Chapter 4: The Front Row

I watched the first twenty looks from the wings, and I did not look at the front row once.

I did not need to.

I felt him there anyway.

The fourteenth model wore a red wool coat with a hem I had spent three nights on.

The applause for it was loud.

At the end of the runway, row A sat very still.

Odette stood beside me with her arms crossed.

"Don't look," she said.

"I'm not looking."

"You're looking at the exact spot where you aren't looking."

"Odette."

"Sorry. He's in a gray suit. She's in cream. Her hand is on his knee and he hasn't touched it once. That is all I'm going to say."

The last look walked.

It was a long gray dress with no sleeves, and I had made it for a woman who stands up straight.

The music changed, and the crew nodded at me.

It was time for the designer to walk out.

"You don't have to," Odette whispered.

"Yes, I do."

I took my cane and walked into the light.

It is a very long runway when you have a brace on your knee.

I paced myself, focusing on my balance just as I had in therapy.

Halfway down, the room stood up.

I heard the applause arrive, and the cameras, and somebody saying my name.

I kept my eyes on the end of the runway.

Then I looked at row A.

Conal was standing.

He had not clapped.

He was looking at my legs.

Four and a half years had changed his face.

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