Chapter 6
I didn't understand what saving footage meant until I saw my dad's hands shake.
He was still holding his phone out in front of him, the video frozen on the last frame of my bedroom. The hallway light on the screen made the white walls look yellow. He didn't look at either of us. He stared at the phone like if he blinked it would disappear.
"I said wait here," he said again, but this time it wasn't to me. It was to her.
She had started to stand. Her chair scraped against the wood floor and she reached a hand toward his arm. She stopped halfway when he took a step back.
He tapped the screen fast with his thumb. I could hear the little clicks. He pressed share, then save, then something else. His breathing was loud. I pressed the bunny harder against my chest until I could feel its pink nose against my chin.
"Don't," she said. Her voice went soft. "You don't need to do that. We can talk about this without—"
He didn't answer her. He opened another app and his thumb kept moving. I saw the little cloud icon spin at the top of his screen. He typed his password with two hands. Then he locked the phone. The screen went black and he slid it into the front pocket of his beige trousers and pressed his palm against it for a second to make sure it was there.
That was when I moved. I didn't think about it. The plates were still on the dark wood table, the wine in her glass barely touched. I left my chair and went around the corner of the table and stood behind his legs. I grabbed the back of his shirt with one hand and held the bunny with the other. His pants smelled like laundry detergent. His leg was steady. I could feel the warmth of him.
He put his hand back without looking down and rested it on top of my head for a second. Just a second. Then he let it drop to his side, but he shifted his weight so I was covered.
"How long," he said. His voice was flat now, not loud like at the table.
She was still halfway between sitting and standing, her hands on the edge of the placemat. Her cream blouse had a little wrinkle at the neck where she'd pulled it.
"How long has this been happening when I'm at work?" he asked. "When I'm away? Tell me the truth."
She looked at him, then at me behind his legs, then back at him. She folded her arms and then unfolded them.
"It's not like what it looks like on that camera," she said. "You weren't here. You don't see what she's like all day. She doesn't listen. She makes messes on purpose. She screamed for an hour yesterday and I just needed five minutes where she was safe and I could breathe. The laundry room was the only place I could keep an eye on her."
I pressed my face into the back of his shirt. The bunny's ear was damp where I'd been holding it.
"That's not an answer," he said. "I asked how long."
She swallowed. "A few times. A couple weeks. I didn't know what else to do. You leave for work at seven and you don't get back until six and she cries when I try to get anything done. I was stressed. I wasn't trying to hurt her."
I felt my dad's body go very still. He didn't yell again. He just stood there and his hand found the phone in his pocket and checked it was still there.
"You told me she liked playing in there," he said. "You told me she asked to go in my room to play quietly."
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"I was trying to keep the house calm for you," she said, and her voice got thinner. "I didn't want you to think I couldn't handle her."
Behind his legs, I listened to the room tone of the dining room. The lamp buzzed faintly. The plates sat with the gold rims shining. For the first time that night, I wasn't the one who had to explain. The video was doing it. His hand on his pocket was doing it. I didn't have to squeeze the bunny to make myself believed. I squeezed it anyway because it was mine, and I was still scared, but the shaking in my chest had started to slow down. I stayed pressed against his legs and didn't move until he did.
