Chapter 13: The Suitcase At The Door
The suitcase was already by the front door when I woke up. It wasn't a big one, just the hard gray roller Vanessa used when she went to see her sister, but it was packed full. The zipper was stretched tight and the handle was pulled all the way up. It sat right against the wall where Dad usually left his shoes, and it made the whole entryway look wrong, like someone had put furniture in the wrong room.
I stayed on the black sofa with my book in my lap. Dad had taped it the night before with clear tape, two long strips down the middle where the tear was. You could still see the line. The little cartoon trees didn't match up perfectly anymore and the white clouds had a silver crease through them. I held both sides together with my hands anyway so it wouldn't pull open.
Vanessa came out of the bedroom pulling the suitcase. She was wearing the same beige blouse but her hair was pulled back and she wasn't wearing the nice shoes she wore inside the apartment. She had on her coat. She rolled the suitcase across the wood floor and the wheels made a loud rattling sound that echoed off the high walls. Dad was standing near the kitchen island with his hands in his pockets. He wasn't working on his laptop. It was closed.
For a second nobody said anything. The only sound was the low hum of the heater and the wheels. Vanessa got to the door and stopped. She put her hand on the handle but didn't turn it yet. Then she turned her head and looked at me on the sofa.
I didn't know what to do so I just looked back. Her face wasn't stern the way it had been that night when she stood over me. Her shoulders dropped a little and her mouth softened. She looked tired. She looked at the book in my hands, at the tape, and then at my face. She didn't smile and she didn't beg. She just looked at me for a long breath like she was trying to memorize something or maybe trying to figure out what to say and deciding not to. I felt my fingers tighten around the cover.
Dad pushed off from the counter and walked to the entryway. He stood between me and the door, not blocking the way, just there. His voice was quiet but it filled the whole living room because everything else was so silent.
"You will never treat my daughter like that again," he said.
It was the same words he had said that first night when he knelt on the floor. Only this time he wasn't kneeling and he wasn't asking. He had his hand on the doorframe and he was looking right at Vanessa. He didn't sound loud or angry. He sounded sure. It wasn't a threat for later. It was happening now. The suitcase was the proof of it.
Vanessa nodded once. Short. She didn't argue. She didn't say he was overreacting or that I had been difficult. She just breathed in through her nose and gave one small nod like she understood this was the price. She turned the handle.
When she opened the door, the light from the hallway came in. It was that bright white hallway light from the building, different from the warm yellow lamps we had inside. For a second I could see the gray carpet out there and the opposite wall and the elevator doors at the end of the hall. The air from the hallway was cooler. She pulled the suitcase over the little metal strip in the doorway. The wheels bumped hard once and then she was out there. She didn't look back again.
Dad held the door open for a count of two, then he let it swing shut. The lock clicked. It was a soft click but in that quiet it sounded huge. And then there was just silence.
We both stayed still for a moment. I could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking and the faint cars down on the street twelve floors below. No one was moving around getting coffee or opening closets. No perfume smell moving through the air. The apartment felt suddenly bigger, like the walls had moved back a few feet. The high windows with the city behind them seemed taller. The bookshelf beside the sofa looked emptier even though all the books were still there.
Dad walked back over and sat down on the sofa next to me. The leather made its little creaking sound. He didn't try to take the book from me. He just sat close enough that our shoulders touched. His arm rested along the back of the cushions behind me.
May you like
"She's gone, Soph," he whispered.
I nodded. I kept holding the taped book. The silver line down the middle caught the daytime light from the window. It wasn't fixed, not really. But it was holding together in my hands and Dad hadn't left me on that sofa alone the way I had been before. The door stayed closed and the hallway light was gone and it was just us in the quiet, warm apartment again. It didn't feel happy yet. It just felt quiet and safe and a little empty, like after a storm when you can finally hear the rain has stopped.
