She was six years old again, running across my lawn with grass stains on her knees.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
Her eyes filled.
“I wish Grandma were here.”
“So do I.”
Across the terrace, Baxter watched us.
His expression hardened when he noticed the folder beneath my arm.
Whitney noticed it too.
She immediately approached.
“Humphrey.”
“Whitney.”
“What is that?”
“Paper.”
Her jaw tightened.
“This is Caroline’s wedding.”
“I know.”
“Please don’t do anything vindictive.”
I studied her.
“That’s an interesting word.”
“Humphrey—”
“Go enjoy your daughter’s wedding.”
She walked away.
But she kept looking back.
The ceremony was beautiful.
Caroline married a young architect named Nathan who looked at her as if every person around them had disappeared.
I cried.
I wasn’t ashamed of it.
Margaret should have been beside me.
At dinner, Caroline danced with Baxter.
Then Nathan danced with his mother.
Then the band played one of Margaret’s favorite songs.
For three minutes, I sat alone.
And then Baxter stood to give his speech.
He adjusted his tuxedo beneath the chandelier.
“People say raising a daughter teaches you sacrifice.”
Applause.
Whitney smiled.
Baxter continued.
“When Caroline told us she wanted her dream wedding, Whitney and I promised ourselves we would make it happen no matter what.”
My fingers tightened around my glass.
“We sacrificed vacations.”
Whitney nodded solemnly.
“We delayed renovations.”
More applause.
“We gave up things for ourselves because that’s what parents do.”
Something inside me went completely still.
Then Baxter said:
“Every flower you see tonight represents the love Whitney and I have for our daughter.”
I stood.
My chair scraped against the floor.
The sound carried through the ballroom.
Baxter stopped.
Three hundred faces turned toward me.
I picked up the folder.
Whitney whispered something.
Baxter stared.
I walked toward the stage.
“Dad.”
I held out my hand.
He reluctantly gave me the microphone.
“I’m not interrupting your speech.”
Silence.
“I’m correcting it.”
Caroline’s face went pale.
I opened the folder.
“The flowers cost forty-three thousand dollars.”
Someone gasped.
“The rehearsal dinner cost twenty-eight thousand.”
Baxter stepped closer.
“Stop.”
“The venue deposit was eighty-four thousand six hundred dollars.”
Caroline looked at her father.
“Dad?”
Whitney stood.
“Humphrey, don’t.”
I lifted the documents.
“Nearly one hundred seventy thousand dollars connected to this wedding came from accounts belonging to me.”
The room erupted in whispers.
Caroline looked horrified.
“Grandpa, I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
I looked directly at her.
“You did nothing wrong.”
Then I turned toward Baxter.
“But your father knew.”
Baxter’s face reddened.
“This is private.”
“It stopped being private when you stood before three hundred people and called theft sacrifice.”
Whitney rushed toward the stage.
“Enough.”
I opened the folder again.
“The first document shows the payments.”
