Six Left Behind Daughters and One Returned White Box Fifteen Years Later

“I would rather walk in the ditch,” she said.

She turned her back to me, her fingers gripping her small silk purse so tightly her knuckles showed white under the light.

I waited for five seconds, listening to the quiet drip of the autumn rain on the canvas canopy. Then I turned around and walked back through the heavy glass doors, leaving her alone on the wet concrete.

I turned my back on Maya as she stood alone under the yellow porch light.

The heavy glass door of the Oakwood Inn clicked shut behind me, blocking out the chill of the autumn night and the sight of the empty driveway. Inside, the carpeted lobby smelled of roasted garlic and cheap vanilla candles.

The brass chandelier overhead hummed with a low, electric vibration. I wiped a spot of moisture from my forehead with the back of my hand and walked toward the double doors of the reception room.

Jerome, Adele’s fiancé, stood just inside the entrance holding two empty soda glasses. He looked at me, then placed a steadying hand on my shoulder.

“Is she gone?” Jerome asked.

“She is,” I said.

The reception hall was filled with the clatter of silver dessert forks against porcelain plates. The seventy guests had settled back into their chairs, their voices rising in a steady, comfortable murmur that filled the high-ceilinged room.

At the head table, Adele was folding her linen napkin into a tight square. When she saw me walk in, she stood up and smoothed the front of her white satin gown.

The young disc jockey in the corner adjusted his microphone, causing a brief, sharp squeak of static to echo through the speakers. He cleared his throat and announced that it was time for the traditional father-daughter dance.

Adele walked toward the center of the wooden dance floor and held out her hands. Her fingers were steady, and her face carried none of the tension that had tightened her jaw an hour ago.

I met her under the center spotlight, placing my right hand on her waist while she rested her left hand on my shoulder. The music began, a slow, simple instrumental song with a acoustic guitar that reminded me of the old radio we used to keep on the kitchen counter.