“Understood.”
“But no additional bar charges go to my account.”
“All right.”
“Cancel the band extension.”
“Yes.”
“Cancel the late-night catering.”
“Yes.”
“Release the chauffeured cars.”
Another pause.
“Those were scheduled beginning at eleven.”
“They aren’t anymore.”
“What about the bridal suite?”
“Release it.”
“And tomorrow’s farewell brunch?”
“Cancel it.”
Mr. Reynolds lowered his voice.
“Mrs. Porter, once I process these changes, some of them cannot be restored without a new payment method.”
“I understand.”
“Are you certain?”
I touched my burning cheek.
“Completely.”
Before we disconnected, footsteps rushed into the hallway.
Then Michael knocked.
“Mom?”
I remained silent.
“Mom, open the door.”
Another knock.
“Please.”
His voice became urgent.
“Lauren is upset.”
I nearly laughed again.
Of course Lauren was upset.
Apparently, striking someone in front of two hundred witnesses had been stressful for her.
“Everybody’s staring,” Michael added.
There it was.
His real emergency.
Appearances.
Then the band stopped.
Not after a song.
In the middle of one.
Confused voices rose from the ballroom.
A few moments later, Mr. Reynolds spoke somewhere beyond the restroom door.
“Mr. Porter?”
Michael answered.
“Yes?”
“I need to speak with you and your wife regarding the remaining services this evening.”
Silence.
Then Michael knocked again.
Harder.
“Mom.”
His voice sounded different now.
“What did you do?”
I opened the door.
Michael stood three feet away.
Lauren was behind him.
Her mother, Cynthia, hovered farther down the hallway.
Lauren’s father, Warren, stood beside her looking furious.
Mr. Reynolds held a tablet against his chest.
I stepped into the hallway.
Michael stared at my cheek.
For the first time since the slap, something that resembled shame crossed his face.
But Lauren spoke first.
“What exactly did you cancel?”
I looked at her.
“Things I was paying for.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I just did.”
“It’s our wedding.”
“Then you should pay for it.”
Warren stepped forward.
“This is childish.”
I turned toward him.
“Then put down your credit card.”
His mouth closed.
Lauren glanced at her father.
That tiny movement told me more than any answer could have.
Apparently, the expensive champagne had been important enough to demand but not important enough for Warren to purchase himself.
Michael rubbed both hands over his face.
“Mom, please restore everything.”
“No.”
“I’ll talk to Lauren.”
“No.”
“She’ll apologize.”
Lauren snapped her head toward him.
“I will not.”
Michael looked horrified.
I nodded.
“Thank you, Lauren.”
“For what?”
“For making this easier.”
Cynthia whispered, “Lauren, apologize.”
Her daughter ignored her.
“You promised to pay for the wedding.”
“I paid for the wedding.”
I gestured toward the ballroom.
“You had the ceremony.”
“You had your photographs.”
“You had dinner.”
“You had flowers.”
“You had an open bar for several hours.”
“You had more than most couples could ever imagine.”
I looked directly at her.
“What I did not promise was to keep rewarding you after you put your hands on me.”
Michael whispered, “Mom.”
I turned toward him.
“And what I did not promise was to reward my son after he watched it happen.”
His face drained of color.
“You told me to leave.”
“I panicked.”
“No.”
My voice remained quiet.
“You chose.”
“There were almost two hundred people watching.”
“Exactly.”
Michael stopped speaking.
I stepped around him.
Lauren called after me.
“You’re going to regret humiliating us like this.”
I looked over my shoulder.
“No, Lauren.”
“I regret financing people who thought humiliation only mattered when it happened to them.”
Then I walked away.
Outside, cold rain had begun falling.
I stood beneath the stone awning while waiting for a taxi because the car originally scheduled to take me home was one of the vehicles I had just canceled.
The absurdity of that almost made me smile.
Then someone came running through the entrance.
“Elaine.”
I turned.
It was Cynthia.
Lauren’s mother had removed her heels and carried them in one hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“Yes, I do.”
She looked back toward the building.
“I should have stopped this months ago.”
I studied her.
Cynthia and I had never been close.
She was pleasant at planning meetings but usually surrendered every decision to Lauren.
“What do you mean?”
She pressed her lips together.
“Lauren has always been difficult when she feels she’s losing control.”
“That doesn’t explain tonight.”
“No.”
Cynthia looked ashamed.
“But Warren and I encouraged this wedding to become something we couldn’t afford.”
That surprised me.
I had assumed Lauren’s parents were wealthy.
They dressed like it.
Talked like it.
Warren drove a new luxury SUV and constantly mentioned business contacts, investment properties, and private clubs.
Cynthia gave a sad laugh when I said that.
“Warren’s business is barely surviving.”
I stared at her.
“The house is heavily mortgaged.”
She continued.
“The car is leased.”
“The club membership is overdue.”
“Most of Lauren’s wedding expenses were supposed to be paid by us.”
“But every time something came due, Warren delayed.”
“And somehow…”
She looked at me.
“You covered it.”
I felt cold that had nothing to do with the rain.
“Did Michael know?”
“I don’t know.”
Before I could ask anything else, my taxi arrived.
Cynthia caught my arm gently.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
Her eyes filled with uncertainty.
“Ask Michael why Lauren was so desperate to have this wedding now.”
I stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
But the estate doors opened behind us.
Lauren appeared.
“Mom!”
Cynthia stepped back.
“Ask him.”
Then she hurried inside.
I thought about those words the entire ride home.
My house felt unnaturally silent when I entered.
I removed my dress shoes.
Placed my purse on the kitchen table.
Then I poured myself water and stared through the dark window above the sink.
David’s photograph sat beside the fruit bowl.
He was forty-nine in the picture.
Sunburned.
Smiling.
Holding a fish he claimed had been twice as large before I photographed it.
“You would have known what to do,” I whispered.
Then I corrected myself.
“No.”
