Chapter 11
The social worker's car was still visible from the front window when my father hung up the phone in the kitchen. He'd called my grandmother on speaker without asking anyone's permission. His voice was flat and tired, not loud anymore.
"She can't be alone with her," he said into the phone. "That's what they said. So yes, tonight."
I sat at the foot of the stairs with my bunny pressed against my chest. My stepmother stood in the dining room doorway with her arms crossed over her cream blouse, listening.
When he ended the call, he looked at her first, not at me. "You heard her," he said. "You need to stay with your sister or your parents until they figure this out. I'll pack a bag for you, but you can't be here tonight."
She didn't move right away. "You're really doing this," she said. "You're putting us out over a misunderstanding from a camera angle."
"It's not a misunderstanding," he said. "And I'm not putting you out. I'm following what they told me to do to keep her safe."
He walked past her into the hall and knelt down next to me. He smelled like coffee and the hand soap from the kitchen. "Hey, bug," he said, quieter. "We are going to stay at Grandma's for a little while. Just you and me. Okay? You want to help me pack your things?"
I nodded. He reached out and straightened the bunny's ear where it had gotten folded. That was the first thing he packed.
In my room, everything looked the same as it had that morning, but it felt different. He pulled my little blue suitcase from the closet and set it open on the bed. He put the bunny right on top of the folded clothes, careful, like it was the most important thing.
"Your bunny goes first," he said. "Always first."
I stood in the doorway and watched him fold my white top with the jeweled neckline and a pair of leggings. He asked me what else I wanted.
I walked to my bed and pulled my second blanket, the thin yellow one I liked for sleeping, and handed it to him. Then I went to my dresser and took the small book with the farm animals that Grandma had given me. I didn't take the toys she had lined up on the shelf for when guests came over. I left those exactly where they were.
"This one?" he asked, holding up my toothbrush.
I nodded. He put it in a plastic bag and tucked it beside the blanket. He let me choose, and he waited every time I paused. He didn't rush me or tell me I was taking too long.
"Do you want to take anything from your desk?" he asked.
I looked at the desk where I colored. The surface was clear except for the cup of crayons. I picked the purple one and put it in his hand. He smiled, just a little, and slipped it into the front pocket of the suitcase.
Downstairs, my stepmother had packed her own bag. It was bigger than mine, a hard-sided suitcase she used for work trips. She stood by the dark wood dining table where we had eaten the night before. The placemats were still there.
"You know what this will look like," she said to my father. Her voice had changed, softer, trying to be reasonable. "The gala is next week. The foundation dinner. People will talk if I'm not at the house. If we are suddenly living separately. You know how quickly that spreads at church."
My father zipped my suitcase closed. The sound was loud in the quiet house.
"I don't care how it looks," he said.
"It's our reputation," she said. "We've built something here. One bad night and you are going to let strangers decide what our family is?"
He picked up my suitcase in one hand and held my hand with the other. I held the bunny with my other arm. He didn't look at the table or the plates anymore.
"I'm letting my daughter decide what safe feels like," he said. "You can explain the gala yourself. I'm not explaining away what I saw on that camera."
She looked at me then, her eyes wet but her mouth tight. "Tell Daddy you don't want to leave your home," she said to me.
I didn't answer. I stepped closer to my father and he put his hand on my shoulder.
"She doesn't have to answer that," he said. "Your sister said you can come tonight. I'll bring your bag to the porch."
He didn't argue further. He walked us to the front door, carrying both my suitcase and her bag just to set hers outside the threshold. He didn't let her linger.
Grandma's apartment was only fifteen minutes away, over the highway and past the elementary school. She had left the porch light on. When we pulled into the parking lot, she was already standing in the doorway in her slippers, holding the door open even though it was cold.
My father carried me in still holding the bunny, suitcase bumping against his leg. Inside it smelled like laundry detergent and soup. My old pack-n-play was already set up in the corner of her second bedroom with clean sheets.
May you like
Grandma didn't ask me what happened. She just knelt and said, "You want cocoa? I saved your pink cup."
I nodded. My father set my suitcase on the bed and unzipped it, and the first thing on top was still my bunny, exactly where he'd put it. For the first time since dinner the night before, the house was quiet and I didn't have to listen for anyone else's footsteps.
