Part 3 — The Third Key
Danielle held the blue check by its corner, and I looked at the number, eleven eighty-seven, until the numbers swam.
“Three keys to the family vault,” I said. “One is mine, on a ribbon around my neck. One is with Mr. Burkhart, my lawyer, in Lexington. And the third key, Danielle, is with the man who married my daughter.”
Kaylee turned around slowly. At the back of the Magnolia Room, her father Russell had just come through the doors in his work jacket, carrying a garment bag.
He stopped when he saw us all. He set the bag on a chair.
“Etta,” he said, “I can explain.”
“Then do, Russell. In front of Kaylee.”
He swallowed. He said that in January, Kaylee had asked about the family wedding veil, the Belgian lace one that belonged to my mother. He had borrowed the third key to fetch it from the vault, and he had found the cedar box of checks. He had taken one, number eleven eighty-seven.
Pamela had pressured him for weeks. She had told him that the bride family was expected to put down a deposit. He was embarrassed, and out of work since August.
My granddaughters father had been trying to buy her dignity with the only paper he thought would not be missed, and he had signed my name because he could not bear to sign his own.
Kaylee had her hands over her face. Pamela, who had said I was forgetful, opened her mouth and shut it again.
I turned to the events director. “Danielle, the Combs family house account at this hotel is mine. It was opened by my husband in 1972. No one can charge it without me.”
Danielle nodded. “I never would have allowed it, Miss Etta.”
“I know you would not. That is why I hired you.”
I tore the blue check in half and put the pieces in my purse. Russell wept.
Then I said what I had decided somewhere between the sweet tea and the fern. The Ashford Grand would host the wedding at cost, as a gift from me to Kaylee. The Vance family would pay for their own guests, their own flowers and their own rehearsal dinner.
Pamela objected. Kaylee stood up and told her mother-in-law to be quiet. It was the first time any of us had heard her raise her voice.
In June, she walked down the aisle in my mothers Belgian lace veil. I sat in the first row in my lavender dress, and I held Russells hand.