Chapter 3: The House Goes Quiet
The bowl stayed on the table. That was the thing I remember most clearly from that afternoon, even now. It didn't slide or rattle. It just sat there on the dark wood, catching the light from the chandelier, and nobody touched it after he set it down.
My father's hand was still under my back and my legs. I had both arms locked around his neck and I could feel his beard against my cheek when he breathed. He hadn't put me down since he picked me up. Bianca was in the chair in front of that bowl with her left cheek red and her hands flat on the lace of her robe, and the room went quiet in a way that felt different from just being silent.
Marcus was the first to move.
He'd been standing off to the side, and I saw him in my peripheral vision, his suit jacket pulling a little at the shoulders. His jaw was tight. He took a half step toward us, like he was going to say something or reach out, and my father shifted his weight. He didn't have to push. He just turned his shoulder so I was further away from Marcus's hands and looked at him once. It wasn't loud. It wasn't fast. It was enough.
Marcus stopped with his hand still in the air for a second. Then he let it drop. He swallowed and stepped back, then back again until his shoes were on the marble in the hallway. I watched him glance at Bianca, then at my father, then at the floor. He didn't apologize. He didn't explain. He just kept backing away until he was out of the frame of the table, out of the pool of light over the bowl. I heard him move toward the front hall, not running, just leaving space between himself and what was on that table.
Emma was still there by the doorway. I never saw her face that day, only her hand. The white sleeve and the nails and the phone with the purple case. She had been holding it out, playing the video, and when everything stopped she lowered it a few inches.
My father looked at her. He didn't need to ask.
She stepped forward and held the phone out to him, screen dark now. I saw her fingers tremble a little. He took it with his right hand while he kept me secure with his left. He didn't look at the video again in front of us. He just slid the phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. I heard the soft click of the fabric and felt his chest rise under my cheek when he breathed in. That was when I understood he was keeping it. Not throwing it away. Keeping it safe.
The chandelier made a faint ticking sound as it cooled. The house was so quiet I could hear the lamp humming on the sideboard.
My father turned away from the table. He didn't look at Bianca again when he did it. He just turned his whole body, with me still locked to him, and started walking toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Each step sounded on the marble and then softened when we hit the runner.
Behind us, Bianca didn't move. She stayed seated at the dark wooden table with the steel bowl in front of her. I looked back over his shoulder and saw her profile, the jeweled choker, the pink satin catching the warm light, her eyes fixed on the bowl like she didn't know if she was allowed to touch it or stand up. My father didn't tell her to stay. He didn't have to. She just stayed there alone in that chair while we left.
The hallway felt longer than usual. The cream walls and white trim blurred a little because I wouldn't lift my head. My father carried me past the doors without stopping, past the place where the marble had been cold on my knees that morning. His hand was big on my back and his gold ring was cool through my dress.
When we got to his bedroom he pushed the door with his shoulder and carried me straight to the bed. He sat down with me still in his lap and didn't set me on the mattress beside him. He kept me against his chest. He pulled the edge of the cover up around my legs even though the room was warm. I could smell his cologne and the faint starch of his pocket square.
He took the phone out just long enough to set it on the nightstand, screen down, where I could see the purple case. Then he put it on silent with one thumb. I remember that detail because the little switch clicked.
May you like
Someone - maybe Marcus, maybe nobody - had closed a door down the hall. The sound was soft but it echoed in the marble house. After that I didn't hear footsteps for a long while. No one came to check on us and we didn't go back out.
I stayed with my face against his black shirt and listened to the house go quiet around the bowl we had left on the table.
