It was still thirty minutes before Oliver Reed's speech was due to begin when Lucas Bennett, the chief executive of Northbridge Publishing, crossed the ballroom towards my mother with a glass of champagne in his hand.
He smiled, extended his hand, and uttered the one phrase that made her face freeze.
Part 2
Lucas Bennett said, “Mrs. Smith, I believe Isadora will be joining us tonight.”
My mother gave him the same smile she used with donors, the one that only seemed warm from afar. "I'm afraid my daughter couldn't attend. She had prior commitments."
Lucas looked at Natalie, then back at my mother. "That's strange. She's our honoree."
Natalie's champagne glass tilted so far that a waiter approached. "Honored for what?"
“Author of the year,” Lucas said. “SH Montgomery.”
The small circle around them fell silent. A critic from the Boston Globe stopped mid-sentence. A New York editor turned his entire body toward the conversation. My mother tried to laugh, but the sound came out weak.
“There must be a mistake,” he said. “Isadora writes trivial things on the internet.”
Lucas pulled out his phone and showed her the contract summary with my legal name next to my pseudonym. I saw her pale through the live stream. Natalie leaned in, read the number, and whispered something I couldn't quite hear. Her lips were set in disbelief.
At 8:30, Oliver Reed took the stage. The doors to the hall behind the audience were still closed. My mother had been escorted back to table three, but she no longer looked like the woman who had spent the evening receiving compliments. She seemed trapped in a room full of witnesses.
