Chapter 7 - The Sideboard Was Never Part of It
I didn't move from my chair after Grandma pushed her plate back. The dishes sat cleared to the ends of the table, coffee cups half full, water glasses sweating rings onto the wood. Nobody got up to start the dishwasher. Nobody said we should do the toast now. The air felt held, like everyone was waiting for someone else to decide what kind of afternoon this was going to be.
My aunt in the white dress stayed standing near the head of the table. She'd smoothed her one-shoulder strap twice since lunch started. Her gold necklace caught the chandelier light every time she turned her head. She looked tired now, but still in charge of the room.
"It was in my handbag," she said, to no one in particular. She lifted her chin. "My bracelet. I had it zipped in the inside pocket this morning."
I stared at the light-colored handbag still sitting in the middle of the table. It hadn't been moved since she pointed at it. The zipper was half open where my cousin had left it after Grandma stopped the search. I could see a folded receipt sticking out.
My uncle Ray, my dad's older brother, leaned back in his chair at the far end. He'd been quiet through the whole meal, cutting his chicken, refilling his water. He set his fork down carefully.
"You said you just noticed it gone when she walked in?" he asked.
She nodded. "I went to get it before lunch. It wasn't there."
That was scene one in my head. Simple. Inside pocket. Morning.
Grandma didn't look at her. Grandma was watching Ray, her hands folded over her gray dress under her blue jacket. The bun at the back of her head hadn't slipped all day.
Ray wiped his mouth with his napkin. "So you checked the bag, found it empty, and then she came through the door."
"Yes," my aunt said quickly. "Exactly."
We all sat with that for a minute. Someone's chair creaked. The daylight through the sheer curtains had gone a little flatter, more afternoon than noon. The chandelier buzzed faintly above us.
Then my aunt stood and walked toward the sideboard against the wall. The hutch loomed behind it, and I saw the corner of my pink-cased tablet still propped up there, its little eye facing the room. She didn't touch it. She ran her hand along the polished top of the sideboard, past the stack of serving bowls.
"Actually," she said, "now that I think about it, I might have taken it out last night. I might have left it here, on the sideboard, when I was setting the table."
My stomach dropped. I felt my fingers tighten around my napkin in my lap.
Inside pocket this morning. Then maybe sideboard last night. Those were not the same story.
I didn't say anything. I had learned that morning that anything I said fast sounded defensive. I kept my eyes on my water glass and breathed through my nose. I could feel Grandma glance at me, brief, checking if I would jump in. I didn't.
Ray frowned. He looked from her hand on the sideboard back to the handbag on the table. "Which was it?" he asked. His voice wasn't loud. It was the kind of even he used when he talked about county road work. "In the bag, or on the sideboard?"
My aunt laughed a little, short. "Both could be true. I mean, I carry it in the bag, but I take it out when I get home. You know how it is."
"No," Ray said. "I don't. Help me understand."
She straightened. Her bob swung forward around her jaw. "I don't remember every move I make, Ray. I know it's missing. I know I had it yesterday."
He nodded slowly, then set both hands flat on the table. "Can I ask something else? When she walked in that door, you didn't even pause. You said check her bag. That was fast. Why her, right away?"
The room went completely still. My heart beat so hard I was sure the mic on my tablet could have picked it up from across the room.
My aunt looked at me, then away. "I just put it together. She was late. She came in with a bag of her own. It made sense."
Ray didn't nod this time. He just looked at Grandma. Grandma gave him the smallest shake of her head, not no, just wait.
I stayed quiet, but inside I logged it word for word. In the bag this morning. Maybe on the sideboard last night. Late, so it must be me. The story had moved twice in five minutes, and I hadn't had to push it at all.
May you like
Grandma stood then, smoothing her jacket. "We'll check the video before anyone moves anything else," she said. Her voice left no space for argument. "Ray, leave the sideboard alone."
My aunt pulled her hand back from the wood like it was hot.
