Chương 4
Ethan said, “This isn’t the place.”
Celia gave a tired nod. “Apparently we don’t have a place.”
Sophie shifted against him. Her small hand searched for the pin, then stopped when she remembered Celia held it.
Celia noticed. She returned it.
“I’m going to keep the box,” Sophie said.
“It’s your box.”
Sophie slid the broken butterfly into the velvet slot. One wing would not fit. She pressed it gently until Ethan placed his hand over hers.
“Don’t force it.”
Her eyes filled again. “It’s already broken.”
“I know.”
Outside, the guests had begun talking. Their voices reached the room as a low, shifting current. Someone laughed too loudly, the laugh of a person attempting to prove there was nothing serious enough to prevent laughter.
Daniel checked the time.
Celia saw him.
“Say it.”
He shook his head.
“Daniel.”
“We can postpone.”
“That isn’t what you were going to say.”
He sat on the arm of the opposite sofa. “I was going to say we can still get married without pretending this didn’t happen.”
Celia looked at him for a long moment.
“How?”
“We ask your mother to leave. We tell the guests there was a family matter. We make the room smaller. We do the ceremony because I still want to marry you.”
“You make that sound simple.”
“It isn’t. I’m trying not to make it impossible.”
He spoke carefully, but his right leg bounced beneath his trousers. Ethan had assumed Daniel’s calm came from confidence. Now he saw the effort underneath it.
Celia turned to Sophie. “Do you still want to be my flower girl?”
Sophie looked toward the closed door. “Will Grandma be there?”
“No.”
“Will she be mad?”
“Yes.”
Sophie considered this.
“Will she yell?”
“I won’t let her.”
The answer came faster than anything Celia had said all evening.
Sophie nodded. “Then I want to.”
Ethan almost objected. He wanted to take her home, put her in pajamas, make toast because she always asked for toast when upset, and let the Vale family collapse without them. But Sophie’s face had changed. She was still frightened, yet the fear no longer owned the whole space inside her.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She nodded again.
The ceremony began forty-eight minutes late.
Margaret did not leave the hotel. She remained in her suite after security informed her she would not be permitted inside the ballroom. Three guests went upstairs to speak with her. Two returned. One, Margaret’s younger brother Robert, stayed.
Celia walked down the aisle without her mother.
The empty chair in the front row created its own presence. Guests glanced at it, then at Celia, then lowered their eyes. The quartet played softly. White petals clung to the dark hardwood where Sophie had scattered them unevenly. She forgot the rehearsed pace after six steps and hurried the rest of the way, stopping beside Ethan with the basket crooked against her hip.
He crouched and straightened it.
“You did fine.”
“I went too fast.”
“Nobody got hurt.”
That earned him the beginning of a smile.
Celia and Daniel exchanged vows that were shorter than planned. Daniel’s voice failed once. He cleared his throat, apologized under his breath, and continued. Celia did not cry until she reached the line about choosing him freely. The words had probably been written weeks earlier. That night they sounded like a claim she was making against the room.
At dinner, the tables closest to Ethan remained half empty. Guests who came over did so in cautious pairs. Some hugged Sophie. Some praised her dress. One woman with a red shawl told Ethan that children were “such imaginative witnesses,” then looked wounded when he asked what she meant.
A cousin named Patrick said Margaret had always been difficult under stress.
“What kind of stress makes a person frame a six-year-old?” Ethan asked.
Patrick studied his drink. “I’m not defending her.”
“You began by defending her.”
“I’m saying there may be context.”
“There’s always context.”
Patrick nodded as though Ethan had agreed with him.
Celia did not eat. She moved from table to table with Daniel, thanking people for staying. Her smile appeared and disappeared with mechanical precision. When she reached Ethan, she lowered herself into the empty chair beside Sophie.
Sophie had fallen asleep with one cheek against Ethan’s jacket. The white ribbon from the gift box remained wrapped around her wrist.
Celia looked at her niece for a while.
“I’m sorry.”
Ethan shifted Sophie’s weight. “You didn’t do it.”
“I brought her here.”
“So did I.”
“I knew Mom didn’t want the pin in the ceremony.”
He turned toward her.
“She told me this morning,” Celia said. “She said it would turn the wedding into a memorial for Claire. I told her that was ridiculous.”
“Did she know Sophie was giving it to you?”
“No. I didn’t know.”
“Then why mention the pin?”
“I showed her an old photograph. Claire wore it in the picture. I said I wished I had something of hers with me.”
Ethan watched Daniel speaking to an elderly couple near the dance floor. “Sophie came up with the idea after she heard you say that at Christmas.”
Celia’s eyes closed.
“You remember Christmas?”
“She remembers everything people say when they think she isn’t listening.”
“Claire did too.”
The music changed to a slow song. A few couples moved onto the dance floor with visible uncertainty, as if dancing might be disrespectful but refusing to dance would make the evening worse.
Celia touched the lid of the white box beside Sophie’s hand.
“Can it be repaired?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always say that before you fix something.”
“I’m not promising her.”
“I wasn’t asking for her.”
He looked at Celia.
Her composure had thinned. Under the table, she worried the edge of her napkin between two fingers, folding and unfolding it until the cloth held a dark crease.
“I want to see the footage,” she said.
“So do I.”
May you like
“Mom will say Sophie lied.”
“She already is.”
