Mom didn’t tell me I was imagining things.
“Looks that way.”
I sat beside her.
“Why?”
“I think you know why.”
“She did it on purpose.”
Because of dress shopping.
Because Mom and I had spent one afternoon doing something we’d talked about for years.
***
Downstairs, Nathan found his mother near the head table.
He didn’t raise his voice.
Later, he told me he simply held out his phone.
He didn’t raise his voice.
Our photographer had sent him the picture.
Isabella looked at it.
Then at him.
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
Nathan enlarged the picture.
“Was it an accident, Mom?”
“Nathan, I told you that train was dangerous.”
“Was it an accident, Mom?”
“Was it an accident?”
“Don’t interrogate me at your wedding.”
He waited.
Isabella folded her arms.
“I barely touched it.”
Nathan nodded.
That was enough.
Then he said, “I had something planned for you tonight.”
“I barely touched it.”
Her arms lowered.
“What?”
After Isabella had been so upset about missing dress shopping, Nathan had worried she felt shut out.
So weeks earlier, he’d asked me if I’d be willing to do something during his mother-son dance.
The plan was simple.
Nathan and Isabella would have their dance as scheduled.
