Chương 2
The competition was sponsored by an established European couture house that funded an emerging-design program in the United States.
Applicants advanced anonymously through the first rounds.
Emily had used her initials rather than her full name whenever the rules permitted it.
When she reached the semifinal stage, sketches were no longer enough.
She needed finished garments.
That explained the extra shifts she had taken doing alterations at a bridal shop near our neighborhood.
It explained the packages of deadstock wool.
It explained why my sewing machine had migrated permanently to the garage.
It also explained the night in March when I found her crying over a ruined piece of ivory silk and assumed she was overwhelmed by school.
I had sat beside her and told her that one bad assignment did not define her.
She had nodded without correcting me.
The ruined silk had not been an assignment.
It had been the bodice of her second competition garment.
She started it again the next morning.
I learned none of this until Saturday.
Emily guarded the secret with an efficiency that was almost insulting.
She handed Daniel and me two black envelopes after breakfast.
“Do not lose these.”
Daniel opened his.
His eyebrows rose.
“VIP?”
“Apparently.”
“Apparently?”
“That’s what they sent.”
I examined the embossed pass.
“Emily Carter Guest.”
I looked at her.
“Guest of what?”
She was buttering toast.
“Me.”
“Doing what?”
“Attending.”
Daniel leaned against the counter.
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You're strategically refusing nouns.”
Emily bit into her toast.
“That’s different.”
The drive to Dallas took a little under three hours.
Emily spent most of it answering messages.
Twice she received calls she declined immediately.
On the third, she put in one earbud and said, “Hi, Celeste,” with a formality I had never heard from her.
Daniel glanced at me.
I glanced at him.
Emily caught us in the rearview mirror.
“Eyes forward.”
“I’m driving,” Daniel said.
“I mean Mom.”
“What did I do?”
“You have your investigation face.”
“I do not have an investigation face.”
“You absolutely do,” Daniel said.
“Traitor.”
For the first time since Lauren’s comment, Emily laughed without restraint.
It lasted only a few seconds, but I held on to the sound.
The convention hall was already crowded when we arrived.
People moved through the entrance in clothes that made my nicest black dress feel strangely conservative.
A woman in silver trousers was arguing into a headset.
Two photographers crouched beside a sponsor wall.
Someone hurried past carrying a rack of garments wrapped in clear plastic.
Emily stopped just inside the entrance.
For the first time all morning, she looked seventeen.
Her breathing changed.
“Hey,” Daniel said.
She rubbed her palms against her blazer.
“I’m fine.”
He did not tell her she was fine.
That was one of the things he had learned after seventeen years of raising her.
He simply held out his hand.
She took it.
A woman wearing a staff credential approached us.
“Emily?”
Emily released Daniel’s hand.
“Yes.”
“We’ve been looking for you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
The woman checked her tablet.
“Celeste wants you backstage in ten.”
Emily nodded.
Then the woman turned to us.
“You must be her parents.”
Daniel said, “We’re beginning to suspect that.”
The woman laughed.
“You really don’t know?”
“No,” I said.
Emily closed her eyes.
“Please don’t.”
The woman lifted both hands.
“I said nothing.”
She hurried away.
Daniel stared at our daughter.
“Backstage?”
Emily adjusted one sleeve.
“I have to go.”
“For what?”
“I’ll explain after.”
“Emily.”
She kissed his cheek.
Then mine.
“Trust me.”
Before either of us could stop her, she disappeared through a secured door.
Daniel and I stood there holding VIP passes and looking like two people whose child had just revealed a second life.
“Did you know?” he asked.
“No.”
“You’re supposed to have the investigation face.”
“Apparently it needs work.”
A familiar laugh carried across the lobby.
I turned.
Lauren stood near the sponsor wall with Madison and Chloe.
She wore cream from shoulders to heels and carried the same structured leather bag she had spent twenty minutes discussing at her mother’s birthday.
Madison spotted us first.
She whispered something.
Lauren followed her gaze.
The surprise on her face lasted less than a second.
Then came the smile.
“Well,” she said as she approached.
“Look who made it.”
Daniel exhaled through his nose.
I touched his wrist.
Lauren glanced behind us.
“Where’s Emily?”
“Backstage,” Daniel said.
I wished immediately that he hadn’t.
Lauren blinked.
“Backstage?”
“She was asked to go back there.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Lauren laughed softly.
“Oh.”
That single syllable managed to contain an entire theory of our incompetence.
She looked at our passes.
“VIP?”
Daniel showed her his.
Her smile weakened.
“These events use different tiers, you know.”
“Good to know.”
“Our seats are third row.”
“Congratulations,” Daniel said.
Lauren’s eyes narrowed.
A chime sounded overhead before she could answer.
People began moving toward the runway entrance.
An usher scanned our passes and pointed Daniel and me toward the front.
Lauren started after us.
The usher checked hers.
“Third row, ma’am.”
Lauren stopped.
I kept walking.
Our seats were directly beside the runway.
Daniel lowered himself into his chair and looked at the reserved card.
Then he looked at me.
“I’m starting to think she didn’t buy spectator tickets.”
The lights dimmed before I could answer.
Across the aisle, Lauren was still staring at us.
Music rolled through the hall.
The first collections came and went in bursts of color, applause, fabric, and names I tried unsuccessfully to remember.
Then the room darkened again.
A gold emblem appeared on the enormous screen behind the runway.
The chief creative director walked into the light.
“This final presentation,” she said, “belongs to the youngest recipient in the history of our Global Emerging Visionary Award.”
Daniel’s hand found mine.
The screen changed.
Two initials appeared first.
E.C.
Then the full name formed beneath them.
EMILY CARTER.
May you like
I stopped breathing.
Across the aisle, something struck the concrete floor.
