Chapter 3

Gerard remained crouched until I lowered my skirt over my bare feet. Then he rose and carried my shoes to the empty chair beside Colette, beyond my reach.

The next dance began. I watched three couples enter late because the musicians had changed passages without warning. The bandleader pointed his bow toward a sheet taped beside the brass marker, and the confusion settled.

I had made schedules for weddings since Colette was small enough to sleep beneath my desk. Processional, speeches, first dance, family dance: each line kept somebody from waiting alone under a hundred eyes.

Colette followed my gaze. Her thumb rubbed the seam of my glove, the same nervous motion she had used before every childhood recital.

"It's only the order."

I lifted her hand from mine and placed it gently in her lap. My feet met the cold floor, left first and right second, the order I always used before putting the shoes back on.

"Mom, don't."

Gerard turned at once. I stayed seated, bent forward, and reached beneath the next chair. My fingertips found satin, then the worn edge of the left sole.

He stepped between me and the floor sheet.

"You've seen enough."

The words were soft. That made several guests look away, pretending interest in the dancers. Vivienne moved back from the marker so I would have a clear path, though she kept her eyes on Gerard.

I drew out the left shoe. Gerard watched me fit it, then shifted when I reached for the right. Colette caught his sleeve before he could bend again.

"Let her look."

His shoulders lowered. Colette did not release him until I had fastened both straps. She had chosen his fear before, but she would not let him hide what they had arranged.

I stood with my left foot angled toward the platform and waited for the familiar tilt to settle. The room held steady. Three minutes would have been more than they wanted to give me.

Nobody offered an arm. I crossed the dance floor between phrases, using the same small steps I had taught nervous brides who feared their own trains. Vivienne moved aside once more. Her face held an apology she was wise enough not to speak.

The paper had been fixed down with four strips of white tape. Shoe marks crossed the lower half, and a drop of candle wax covered part of the final song.

I read from the top. Entrance. Welcome. Colette and Gerard. Then the first dance.

Beside it, where my name had appeared on every draft I had prepared, someone had written Vivienne Roux.

My right heel pressed harder into the worn hollow of the shoe. I did not tear the sheet up. I did not ask the bandleader who had changed it.

I peeled back the tape nearest the first-dance line and folded that corner over the name. The paper came free with a dry snap. Then I carried the schedule to Colette and laid it across her knees.

Gerard reached for it. I kept one finger on the altered line until his hand stopped.

The letters leaned forward, narrow and careful. I had read them on birthday cards, grocery lists, and twenty-one years of notes left beside cooling cups of coffee.

Gerard looked down at his own handwriting, then lifted his eyes to me.