A woman in emerald satin leaned toward her companion. “Could it be a family member?”
“She said her mother was Elaine.”
“Maybe a cousin.”
“Evelyn had no children.”
Margaret heard the last sentence.
Her jaw tightened. “Who said that?”
The woman went quiet.
“Mrs. Whitmore,” the event director said, “the speech is scheduled in ten minutes.”
“Then move it.”
“We have donors waiting.”
“They can wait.”
Several guests shifted. The foundation’s board chair approached from the far side of the room.
“Margaret, we need to keep the program on track.”
“I said move it.”
The chair stopped. “All right.”
Sophie stood near the edge of the dance floor, still wearing the borrowed uniform. Her name tag caught the light.
SOPHIE.
She pressed one hand over the pendant, protecting it.
Margaret noticed the gesture and forced herself to step back. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”
“You scared me.”
“I know.”
“Why were you pulling on my clothes?”
“I saw the necklace. I thought—”
“You thought it belonged to someone.”
“I know it did.”
“That doesn’t make it yours.”
“No.”
Sophie’s answer surprised her. It carried no accusation, only a boundary.
Margaret nodded. “You’re right.”
A man at the nearest table lifted his phone. Margaret saw him and turned.
“Put that away.”
He lowered it. “I was only—”
“I don’t care what you were doing. Put it away.”
He slipped the phone into his jacket.
The guests’ attention shifted. They had expected Margaret to command the room. They hadn’t expected her to apologize to a waitress.
The event director leaned close. “Should I call your driver?”
“No.”
“Your doctor?”
“No.”
“Would you like some water?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The director went to find a glass.
Margaret looked back at Sophie. “Did your mother ever tell you where she got the necklace?”
“She said it came from her mother.”
“Did she give you anything else?”
Sophie hesitated. “Why?”
“I’m trying to understand.”
“That’s not the same as answering.”
Margaret absorbed the correction. “No, it isn’t.”
Sophie’s eyes stayed wary. “My mother told me some things when I was little. I don’t remember all of them.”
“Is she still alive?”
Sophie looked down. “No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She died three years ago.”
Margaret’s fingers curled against her palm. “I’m sorry.”
“People say that when they don’t know what else to say.”
“Sometimes that’s true.”
“Did you know her?”
“No.”
“Then why are you sorry?”
“Because she died, and because I can see what losing her has done to you.”
Sophie looked away. For a moment, her composure slipped. Then she pulled it back into place.
The catering captain returned with a glass of water. Sophie accepted it, but did not drink.
Margaret’s gaze fell to the pendant again. The oval shape, the scratched edge, the tiny dent near the clasp.
It was the same necklace she had fastened around Evelyn’s neck on a snowy afternoon in New York.
She remembered the moment with painful clarity. Evelyn had been twenty-one, standing at the apartment mirror in a navy dress, impatient to leave.
“Hold still,” Margaret had said.
“I am holding still.”
“You’re moving.”
“I’m breathing.”
“Try not to.”
Evelyn had laughed. Margaret had clasped the chain and kissed the crown of her daughter’s head.
“Keep it,” she said. “It belonged to your grandmother.”
“You never wear it.”
“I don’t like necklaces.”
“You bought me one.”
“I bought you this one.”
Evelyn had turned, the little pendant resting at her collarbone. “You’re sentimental today.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Margaret remembered the scratch appearing later. Evelyn had caught the pendant on the zipper of a coat and come home laughing about it.
Now the old scratch lay beneath Sophie’s fingers.
The event director returned with water. Margaret accepted the glass, but her hand still trembled enough to make the ice tap the side.
“Mrs. Whitmore,” the board chair said, “we should take this to the private room.”
“Not yet.”
“We have donors asking what’s happening.”
“Tell them a guest has a question.”
“Is she a guest?”
“She’s a person.”
The board chair glanced at Sophie’s uniform and closed his mouth.
Margaret saw the look.
“Do you have a problem with the answer?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then don’t make me ask twice.”
He retreated.
Sophie looked from the chair to Margaret. “You speak to people like that all the time?”
“When they forget their manners.”
“Do they usually listen?”
“Usually.”
“Does that make them respect you?”
Margaret had no answer.
A moment later, the catering captain leaned toward Sophie. “We can go to the service hallway if you want.”
“I’m fine here.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Margaret set her glass on a nearby table. “I’ll be the one to leave if you want.”
Sophie studied her. “Why?”
“Because this is your workplace. I interrupted it.”
