At 1:00 PM that Thursday, I opened my own Gmail.
I sent Gail Underwood seven drafts.
Each one still had its time stamp.
Draft seven said 2:14 AM.
I attached Sutton's reply from the ski lift.
I didn't write a paragraph.
I wrote three words.
These are mine.
Gail answered in one line.
Received. Verifying.
I read it four times.
Then I put the phone face down.
Then nothing came for two days.
At 8:15 PM on Saturday, Bradford Thorne tapped a microphone in his own living room.
The house was on Cary Street Road in Richmond.
The living room held 80 guests, a fourteen-foot tree and a string trio.
Bellhaven was running his Christmas party for $18,000.
I'd built the run-of-show.
There were sixteen cues, and four were left.
"Friends, a little experiment."
He smiled at the room.
"Let's see if the girl's irreplaceable."
People laughed the way you laugh at your host.
Kirsten stood at his elbow in a red dress.
Bradford held his hand out to me, palm up.
"Come on, Laurel."
"Humor an old man."
He wanted the headset.
Sutton watched from beside the tree with a champagne glass.
Hunter stood next to her.
Henry was by the fireplace.
He was watching Kirsten's hands, not mine.
He didn't move yet.
I didn't make Bradford take it from me.
I unclipped the beltpack myself.
I keyed channel 2.
"This is Laurel."
"Kirsten has the call."
"Don't touch channel one."
Channel one was the kitchen.
I put the pack in Kirsten's hand.
She settled the headset over her hair as if she'd done it before.
"Cue thirteen," she said.
"Go."
The trio started the carol set.
"Cue fourteen."
"Go."
The tree lights came up.
"Cue fifteen."
"Go."
The dessert table lit.
"Cue sixteen."
"Go."
The toast music came in on time.
It was a cocktail party.
Nothing on it was hard.
All four cues landed.
I counted them anyway, the way I count everything.
Sutton raised her glass to the room.
"Told you."
"Anyone can wear it."
The laugh was bigger this time.
Bradford put his arm around Kirsten's shoulders.
"She ran your cues in her sleep."
He said it to me, warmly.
He believed it.
At 8:20 PM, Sutton came over.
"Laur, the caterers saved you a plate."
"In the kitchen."
"Chicken, I think."
"They said you like the chicken."
Six or seven people near the tree heard her.
A man in a velvet jacket smiled into his drink.
"I'll eat at home," I said.
Sutton tilted her head.
"You don't have a home after the thirty-first."
"I have one tonight."
"Suit yourself."
At 8:22 PM, Henry left the fireplace.
He went to the hall closet first.
He came back with my coat, the gray wool one with the mended pocket.
Then he crossed the whole room with it.
He went past the trio and between the sofas.
He went past his brother.
Sutton's glass stopped halfway to her mouth.
Bradford's voice stayed pleasant.
"Hal, it's a family party."
Henry held the coat open for me.
"She's with me."
I put my arms in the sleeves.
Hunter looked at the floor.
A woman by the piano set her glass down hard.
"He's walking out on his family."
Somebody behind her said it louder.
"He walked out on his family!"
Henry buttoned my top button.
Nobody had done that for me since I was eight.
At 8:40 PM, we stood in the driveway.
It was cold enough that the gravel crunched like sugar.
His truck was parked behind the catering van.
My crew's van.
The party was still going inside, without me.
"You didn't have to," I said.
"I know."
"Your brother will make you pay for that."
"He's tried."
"And?"
"I'm still here."
I looked at him under the carriage lamp.
He didn't move closer.
He was waiting for me.
So I kissed him.
His hands were cold on my face.
Mine weren't much better.
Behind us, the front door opened.
Light spilled down the steps.
Bradford stood in the doorway with his drink.
He didn't come out into the cold.
"Pick, Hal."
"Family or the help."
Henry didn't turn all the way around.
"Picked."
Bradford stood there another second.
Then he shut the door.
The trio started up again inside.
Somebody laughed at something else.
The lamp hummed.
Henry opened the passenger door of the truck.
I didn't get in yet.
Henry didn't ask what I'd do.
He waited with one hand on the door.
The wedding was seven days out.
There were 260 guests and forty-seven cues, and Kirsten had a binder she hadn't opened.
I'd called 341 events for my family.
There was one left on my calendar.
"I'll call the wedding."
"Then I'm done."