"Amara," he interrupted. "Are you all right?"
His daughter looked at him as though she could not understand the question. In three years she had become practiced at saying she was fine. Now the words would not come. She tried to nod, failed, and looked down at her dress. Marcus felt a terrible hollow opening beneath his ribs. He had seen that movement before: the attempt to make herself smaller, to disappear before an argument reached her.
Celeste stepped forward and folded her arms. "She's had an emotional afternoon. I warned her not to wear that old-fashioned gown, and now she's upset because I asked her to behave appropriately. Teenagers can be dramatic."
Marcus's gaze moved from Amara's trembling fingers to the half-hidden photograph in Talia's hands. "What happened to her mother's picture?" he asked.
"Nothing happened to it. Honestly, Marcus, do we need to discuss every little thing with a room full of people watching?"
"Then let's discuss one thing," he said. "Why was our daughter's scholarship announcement removed from the program?"
The certainty in Celeste's face faltered. "Because I made a professional judgment about the evening. You told me to handle the details."
"I told you to organize a birthday party. I did not tell you to erase what Amara wanted."
The room had grown so quiet that the quartet stopped playing. Celeste glanced toward the photographers and then back at Marcus. "You're making a spectacle in front of our friends," she said through her teeth. "We can talk when they've gone."
Marcus glanced at the guests. 'You made my daughter cry in public,' he said. 'I'm not going to send her away to protect your image.'
Celeste's jaw tightened. "She has been impossible for months. Everything has to be about Naomi. I have tried to give this family a future, and every time I turn around, I'm competing with a woman who isn't even here."
The words landed harder than Celeste intended. Amara made a small sound and covered her mouth. Marcus stared at his wife, remembering all the occasions on which he had accepted her descriptions of his daughter without asking to hear the girl's side. He approached Celeste, not raising his voice, and rested his hands on her shoulders to hold her attention. "Listen carefully," he said. "You do not have to compete with Amara's mother. But you never had the right to make a child feel guilty for remembering her."