Helen stood. She was small and straight and wore the navy suit she had worn to Claire's funeral, which no one was cruel enough to mention and everyone saw. "David," she said, and her voice carried without a microphone, "take your daughter out of this room or let her speak. Don't leave her standing there like a mistake."
Naomi was already moving up the side aisle. David's brother-in-law stayed seated, a hand on their son's shoulder. The guests had become a single animal that did not know whether to flee or witness. Programs trembled. A baby, brought against several people's advice, began to complain and was carried out by a woman grateful for the errand.
David reached for Emma's shoulder. She flinched, not from him, from the closeness of the altar, the eyes, the blue dress filling her side vision. He let his hand drop.
"We're not doing the vows," he said.
Lauren looked at him as if he had stepped off a curb she had not seen. "David."