Chương 2
My mother began blotting wine from her blouse again.
Her hand shook.
That was when my anger finally arrived.
Not when the wine flew.
Not when Linda called me a waitress as though it were a diagnosis.
It came when I saw my mother trying to hide that trembling hand because she knew I was watching.
“You’re leaving,” I said.
Linda stared at me.
“Excuse me?”
“You need to leave.”
A familiar voice spoke behind my shoulder.
“Emily.”
Marcus Reed, Bellamy’s general manager, had crossed the dining room with two members of the security staff.
He did not look at Linda first.
He looked at my mother.
Then he looked at me.
His expression changed.
Marcus had known me since I was nineteen, which meant he could tell the difference between my angry face and my about-to-do-something-stupid face.
“Is Mrs. Hayes hurt?”
“No.”
Mom answered before I could.
“I’m wet and furious, but nothing’s broken.”
One of the security employees coughed into his fist to hide a smile.
Linda turned toward Marcus with visible relief.
“Good, you’re the manager.”
“I am.”
“These women have created a scene, and I would appreciate some privacy while my family handles it.”
Marcus glanced at me.
I saw the question in his eyes.
I gave the smallest shake of my head.
Not yet.
He returned his attention to Linda.
“Ma’am, I need you to step away from the table.”
Linda actually smiled.
“Of course.”
She picked up her purse and turned toward my mother.
“You heard him.”
Marcus did not move.
“I was speaking to you.”
The smile remained on Linda’s face for perhaps two seconds too long.
Then it disappeared.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You threw a glass of wine at another guest.”
“She is not another guest.”
Linda gestured toward Mom.
“She’s with us.”
Marcus’s expression hardened.
“I’m not sure why you believe that improves the situation.”
A few people nearby laughed.
Linda heard them.
Humiliation changed her faster than anger ever did.
Her shoulders went rigid, and color climbed into her neck.
“Do you have any idea who my husband is?”
Howard shut his eyes.
“Linda, don’t.”
“No, I’m tired of being treated like some criminal because this woman deliberately antagonized me.”
“You assaulted her,” Daniel said.
“I splashed wine.”
“You threw it.”
“It slipped.”
“You literally said, ‘This is what happens when people forget their place.’”
“I was upset.”
“Before or after it slipped?”
“Daniel.”
“No, answer me.”
Linda looked at her son as though he had betrayed her by remembering correctly.
Marcus turned to me.
“Ms. Hayes, would you like me to contact the police?”
Linda’s head snapped toward him.
“Ms. Hayes?”
Marcus said nothing.
I looked toward the dark glass dome mounted near the entrance to the private dining alcove.
Bellamy’s had installed new security equipment after a theft two years earlier involving a disappearing case of Burgundy and an assistant sommelier who turned out to have a remarkably optimistic understanding of inventory procedures.
The public dining room cameras did not record audio.
The private event area did.
Our table sat just inside its coverage zone because Linda had insisted on the quieter alcove for what she called a more appropriate atmosphere.
I almost admired the irony.
“Marcus,” I said, “does the camera over table twenty-four have a clear view?”
He followed my gaze.
“Yes.”
“Audio?”
“In that section, yes.”
Linda looked from him to me.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure nobody has to argue about whether the glass slipped.”
For the first time all evening, she said nothing.
Howard slowly put down his water.
“Linda.”
This time his voice carried something new.
Fear.
She heard it too.
“It was an accident.”
Daniel stared at her.
“You just changed your story.”
“I did not.”
“You said Mom provoked you.”
“She did.”
“So you accidentally threw wine because she provoked you?”
“I’m not going to be interrogated by my own son.”
“You’re not being interrogated.”
Howard rubbed both hands over his face.
“You’re just lying badly.”
Linda turned on him.
“Whose side are you on?”
“That’s not the question we should be asking right now.”
“It certainly is to me.”
My mother stood.
Wine had soaked through the front of her blouse, and she folded her arms over herself.
I took off my jacket and put it around her shoulders.
She started to protest.
“Mom.”
“All right.”
That small surrender nearly undid me.
Daniel moved toward her.
“Patricia, I am so sorry.”
Mom studied him.
“I know you are.”
Linda made an impatient sound.
“Can we stop behaving as though someone died?”
Daniel turned around.
I had never seen his face look like that.
Neither, apparently, had his mother.
She stepped back.
“Don’t,” he said.
“Don’t say another word to her.”
A door opened beyond the service corridor.
Several employees looked toward it at once.
My father walked into the dining room without hurrying.
Richard Hayes wore dark slacks, a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled twice, and the reading glasses he always forgot were perched on his head.
He had probably been in the upstairs office reviewing invoices.
He saw me first.
Then Daniel.
Then my mother wearing my jacket over a blouse stained dark red.
Dad stopped.
My mother’s face changed.
“Richard.”
He crossed the room.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Dad touched Mom’s cheek with two fingers.
She caught his hand.
“I’m okay.”
He looked at the stain.
“Patty.”
“I said I’m okay.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Linda cleared her throat.
“Mr. Hayes, this is a private family disagreement.”
Dad turned toward her.
He knew who she was.
They had met twice during wedding planning, although Linda had apparently remembered him only as my quiet father who disliked talking about work.
“I’m aware of who the family is,” he said.
Linda hesitated.
Marcus stepped closer.
“Richard, the incident should be on twenty-four, including audio.”
Dad looked at him.
“Incident?”
“Linda threw wine at Mom,” I said.
May you like
My father became completely still.
Linda glanced at Marcus.
