Chapter 4 - Two Adults in the Kitchen
That night Dad didn't turn off my bedroom light all the way. He left it low and he left my door cracked open, just a little line of yellow into the hall. I was supposed to be asleep. My bear was tucked under my chin and my arm with the white gauze was on top of the blanket because Dad said to keep it dry and keep it where we could see it.
I was Ellie. I was four. That night I learned how to listen without opening my eyes.
At first there was water in the kitchen. Not bath water. Sink water. I heard the faucet run and stop. I heard the fridge open. Then their feet. Dad's shoes were off so his socks made soft sounds. Vanessa still had her shoes on. I could tell by the little clicks.
I didn't hear words at first. Just the way their voices went up and down. Low, then sharper, then low again.
Then I heard Vanessa clearer. She was standing closer to my door, I think.
"The water was fine when I ran it," she said. "She was splashing. You know how she gets water everywhere."
I kept my eyes closed. My arm throbbed under the gauze. It felt tight and hot.
Dad answered. His voice was tired but flat. He wasn't loud. That scared me more than loud.
"I saw the steam when I walked in," he said. "And her skin was red right away. I saw it when I lifted her."
There was a pause. The fridge hummed. I squeezed my bear tighter. The fur was damp where my cheek had been.
Vanessa sighed. I heard a chair move on the kitchen floor.
"I've been up since six. Work was awful. I was tired," she said. "I'm not saying it was perfect. I'm saying it wasn't like that."
I didn't understand all of what she meant. I understood tired. Grown-ups said tired when they didn't want more questions. I understood the sound of her cardigan when she crossed her arms. It made a soft sweater sound.
Dad didn't answer right away. I could picture him because he always paused and breathed through his nose before he talked serious. In the crack of light I saw his shadow move in the hall.
"I'll do baths until that arm heals," he said. "That's how it's going to be for now."
"Mark—" Vanessa started.
"Until it heals," he said again. Not mean. Just done.
My stomach felt wobbly. They weren't yelling like on TV. They were using those careful voices that still felt sharp. I couldn't catch every word after that. Phrases floated down the hall and got mixed up in my head. Something about testing, something about being late, something about the clinic paper. The tones were what stayed. Hers went higher and then went small. His stayed low and stayed there.
I pressed my bear's ear against my mouth. It smelled like clinic soap and home at the same time.
Footsteps came closer. I shut my eyes tight and tried to make my breathing slow like sleep. The door creaked a little wider. I felt Dad looking in. He didn't say my name. The floor by my bed dipped when he knelt. His watch clicked lightly against the bed frame.
"I know, baby," he whispered, even though I hadn't said anything.
In the kitchen a cabinet closed. Then the couch springs made a noise. A blanket swished. The TV didn't turn on. Everything went quiet except the apartment sounds. The heater ticked. A car went by outside.
Dad didn't go back to the couch. He pulled my rug blanket down and laid it on the floor next to my bed. I heard his shoulder pop when he lay down. He put his hand up where I could reach it if I stretched my fingers over the edge.
May you like
I stretched my fingers and touched his sleeve. He was still in his white shirt from work. The sleeve was rolled and wrinkled.
Across the apartment Vanessa was alone on the couch. I could hear her breathing, awake. Nobody said good night.
