“I had six months to prepare it.”
“You usually waste preparation time.”
“I’m developing.”
The car stopped.
The crowd outside became louder.
Sophie leaned forward.
“One reminder. Neither of you has to answer personal questions. You can say Ellie’s name and move on. If anyone pushes, I step in.”
“And if I remove the shoes halfway down the carpet?” Ellie asked.
“I will attempt to block the photographs.”
“Thank you.”
Rachel looked between us.
“Both of you breathe.”
“I am breathing,” Ellie said.
“You are doing it manually.”
The door opened.
Noise and light entered the car at once.
I stepped out first.
My name moved through the crowd from one end of the carpet to the other.
Savannah.
Savannah, over here.
Savannah, look left.
Savannah, who are you wearing?
Savannah, is Ellie with you?
I turned toward the open door.
Ellie’s hand appeared first.
I took it.
For half a second, she remained inside the limousine, hidden from the lights.
Then she stepped out.
The sound changed.
It was not louder, exactly. It became sharper, more focused. Cameras fired in rapid bursts, and people called Ellie’s name even though most of them had never heard her speak outside a shaky video recorded on Pelican Key.
