Chapter 13: The Door We Left Open
That Saturday my dad didn't fix the laundry room door. He left it open.
I noticed it at breakfast. I was sitting at the kitchen counter in my pajamas, holding my bunny by one ear, and I could see straight down the hall from my stool. The laundry room doorway was always where I stopped looking. That morning the light was on inside it, and the door was all the way flat against the wall, and I could see the empty floor.
Daddy was making oatmeal. He didn't say anything about the door at first. He just put a bowl down in front of me and then he leaned back against the counter.
"You been looking at that doorway a lot," he said quietly.
I nodded and held my bunny closer.
He knelt down so his eyes were level with mine. His navy shirt was gone, he was in a gray t-shirt, and his stubble was heavier than it had been that night at the dinner table. "Do you want to look inside it with me? Not by yourself. With me. Just so you can see what's in there now."
I didn't answer right away. My stomach felt tight. Since Vanessa had gone, I had been walking the long way around to the bathroom so I didn't have to pass it.
"Only if you hold my hand," I said.
He held out his hand. "I will the whole time."
We walked down the hall together. The house was quiet. No music, no TV. Just the washer humming a little and the heat clicking in the vents. He didn't rush me. He let me take tiny steps until we were right at the frame.
The light was bright. The room smelled like detergent and dryer sheets. The white machines were against the wall. The floor was clean. My dad flipped the light switch off and on once so I could see it worked.
"See," he said, his voice low. "It's empty. The door stays open now. I put that little stopper on the bottom so it can't swing shut by itself. Want to check?"
I leaned in just enough to see the rubber wedge holding it open. I reached out with my free hand and touched it. It was hard and dusty.
"You can look in there anytime, or never look in there, whatever you want," he said. "Nobody will ever make you go in there again. Okay?"
I nodded. I was still holding his hand very tight. "Okay."
We stood there for another minute. He didn't pull me inside. He didn't make me touch anything else. He just stood with me until my breathing slowed down. Then we walked back to the kitchen together, and I realized I wasn't holding my breath anymore.
Later that afternoon he was folding laundry on the couch while I colored at the coffee table. My bunny was on the table beside my crayons. He folded a small towel and then he stopped and looked up at the little white camera in the corner of the living room ceiling.
"Ellie," he said, "do you remember the camera from that night?"
I looked up. I didn't like that word yet.
He set the towel down. "I want to tell you what it's for now, so you don't have to wonder. It's not to spy. It's there to keep kids safe. Like a smoke detector, but for seeing. If anyone is ever not safe, I can check and know what really happened."
I picked at a crayon wrapper. "Even if I'm scared to tell?"
"Especially then," he said. "You can always tell me anything. Even if you think you'll get in trouble. Even if someone tells you not to tell. Even if your voice is shaky. I will listen first and I will believe you. That's my job. You saying stop means stop, and I will listen."
He said it plainly, not like a speech. He looked right at me when he said it.
I thought about it. "What if I say stop and someone doesn't listen?"
"Then you tell me and I will make them listen," he said. "Every time."
I nodded and went back to coloring. After a while I slid my bunny off the table and put him back in my lap, and my dad kept folding.
That night he tucked me in. He didn't just pull the covers up and leave. He sat on the edge of my bed and fixed the nightlight, which threw a soft orange glow across my dresser and the wall. He made sure my bedroom door was open a crack, just like he promised since the night after dinner.
"Door stays cracked, hall light stays on," he whispered, more to himself than to me. "Do you want bunny under your chin or by your side tonight?"
"Under my chin," I said. I was already holding him there. His pink ribbon was a little frayed from me holding it so much.
He kissed my forehead. "If you wake up, I'm right across the hall. You can call me and I will come. You don't have to get up alone."
I fell asleep listening to the house. I could hear the dryer stop down the hall. I could hear my dad's footsteps going to his room. I could hear the heater again.
I didn't wake up crying.
I woke up once around three because the wind hit the window, and I sat up fast with my bunny squeezed hard. But the hall light was still on, the line of light coming through my cracked door. I could hear my dad breathing faintly across the hall. I lay back down and held the bunny and fell back to sleep without calling out.
When morning came, the sun was coming through my curtains. My dad was already up, and I could smell toast. He came to my doorway and smiled when he saw me awake.
"Hey, bug," he said. "You slept the whole night."
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. My bunny was still tucked under my chin, warm from my hands.
May you like
"I did," I said, and I realized it was true.
He came over and sat on the bed again, and I leaned against his side. The laundry room door down the hall was still open. I could see the light from the kitchen reflecting off that hallway floor, and for the first time since that dinner, the house didn't feel like it was holding its breath.
