At the curtain, Pearl paused. She could hear Sloan laughing softly with someone in first class, and the thought of approaching her made Pearl's throat tight. But she needed the bathroom, so she straightened her white collar and continued. Her mother had told both girls that asking to meet an ordinary physical need was never something to apologize for, even when adults were busy.
The forward lavatory was occupied. Pearl waited beside the wall, feet together, holding the ends of her sleeves so she would not twist them. Across the narrow aisle, Richard Ashford was discussing a business article on his phone without looking up. Celeste had turned toward the window until a movement of blue fabric caught her eye.
She recognized the little girl who had been forced to leave the seat she was now occupying. A flush of discomfort passed over her, the delayed realization that the children had looked frightened rather than merely disappointed. Celeste might have turned away again if her eyes had not caught the small white pearls at the girl's ears. The gold flowers around them seemed to bloom straight out of memory.
Her hand went automatically to the clasp at the back of her neck. Grandma Pearl had worn those earrings on special occasions when Celeste first married into the Ashford family, and she had explained their history several times. They had belonged to a little set commissioned as a wedding gift years earlier, a necklace and earrings with matching flower-shaped gold details. When she grew older, Pearl had told Celeste she was saving the earrings for a girl who might one day bring fresh laughter into the family.
"Sweetheart," Celeste said before she could stop herself. "Those earrings. May I ask where you got them?"
Pearl looked over, surprised that the woman from the window seat was addressing her directly. She touched one of the pearls and smiled a small, cautious smile. "My great-grandma gave them to me through Daddy. They're real. Mommy checks the clasps for me."
"Your great-grandmother?" Celeste repeated. A strange coldness had settled across her shoulders. "What was her name?"
Pearl frowned in concentration. "Her name was—"
"Pearl, you need to go back," Sloan interrupted, stepping between them with a bright, stiff smile. "We're about to close the cabin door."
"But I haven't used the bathroom," Pearl protested. "Miss Jenna said I could come up here. The one at the back doesn't work."
"You can wait until after takeoff. We need the aisle clear."
"I really need to go," Pearl said, the words nearly disappearing in her throat.
For a moment Celeste considered speaking. The little girl was nine; surely allowing her to use the bathroom would not delay a flight. But Sloan had the practiced authority of someone running a cabin, and Celeste's old habit of leaving difficult conversations to others asserted itself again. She watched the child turn away without getting an answer and felt a small, sharp embarrassment that did not leave when Pearl disappeared through the curtain.