Chapter 1 - Steam Over the White Tub
The water bit me before I saw it do anything. It wasn't like pool water or the sprinkler at my cousin's apartment. It wrapped hot around my legs and up my arms when I sat down, and the steam got so thick I couldn't see the blue fish on the tile. I tried to stand up fast and my foot slipped and I grabbed the white edge and it burned my palm too. Vanessa was right there by the sink with her cardigan sleeves pushed up, looking at her phone, and Dad's keys hadn't hit the bowl by the door yet.
My arm went pink and then red up near my shoulder. It throbbed when the water touched it. I didn't fall and I didn't splash on purpose. The heat just stayed under my skin and wouldn't rinse off.
My name is Ellie. I was four and the tub was too big for me.
That evening Dad came home late with his tie pulled loose. I heard his shoes in the hall and the zip of his bag. The bathroom door was open a crack and the hall light cut through the steam. He called my name like he always did, happy at first. "Ellie-bean?" His sleeves were already rolled up to his elbows when he leaned over the white tub toward me. His watch clinked against the porcelain. The air smelled like soap and hot pipes.
He reached in without checking anything else. His hands went under my arms and lifted. The water fell off me in sheets and the cool air hit the red place and made it sting worse. I saw his face change when he saw my upper arm. He didn't blink for a second. He just stared at the mark and then his eyes moved to the steam still coming off the water.
I was crying then, shaking, my hair stuck to my cheeks. "Please, Vanessa, it hurts," I said. I wasn't trying to be loud. I just wanted her to make it stop.
Dad pulled me up against his shirt and his shirt got wet right through. "What temperature was this water?" he asked. His voice was low and tight, and he wasn't looking at me when he said it. He was looking past me at Vanessa.
Vanessa stood by the towel hook with her hair pulled back. Her satin top had little wet spots on it. She crossed her arms over her cream cardigan like she was cold even though the bathroom was so warm. "You know how dramatic she gets," she said. She said it calm, the way she did when she thought I was making a fuss over a scraped knee at the parking lot.
Dad didn't answer her. He held me tighter with one hand and reached for the big towel with the other. He wrapped it around my shoulders and tucked it under my chin. The towel was rough and dry and it stuck to the red skin. I breathed against his neck and smelled coffee and car air. My arm pulsed under the towel. Vanessa picked up my washcloth and wrung it out over the tub. The water made a hissing sound going down the drain.
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I didn't understand why they were both so quiet. Vanessa kept smoothing her top. Dad kept touching the back of my head, checking my forehead with his lips the way he did when I had a fever. He looked down at the faucet, at the red handle turned almost all the way. He looked at Vanessa again. Neither of them moved to turn on the cold.
"We're going to the clinic," Dad said. He said it firm, not asking. He shifted me higher on his hip and held the towel closed at my back. Vanessa started to say something about drying my hair first, about it being late, about the wait. He was already stepping back from the tub with water dripping off his shoes onto the bath mat. His hand was on the doorknob and the hall was bright beyond the steam.
