Part 8
“Premier fired you because the gala became public,” Claire said.
“They fired me because I brought Lily.”
“Both can be true.”
Mateo looked toward the window.
Outside, a city bus exhaled at the curb.
“I made a mistake,” he said. “The sitter canceled. My cousin usually helps, but his son was sick. I could not lose the shift. I put Lily in the employee room with books and snacks. I told her not to leave.”
“I got bored,” Lily said.
“You got worried.”
Lily pushed the straw to the other side of her glass.
Mateo continued, “She heard someone say I had been sent upstairs. She went to find me.”
“I thought he was in trouble,” Lily said.
Claire asked, “What happened when you reached the ballroom?”
Lily looked at her father.
He nodded once.
“There were flowers by the door,” she said. “A lady told me I couldn’t be there. Then a man bumped me.”
“The man with silver cuffs?”
“He didn’t bump me. He bumped the gold stand.”
“Where were you?”
“Behind it.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t know. He said a bad word.”
Mateo looked at her.
“You did not tell me that.”
“You said not to repeat bad words.”
“Today is an exception.”
Lily lowered her voice. “He said shit.”
Mateo glanced toward the next booth.
Claire asked, “What did he do after the pedestal moved?”
“He grabbed the bird.”
“The crystal bird?”
Lily nodded. “It didn’t fall. It just turned sideways. He fixed it and walked away.”
“Did anyone see him?”
“The brown-dress lady.”
“Vanessa?”
Lily looked at Claire’s phone, where a news photograph of Vanessa remained open.
“Yes.”
“What did she do?”
“She came fast. She asked what I touched. I said nothing. Then she said I broke the bird.”
“Did she inspect it?”
“She looked at it.”
“Did she speak to the man?”
“He left.”
“Did she call him Owen?”
Lily thought for a moment.
“She said, ‘Go find your sponsor.’”
Claire looked at Mateo.
He understood enough from her face to ask, “What does that mean?”
“At some treatment programs, people in recovery have sponsors.”
Lily’s eyes widened. “Like the companies on soccer shirts?”
“Different kind.”
Mateo’s mouth hardened. “The man was drinking?”
“I don’t know,” Claire said.
Lily picked at the paper wrapper around her straw.
“He had a tiny bottle.”
“What kind?”
“Clear. He put it in his pocket.”
Mateo covered his face briefly with one hand.
Claire felt the story arranging itself too easily and distrusted it. Children saw accurately and remembered incompletely. Owen could have been carrying hand sanitizer, perfume, or medication. Vanessa could have told him to find an event sponsor rather than a recovery sponsor. The pedestal could have moved for another reason.
“What color was the cap?” Claire asked.
Lily’s shoulders rose.
Mateo said, “Enough.”
Claire stopped.
The eggs arrived. Lily ate one bite, then another.
Mateo took a folded piece of paper from his jacket. “She drew where everyone stood.”
The drawing showed a rectangle for the ballroom, circles for guests, a star for the pedestal, and stick figures labeled ME, BROWN LADY, MAN, and NICE LADY.
Claire looked at the figure representing herself. It had yellow hair reaching to the floor and arms longer than its legs.
“You made me very tall.”
“You were kneeling.”
“That usually makes people shorter.”
“I forgot.”
Mateo slid the drawing back into his pocket.
“I will give this to the investigator,” he said. “Not to you.”
“That is the right choice.”
He studied her face, perhaps looking for offense.
Claire stirred coffee she had not sweetened.
“The foundation can arrange emergency rental assistance through another agency,” she said. “You would not deal with me.”
“No.”
“It is not a personal favor. You lost work because of an event we organized.”
“I lost work because I brought my daughter into the hotel.”
“And because Premier is protecting its contract.”
“I said no.”
Lily looked between them.
Claire stopped pushing.
Mateo’s shoulders lowered slightly.
“Thank you,” he said.
It was not acceptance. It was recognition that she had finally heard him.
Before leaving, Lily asked Claire to bend closer.
She whispered, “My dad thinks hitting is always wrong.”
“He’s right.”
“But you helped me.”
“Both things can be true.”
Lily frowned.
“That’s confusing.”
“Yes.”
“Adults say that when they don’t know the answer.”
Claire glanced at Mateo.
He looked almost amused.
“Sometimes,” Claire said, “adults say it because the answer is two things at once.”
Lily considered this, then returned to her eggs.
On Tuesday, the event photographer’s images were delivered to Miriam Cole.
By Wednesday, David received notice that the photographs did not clearly show the pedestal at the moment it moved.
Claire read the email twice.
“Not clearly is not the same as not at all,” she said.
David sat behind his desk, rolling a pen between his palms.
“Miriam’s summary says floral arrangements obstructed the relevant angle.”
“Who selected the relevant images?”
“Miriam and her forensic consultant.”
“I want the originals.”
“We can request them in discovery if Vanessa files a civil suit or if charges proceed.”
“That could take months.”
“Yes.”
“What about metadata? Burst sequences? Reflections in the mirrors?”
David stopped rolling the pen.
“You have been watching crime shows.”
“The ballroom has twelve-foot mirrors.”
“That is annoyingly plausible.”
They asked Miriam to review reflections.
She declined to provide ongoing investigative updates.
Claire spent the rest of the day walking through her apartment and checking her phone. Without work, time became shapeless. She had not realized how much of her identity depended on other people needing an answer before five.
At four, she drove to a grocery store and bought dish soap, oranges, and a bag of rice. She forgot coffee, the one thing she had meant to buy.
In the parking lot, a woman loading two children into a minivan recognized her.
“You did the right thing,” the woman said.
May you like
Claire placed the rice in her trunk.
“I did one right thing and one wrong thing.”
