Chapter 3
Uncle Raymond.
“You called me too.”
Then Cousin Diane.
“Me too.”
Then another voice.
And another.
Eleven envelopes.
$2,900.
Trish had already written the names down.
Dad looked at the list in her hand.
“You had no right to go through those.”
“I didn’t,” she said. “Your guests told me voluntarily.”
“My guests?” I said.
He looked at me.
And realized what he had said.
My wedding.
My guests.
My box.
My grandmother’s money.
Somehow, in his head, possession had always traveled toward him.
Ellis put his hand gently against my back.
“Esther.”
I looked at him.
“Do you want them to leave?”
Mom gasped.
“Excuse me?”
He didn’t look at her.
He looked only at me.
That mattered.
For once, nobody was asking what would keep my parents comfortable.
Nobody was asking what Bridget needed.
Nobody was asking whether Grandma might become upset.
He was asking the person whose wedding it was.
I looked at my father.
Then my mother.
Then Bridget.
My cheek still burned.
“Yes.”
Dad laughed in disbelief.
“You’re throwing your parents out of your wedding?”
“No.”
I surprised myself with how calm my voice sounded.
“I’m asking the people who tried to steal my wedding gifts, lied to my grandmother for six years, and watched my father hit me to leave.”
Mom’s face crumpled.
“Esther, please don’t do this.”
“You already did it.”
Two lodge employees approached with Trish.
Dad looked at them.
Then at the room.
Then at me.
“You’ll regret humiliating this family.”
Grandma answered before I could.
“Vaughn, the humiliation is yours.”
He turned toward her.
For the first time all night, my father looked small.
Not physically.
Morally.
There is a difference.
Mom followed him toward the coatroom.
Bridget didn’t.
She remained beside the table, staring at the floor.
“Bridget,” Dad snapped.
She flinched.
“Come on.”
She still didn’t move.
Dad left without her.
Mom hesitated at the doorway.
“Esther.”
I said nothing.
She looked at Grandma.
Then at Bridget.
Then she followed Dad.
The doors closed.
For a moment, all I heard was the fireplace.
Then Bridget sat down.
And began to cry.
I had seen my sister cry hundreds of times.
Most of my childhood had been organized around preventing it.
This time, I didn’t move.
“I didn’t know all of it,” she said.
I waited.
She wiped her face.
“I knew Mom said the gifts were from me. I knew about the two hundred dollars.”