Chapter 7 - He Moved His Hand Toward the Piano Bench
I didn't follow him because I meant to disobey. I followed him because my sisters had gone quiet in that way that made me feel left alone with what I'd said.
We had promised on the rug, right after Daddy told the maid to get up and stop scaring us. My oldest sister whispered it first. Don't say it again unless somebody asks you straight. My little sister nodded because she always nodded. I nodded too, and I meant it when I nodded. But my mouth still felt hot from saying it, and I couldn't stand watching Daddy walk away like I hadn't said anything at all.
He'd pulled his phone out of his inside jacket pocket as he crossed from the tile onto the rug by the living area. The screen lit up his chin. He didn't look back at us.
I stayed a few steps behind him, my socks sliding a little on the polished floor. The bunny was still in my hand. I held it tight against my dress so its ears wouldn't drag.
The grand piano sat under the tall windows. Daylight was coming through so bright it made the black top shine. There was a vase with white flowers on the kitchen island behind me and I could smell them, sweet and clean, mixed with the fruit from the bowl. Outside it was still raining a little. I could hear it soft against the glass.
Daddy stopped beside the piano. He put one hand on the closed lid like he needed something solid. Then he answered.
"Yes," he said. His voice had changed. Not the loud voice from the kitchen. This one was low and smooth. "Sorry I missed you. It's handled. It's a family matter."
I stopped near the corner of the rug. The plush bunny's foot caught on my thumb. I didn't breathe right. I just listened the way I'd learned to listen when grown-ups talked over my head at school pick-up.
He paused. He looked toward the windows, not at me. In the reflection I could see his face, the stern line of his mouth, his eyes moving.
"No, no," he said. "The girls are fine. They're with me. It's a nanny issue."
My stomach tightened. She wasn't our nanny. She wore the black dress with the white collar and the white apron, and she cleaned and warmed milk, but Mom had never called her that. Daddy saying it like that made her sound replaceable.
He shifted his weight. His jacket pulled open on the right side and I saw the dark shape at his waistband again. I hadn't imagined it earlier. It was still there, tucked close. I kept staring at it because I didn't understand why he needed it inside our kitchen in daylight.
"She misunderstood a situation," he said into the phone. "I told her —" He stopped and glanced back toward the kitchen island where the maid was still kneeling near the tile, trying to get up without making noise. "I told her to pack your things and fire her immediately. Those were my words. I need you to —"
He said it again. The exact same words he'd said to her face. Pack your things and fire her immediately. Hearing it the second time made it sound rehearsed, like he wanted the person on the phone to remember it word for word.
I squeezed the bunny harder. My sisters had promised not to repeat what I said. But Daddy was repeating what he said, making sure it stuck.
"Today," he said. "Yes, today would be better. Before this turns into something." Another pause. He tapped two fingers on the piano lid. "Just come to the house. Park in back. Don't —" He breathed out through his nose. "Don't make it formal."
My hands were shaking a little. I tucked them and the bunny behind my back so he wouldn't see.
He ended the call but he didn't put the phone away right away. He stood there looking down at the piano bench, the long seat with the hinged top. For a second he just stared at it. Then he checked over his shoulder toward the kitchen.
The maid wasn't looking. She was on her feet now, smoothing her apron with both hands, her face pale under the smudge on her cheek. She kept her eyes on the floor.
Daddy lifted the piano bench lid just enough to slide his right hand in. I heard the soft click of the hinge. He pulled the dark object from his waistband — quick, practiced — and set it inside. I didn't see all of it, just the black shape and his tattooed fingers letting go. The rose on his neck moved when he swallowed.
He closed the lid gently, like he didn't want the piano to make a sound. Then he straightened his jacket so it hung flat. His hand was empty now. He flexed it once.
He turned and saw me.
I froze. The rug was soft under my socks. The rain tapped the window. The piano shone between us.
"Lucia, what is it?" he asked, quieter this time. Not mad. Tired.
I wanted to ask who was coming to park in back. I wanted to ask why he'd called her a nanny and why he'd put that thing in the bench where we kept the music books. Instead I just held the bunny out a little in front of my dress, like it could answer for me.
"Nothing," I said. My voice sounded small against the tall windows.
May you like
He studied me for a long breath. Then he nodded once toward the kitchen. "Go sit with your sisters," he said. "Someone's coming to visit. You be good."
Behind me I heard the maid pick up a cloth from the island and start wiping at a spill that wasn't really there, just to have something to do with her hands.
