Part 3
Her mother, Evelyn Kerr, stood near the stage beside the auction podium in a pale champagne-colored dress. She looked twenty years older than she had an hour earlier. Her hands were clasped at her waist, but Naomi could see them shaking.
“Naomi,” Evelyn said softly. “Maybe we should take Wren somewhere quieter.”
Naomi looked at her mother.
For half a second, Naomi wanted to hand Wren over. She wanted someone older to decide what came next. She wanted to go back to the version of the night when she had been only a daughter, only a partner, only a mother who had dressed her child in white and trusted the people around her.
But Wren’s hand was locked around Naomi’s wrist.
“No,” Naomi said. “We stay together.”
Evelyn nodded once.
It was not agreement. Naomi could see fear in her mother’s eyes. Fear of the guests. Fear of the foundation. Fear of the stain spreading across everything they had built.
But she nodded.
That was enough for the moment.
Ben returned with an expression that told Naomi he had already spoken with someone more powerful than himself.
“The ballroom system has multiple cameras,” he said quietly. “The footage is preserved. The hotel’s legal office will maintain the original files. We can make a copy available to your representative.”
Calder stood. “There’s no need to involve lawyers.”
Naomi’s gaze moved to him.
“Then you should be very comfortable with what the camera shows.”
His throat worked.
Wren looked up at Naomi. “Will it tell you?”
Naomi stroked her hair carefully, avoiding the cut.
“It will show us what happened,” she said.
Wren considered that.
Then, after a long moment, she whispered, “He was mad because the phone had the blue things.”
Naomi looked at Calder.
His face went blank.
“What blue things?” she asked.
Wren shook her head quickly and pressed closer to her mother.
Calder’s voice dropped. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
Naomi did not take her eyes off him.
“Maybe,” she said. “But I think you do.”
The urgent care clinic was fifteen minutes away, and Naomi spent every second of the drive twisted in her seat so she could see Wren in the back. Her mother drove. Neither woman spoke much. The gala had dissolved behind them in a blur of hotel doors, winter air, and guests calling after Naomi with voices she could not bear to answer.
Wren held a cold pack against her forehead and stared out the window.
Streetlights dragged across the glass.
At a stoplight, Naomi reached back and took her hand.
Wren’s fingers were sticky with dried blood.
“Am I in trouble?” the child asked.
Naomi turned toward her.
“For what?”
“For touching his phone.”
The question was so small that it took Naomi a second to understand it.
Then she felt herself go cold.
“No,” she said. “No, sweetheart. You are not in trouble.”
“But he said phones are private.”
“Phones can be private.”
“I shouldn’t have looked.”
Naomi held her hand more tightly.
“You are six. You found a phone. You did not do anything wrong.”
Wren looked down at their joined hands.
“He said he’d be sad if you knew.”
Naomi’s breath caught.
“What exactly did he say?”
Wren shrugged, but her eyes filled.
“He said I made things hard. He said Mommy has enough problems.”
Evelyn’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
Naomi did not look at her mother. She could not. If she looked at Evelyn, she might see the recognition there. The foundation had been struggling quietly for the last year. Naomi knew that much. Donors were less generous than they had been before the pandemic years, costs had risen, and some of the programs Evelyn cared about most had become expensive to sustain.
Calder had stepped in to help.
He had been organized. Calm. Tireless.
He had offered to handle donor relations, vendor contracts, online fundraising accounts, and the kind of administrative work Naomi hated because it made her feel as though every good intention had to pass through a spreadsheet before it could become real.
“He made things easier,” Evelyn had said more than once.
Naomi had believed that too.
At the clinic, a nurse cleaned Wren’s cut and asked gentle questions in a room painted with cartoon birds. Wren answered some and ignored others. She allowed the nurse to place adhesive strips across the wound but cried when the antiseptic touched her skin.
Naomi sat beside her, one hand on the child’s ankle.
May you like
The nurse did not ask Naomi to explain everything. Naomi was grateful for that. She asked whether Wren had lost consciousness. She asked whether she had vomited. She asked whether she felt dizzy. She asked whether Naomi felt safe taking her home.
The last question made Naomi’s eyes sting.
