Owen said his goodbyes and moved toward the door. At the threshold, he turned back once. Helen was standing in the warm light of the room, Richard’s arm around her, Claire visible beyond them on the dance floor, laughing at something Marcus said. Owen looked at the four of them and pressed one closed fist briefly to his chest. A salute. A thank you. A goodbye for now.
Later, when the last guests had left and Claire and Marcus had headed to their hotel, Helen and Richard moved quietly through the emptying venue, gathering forgotten wraps—the instinctive, unhurried tidying of people who love a place and aren’t quite ready to leave it. Helen found Daniel’s framed photograph still on the white chair. She picked it up. She sat down in his chair.