Chapter 6 - The Shattered Glass
Forty minutes later, I stepped away from the ballroom toward the quiet marble corridor leading to the terrace. I needed fresh air. The heavy wool of the dress blues was warm, but more than that, the suffocating atmosphere of Ramsey desperation was turning my stomach.
As I pushed through the French doors into the dimly lit stone corridor, a sharp hand grabbed the brass button of my sleeve and yanked.
I reacted instantly. My hand clamped down on the wrist, twisting it into an escort lock before my brain even processed the threat.
"Ow! Let go of me! You brute, let go!"
It was Margot.
I released her wrist immediately. She stumbled back against the wainscoting, clutching her arm, her face twisted in pure, unadulterated venom. Her chignon had come loose; a single strand of blonde hair dangled across her forehead like a broken wire.
"You ruined it," Margot spat, her voice shaking with hysterical rage. "You deliberately, maliciously came here to destroy your brother's life!"
"I wore my uniform, Mother," I said calmly, leaning back against the stone wall.
"You paraded your butch military nonsense in front of the most important people in this state!" she screamed, abandoning all social pretense. Her voice bounced harshly off the polished marble. "Do you know what Spencer worked for? Do you know what *I* worked for? Thirty years of building our social standing, and you turn his wedding into a goddamn USO show!"
"His wedding?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave, razor-sharp. "You mean his business transaction? He lied to that family. He lied about me, he lied about his fund, and you helped him."
"Because you are an embarrassment!" Margot lunged forward, her face inches from mine, spitting the words. "You were always the broken one! Running away to play soldier because you couldn't stand being a proper daughter! We gave you everything, and all you ever brought home was dirt, blood, and shame!"
"I brought home a Silver Star," I whispered. "And you threw it in a junk drawer between expired coupons and dead batteries."
Margot froze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the memory. Then her eyes hardened like flint. "And that's where it belonged. It belonged in the trash. You belonged in the trash."
"Margot."
A voice spoke from the shadows near the entrance of the corridor.
Margot spun around.
Emmett was standing there. But he wasn’t looking at his shoes anymore. His face was gray, his eyes wide and hollow, as if he had just watched a building collapse on top of him.
"Emmett," Margot said, instantly trying to modulate her tone back into that sugary suburban purr. "Get Spencer. We need to leave this awful—"
"Did you really throw her medal in the junk drawer?" Emmett asked. His voice wasn’t soft anymore. It was cracked, hollow, and horrifyingly quiet.
"Emmett, don't be ridiculous—"
"Answer me!" Emmett suddenly roared.
The sound shattered the corridor. I had never heard my father raise his voice in my entire life. For thirty years, he had been a shadow in his own home, retreating into newspapers, golf magazines, and scotch whenever Margot began her emotional executions.
Margot stepped back, shocked by the sudden outburst. "It was clutter! It was an ugly piece of metal that reminded me of her abandoning us!"
Emmett walked forward, his loafers clicking heavily on the marble. He looked at Margot as if seeing a total stranger. Then he looked at me. His eyes moved to the Silver Star on my chest, then down to my calloused hands, and finally up to my eyes.
"Pass the salt," Emmett whispered to himself, the color completely draining from his lips. Tears suddenly welled in his aged eyes. "That's what I said. She was lying on the floor upstairs, listening through the vent... and I asked for the damn salt."
"Emmett, what are you blathering about?" Margot shrieked. "Spencer is out there losing the Kensington account! Pull yourself together!"
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"No," Emmett said, his voice trembling violently. "I pulled myself together for thirty years, Margot. And all it did was turn me into a monster who let you destroy our daughter."
***