6 - The Long Walk to the Doors
Mom didn't wait to see if her words landed. She just moved.
Her arm stayed tight around my shoulders and she turned us both toward the dark wood doors at the back. My wet shoes squeaked on the marble and I could feel water dripping off the hem of my light blue dress onto my ankles. Every step left a small mark behind me.
The crowd didn't move at first. They just stood there with their phones up, the little flashlights bright in my eyes. I tucked my face closer to Mom's side. Her navy dress was dry and warm against my cold cheek. I could hear her breathing, steady, while mine kept catching.
"Excuse us," she said. It wasn't loud. It wasn't rude. She just kept walking, and after a second the people in front of us shifted sideways to let us through.
They didn't put their phones down, though. As we passed, the screens followed us. A woman in a black dress took a step back but held her phone out farther so she wouldn't lose the angle. A man near the center aisle lifted his higher over the crowd. The lights made spots dance on the marble floor.
Behind us, I heard dress shoes on marble. I knew without looking that it was Richard. He didn't call out right away. He just followed close enough that I could feel him there.
Mom kept her pace even. She didn't run now. She didn't pull me. She guided me with her hand firm on my shoulder, steering me between chairs and around a small round table with empty glasses on it. My hair stuck to my neck and dripped down Mom's arm, but she didn't flinch.
A girl about my age stood with her parents off to the left. She stared at me, not at her phone like the adults. Her mouth was open a little. I looked down at the floor so I wouldn't have to see it.
"You think walking out makes this better?" Richard said from behind us. His voice was low, meant for Mom, but it carried enough that the closest phones picked it up. "Elena. Stop."
Mom didn't stop. Her fingers pressed just a fraction tighter on my shoulder. That was her answer to me — keep going.
We were halfway to the doors now. The chandelier light felt too bright overhead. The wall sconces threw warm light against the wood paneling, and the room smelled like perfume and spilled wine and something damp from my dress. My feet were getting colder with each step.
Eleanor was still near the doorway. I could see her champagne gold dress catching the light. Her hand was still at her chest, fingers on her pearl necklace. She watched us come toward her, and her eyes went from Mom to me and back to Mom. She didn't move out of the way.
"Richard," she said quietly, a warning in it. Not my name. Not Mom's.
He kept walking behind us anyway. I could hear his breathing now, faster than Mom's. "You're making a scene," he said. "This is family business. You don't do this in front of everyone."
Mom slowed just a little as we got closer to Eleanor and the doors. The crowd behind us had closed in again, forming a half-circle. Phones were still up. Red recording dots blinked in the dimmer edges of the room. No one talked, but I could hear fabric shifting and someone's shoe scraping the marble.
I felt Mom look down at me for half a second. Her hair was still pulled back tight, a few strands loose from running. Her jaw was set, but her eyes were soft when they met mine.
"You okay to keep going?" she whispered, so low only I could hear it.
May you like
I nodded against her side. My throat hurt. I wanted to say sorry again, but I didn't. I just held onto the side of her dress with my cold fingers.
She looked back up toward the doors. Eleanor hadn't stepped aside. Richard was right behind us now, close enough that his shadow fell over the wet spots my shoes left on the floor. We were at the edge of the crowd, the open stretch of marble before the dark wood doors just ahead, and for a moment nobody moved.
