“You’re Margot’s daughter,” he says. “Winter, right?”
I nod, putting a foot behind me and ready to take another step back.
But he reaches over and places a hand under my chin. “You have your mother’s eyes.”
I don’t. No one ever says that. I raise my chin, so it isn’t touching his hand.
“How old are you?” he asks.
He takes my chin again, tilting my head left and right as his eyes appraise me. Then they fall away from my face and down my white leotard and tutu, past my tights and down to my feet. They float back up, meeting my eyes, but now the smile is gone. Something different plays behind his gaze as he stares at me, and I don’t know if it’s his silence, his size, or how I can’t hear the party anymore, but I finish my step and pull away a few more inches.
“I’m eight,” I mumble, dropping my eyes.
I don’t need his help finding my mom. I just want to leave now. He was so mean to his son. My parents aren’t perfect, but I’ve never been screamed at like that.
“You’re going to be very beautiful someday,” he adds in almost a whisper. “Like your mother.”
I try for a few seconds, finally able to swallow the lump in my throat.
“The first time I saw my wife,” he goes on, “she was in a costume very much like yours.”
I don’t have to imagine what Madame looks like in costumes. There are pictures and paintings of her all over the house and the studio.
Mr. Torrance stays there for a moment, his height and eyes hovering over me and making me uncomfortable.
Finally, he drops his hand and inhales a breath as if snapping out of something. “Run along and play,” he tells me.
I spin around, darting back the way I came, but I have to glance over my shoulder one more time to make sure he’s far away and not following me.
But as I look, I see him continue down the hallway, open the door straight ahead, and pause for a moment as if seeing someone.
I almost turn back around to keep going, but he moves out of the doorway, swinging around to close the door, and I see her.
My mom.
I narrow my eyes, blinking to make sure it’s her. White afternoon dress, long hair the same color as mine, playful smile on her lips...
The door closes, cutting off the image of her heading toward him, and I stand in the black hallway, the sound of a lock clicking echoing around me.
I should go. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t think I should bother her. Twisting around, I run back down the stairs, through the foyer again, and toward the back of the house and the party.
The back door opens, a waiter coming through with a tray, and I slip out, flitting across the stone patio and through a sea of adults. Chatter surrounds me, people laugh, drink, and eat, while a flute player in a light blue gown shares a corner with a string quartet far off to my right. They fill the terrace with Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, a track I know really well from dancing.
The waitstaff clears silverware while glasses clink, and I glance up at the darkening sky, seeing the clouds cover the sun and cast a shadow over the party. Perfect for the candlelight.
Spotting a group of white, I see my friends, all similarly dressed, since we’d just performed in our recital earlier today, run behind some hedges. They’re huddled together, giggling, and my sister, three years older than me, is in the middle of them. I only hesitate a moment before I take a step, following them.
Running around the hedge and onto the grass, I suddenly stop and inhale the rush of wind that hits me as it blows through the trees. Chills spread up my arms, and I glance back at the house and the windows on the second floor where I’d been. My mom might come looking for me.
But the party is boring, and my friends are this way.
Beyond the house and party, the land opens up into a vast lawn, lined and dotted with flower beds to my right and left as well as trees and rolling hills in the distance. It spans far and wide and looks like something out of a fairy tale.
I look over, seeing my sister in a tight group with our classmates. What are they doing? She glances over at me, smirks, and then says something quickly to them before they all rush into the garden maze, disappearing behind the tall hedges.
“Wait!” I shout. “Ari, wait for me!”
I take off down the small slope and toward the maze, stopping only briefly at the entrance and flashing my gaze to both of the hedges on either side. The path is only visible for several more feet before I’m forced to make a turn, and I didn’t see where they went. What if I get lost?