Somehow, I'd managed to finish the fashion show, modeling three other outfits and clapping as Mrs.
McMurty pretended to be both totally embarrassed and completely surprised to be coaxed onstage for flowers, just like every other year. Afterwards, I'd gone backstage, where my parents were waiting.
When my mother saw me, she pulled me in for a hug, her hands smoothing over my back. "You were fantastic," she said. "Absolutely gorgeous."
"Although that dress is a little low-cut," my dad added, eyeing the white sheath I'd worn for the formal segment, the last one of the show. "Wouldn't you say?"
"No," my mom said, swatting him as she pulled away from me. "It's perfect. You were perfect."
I forced a smile, but my mind was still reeling. There were so many people behind the stage, so much noise and commotion, but all I could think about was Emily. She knew , I thought as my mom said something about finding Mrs. McMurty. She knew .
I reached up, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. I felt nervous, jumpy, the noise of the crowd and the heat of all those bodies not helping, and now my mother was talking again.
"… just wonderful, but we should get home. Whitney's fixing dinner, and I told her we'd be there ten minutes ago."
"Whitney?" I said as my dad nodded at a man in a suit as he passed, saying his name. "She's not here?"
My mom squeezed my shoulder. "Oh, sweetie, I'm sure she would have liked to come, but it's still hard for her, I think… She wanted to stay home. But we loved it. We really did."
With everything that had happened with Emily, I felt crazy, but I knew one thing: That had been my sister, watching me from a distance as I reached the end of the runway. I would have bet my life on it.
I felt a hand on my arm, and turned to see Mrs. McMurty standing there, a tall, gray-haired man in a suit beside her. "Annabel," she said, smiling, "I want you to meet Mr. Driscoll. He's the head of marketing for Kopf's, and he wanted to say hello."
"Hi," I said. "It's nice to meet you."
"And you as well," he replied, reaching out his hand. His palm was dry and cool. "We're all big fans. We loved you in the back-to-school commercial."
"Thank you," I said.
"Great show." He smiled, nodding at my mom and dad, and then he and Mrs. McMurty were moving on, through the crowd. My mother watched them go, her face flushed.
"Oh, Annabel," she said. She squeezed my arm again, not saying anything else, but I got the message.
Loud and clear.
Just then, over my mom's head, I saw Mrs. Shuster, a coat folded over her arm, standing by the back edge of the stage. She looked at her watch, then glanced around, worried. A second later, her face relaxed, and I saw Emily walking toward her. Her hair was still up, her makeup on, but she'd changed back into regular clothes and wasn't talking to anyone as she made her way through the crowd.
"Urn, I should go change," I said to my parents. "These shoes are killing me."
My mom nodded, then leaned in, giving me another kiss. "Of course," she said as Mr. Driscoll walked past again, this time without Mrs. McMurty. My mom watched him go, then said, "I'll put aside a plate for you, all right?"
"Actually," I said, "um, some of us were going to go out for pizza. You know, to celebrate the show being over, and all."
"Oh," my mom said. "Well, I know you must be exhausted, so don't stay out too long. Okay?"
I nodded as, behind her, I watched Mrs. Shuster reach out to Emily, handing her the coat and standing there, her face somber, as Emily shrugged it on. Then she slid her hand down her daughter's arm, rubbing it slightly, and they started toward the mall exit. I turned my attention back to my mother, quickly. "I won't be too late," I said.
"Eleven at the latest," my father said as he leaned down to give me a hug. "Right?"
"Right," I replied.
The entire time I was changing out of my outfit, then walking to my car and driving across town, I told myself I had to push what had happened with Emily out of my mind. I'd been looking forward to going to Bendo, and I was determined to enjoy it. Or try to.
Starting right now.
"So," I said as Owen turned back to the stage, "what'd I miss?"
"Not much," he replied as someone bumped me from behind. As I pitched forward he reached out, grabbing my arm. "Whoa," he said. "Watch the footing, this place is kind of a madhouse." There was a burst of feedback from the stage in front of us, and a group of people to our left let loose with a loud chorus of boos. Owen leaned his head down closer to my ear. "How was the fashion show?"
I didn't want to lie to him. At the same time, though, I knew I couldn't tell him what had really happened—not here, not tonight. Maybe not ever. "It's over," I replied, which was, technically, true.
"That good, huh?" he said as a tall girl in a sequined top, holding a drink, pushed past us, splattering as she went.
I smiled. "Pretty much."
"Well, never fear. When the band comes on, your night will improve."
"You think?"
"I know," he said just as he got bumped, hard this time, by a guy in a black coat who was passing by, a cell phone pressed to his ear. Owen glanced at him, and the guy shrugged, hardly bothered, and kept walking. "Okay. Time for a space break. Come on."
He turned and started back through the crowd, and I did my best to follow him as he led me to an open booth against the wall.
"Have a seat," he said, gesturing for me to slide in. "The view isn't as good, but at least no one's elbowing you in the spleen."
I could hear what sounded like someone tuning up, followed by a burst of feedback. "The opener," Owen said, nodding toward the stage. "They were supposed to go on a half hour ago, but—"
This thought was interrupted by Rolly, who suddenly slid in beside him, landing with a thump on the bench. "Oh," he said, breathless, "my God."
"Finally," Owen said, turning to look at him. "Where the hell have you been, man? I was beginning to think you'd been abducted or something."