Everyone was staring at her. The tour guests. Leah, her mother, her sisters. The Lizmans. The whole world
Deena froze.
She gripped the stick of butter, oblivious to the grease coating her skin. Her eyes widened in horror, retracing the path her rings had flown. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.
And then adrenaline kicked in.
Dropping the butter, she leaped off the stage and tore through the crowd. Women shifted aside as she elbowed through chairs, breathing rapidly, eyes frantically scanning the floor. Several women bent down to help her search. There was noise around her, people talking, chairs falling, but she didn’t hear a sound, until suddenly, a voice cried out, “I found it!”
She bolted upright. It was Mrs. Lieberman, her large frame towering over the women around her, beaming as she waved the ring in her hand. Deena held out her palm and Mrs. Lieberman dropped in the ring — one ring.
Her diamond ring.
She slipped it on. It slid around her greasy finger.
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