Chapter 3 - His Hands Kept Off the White Bandage
The parking lot was all blacktop and lights. I remember the cold got in under my towel first, then Dad's jacket over it. He had my bear tucked under his chin while he got the car door open.
He set me on the back seat sideways. Not like a toss-in. He kneeled down on the wet ground so his face was even with mine. His shirt was still damp at the sleeves and his tie hung loose.
"Okay, Ellie," he said. "Arms up a little."
I lifted my good arm. He left the other one still. The white gauze was thick around my upper arm and I didn't want to look at it. He pulled the seat belt across real slow, low over my lap. He clicked it and then pulled my jacket down so nothing rubbed.
"Did that touch?" he asked.
I shook my head. It hadn't, but the air hurt anyway.
He nodded once and put the bear in my lap, on my good side. "Hold him there," he said.
That was the first car ride where I didn't kick my feet. I just sat and watched the lights go past the window. My arm throbbed under the wrap in little beats. I kept thinking about his shoulder in the bathroom, how I had pressed my face into his shirt and it smelled like soap and car. I wanted to be up there again, not in the seat.
Dad got in front and didn't start driving right away. He sat with both hands on the wheel and breathed. I could hear it. Then he took his phone out.
He didn't look at me when he talked. He looked at the windshield.
"It's done," he said. Quiet. "We're coming back now."
A pause. I watched a tall light buzz over the parking lot.
"Yeah," he said. "She's with me."
Another pause, longer. He rubbed his thumb on the wheel.
"We'll be ten minutes," he said, and hung up.
He didn't explain it to me. He just started the car and turned the heat on low. Warm air came out and made my wet hair feel colder for a second before it helped.
On the way home I watched the headlights. Ours made a bright square on the road, and other cars made theirs. When we stopped at a red light, the brake lights ahead turned red on Dad's watch. He had his left hand at the bottom of the wheel. I remember the tick of the blinker when he turned onto our street. It sounded too loud.
"You awake back there?" he asked at one stop sign.
"Yeah," I said. My voice sounded small in the car.
"Good girl," he said. "Almost home."
Our apartment building looked different that night. The hallway bulb was the same yellow, but inside our door it felt colder. Quieter, too. No TV. No water running. Just the fridge hum.
I thought Vanessa would be right there. Dad kept his hand light on my back, not on my sore side, and steered me past the living room. I saw the edge of the couch and the lamp on, but I didn't look long. My legs were tired and my jacket was too big and dragging at my hands.
In his bedroom, he didn't do what we usually did. Usually it was bath, then teeth, then my room. This time he pulled back his own covers. The sheets were gray-blue and cool.
He helped me out of the damp towel and jacket and got my pajama top on without pulling it over the gauze. He had to bunch the sleeve up and work around it. He was careful with his fingers, holding the cloth away from my skin.
"Lie on this side," he said, patting the mattress. "Good side down."
I climbed in and he tucked the blanket up to my chin. He put the bear right under my good arm so I could squeeze him. The pillow smelled like Dad.
"Does it still sting?" he asked.
I nodded. I didn't want to cry again.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress sank. He didn't get under the covers. He just sat there with his hands together, looking at the wall for a while, then at me.
"I'm right here," he said.
May you like
I held the bear tight and listened to the apartment. No footsteps. No talking. Just Dad breathing and the clock in the kitchen ticking. My eyes kept closing even though I tried to keep them open to watch the headlights still moving behind my eyelids.
The last thing I felt was his hand, very light, on the blanket near my knees. Not moving. Just there.
