I walked away from Rory with my water glass still in my hand and his voice in my head.
The party went on around me, all white linen and cold champagne, and I went looking for the man I was supposed to marry.
I smiled at the judge's wife and said something about the orchids. I do not remember what.
The conservatory glowed at the end of the lawn, and I walked toward it like a moth with good manners.
The door stood open. Inside the air was wet and green, and the orchids were doing better than I was.
Then Clarissa laughed, low and easy, the way people laugh when they have nowhere else to be.
I stopped behind an orange tree. Through the leaves I saw her red dress and his hand spread on her back.
His thumb moved once, slow, like he had all the time in the world and none of it belonged to me.
Clarissa: You left her with the donors again. That's cruel, even for you.
Alistair: She's happy out there. She likes being useful.
Clarissa: She's not a plant, Alistair. Even plants need water.
Alistair: For fuck's sake. It's one afternoon. She'll stand where I put her and she'll smile.
My hand found the rim of a terracotta pot and held on. The clay was warm from the sun, and my knuckles went white.
I should have left. I know that now. But my feet had turned to stone on the tiles.
My glass ticked against the pot. Such a small sound. Alistair's head came up like he had heard a gate open.
Alistair: Maris. There you are.
Alistair: Don't stand back there. You look like a thief.
He did not step away from Clarissa. He did not move his hand.
Clarissa: Hello, Maris. You look warm.
Alistair: Did you bring the car around, or did you just come here to stare?
Alistair: Go back to the party. I'll be out in ten.
I opened my mouth and nothing came out, and that was the worst part.
Then a shadow filled the doorway and the wet air shifted.
Rory Kincaid stood there with his jacket over his arm, and he did not look at his brother once.
Rory: Maris. The judge's wife is asking for you.
It was a lie. Everyone in that room knew it was a lie, but he said it in a voice that made it sound like a fact.
Rory: I told her you'd come.
He turned slightly, and his shoulder filled the door. He was not blocking Alistair's view of me. He was blocking everyone else's.
His hand came out low at his side, palm up, where only I could see it.
Alistair: Rory. We're in the middle of something.
Rory: No, you're not. She's leaving, and you can find me after.
I looked at Rory and my chest did something complicated. Gratitude, and fear, and a third thing I did not have a name for.
I did not want his pity. Pity was a coin people tossed at me without slowing down. His voice did not sound like pity.
Rory: You don't have to stand in this room. Not for one more minute.
I walked, because if I had stayed one more second I would have cried, and this family would forgive a lot before it forgave tears.
Rory fell in beside me and did not touch me, and somehow that was the kindest thing anyone had done all day.
Rory: Twenty steps to the others. Keep your voice normal and your eyes dry.
It was so practical that I almost laughed. Almost.
Maris: Why are you helping me?
He was quiet for three steps. Then he said it like it cost him something to admit.
Rory: Because someone should.
I looked back once. Through the glass, Alistair had not moved, and his face had already forgotten me.
For three years a whole room had looked at me. Rory was the first person who looked and saw. That was the crack, and I could not unsee it.