Chapter 12
The knock came at 2:40 that afternoon, and it was so soft I almost thought I'd imagined it.
I was sitting on the gray sofa with my legs pulled up under me, my pink pajamas still on because she hadn't told me to change. She'd been moving around the living room for an hour since the counselor called, picking things up and putting them down again, straightening the beige rug with her foot, checking the white door was locked. When the knock came, three even taps, she froze with her hand on the back of the sofa and looked at the door like it had made a mistake.
"Stay," she whispered to me. It was the only word she said.
She slipped the small dark rectangular object into the pocket of her white blouse. I watched the fabric pull where it sat. Her red nails smoothed the satin flat over it.
The second knock was the same, soft, patient. She opened the door only a few inches at first, her body blocking the gap.
A man stood on the other side, not in a uniform. He wore a plain navy windbreaker over a gray button-down, jeans, and clean boots. His badge was clipped to his belt, and he held it up just enough for her to see.
"Ma'am, I'm Sheriff Daniels with the county," he said. His voice was low and even. "Got a call for a welfare check. Mind if I step in for a minute? Won't take long."
She smiled. I'd seen that smile before. It made her mouth wide and her eyes still.
"Of course," she said. "Come in, Sheriff. We're just having a quiet afternoon."
She opened the door the rest of the way and stepped back, her hand sweeping toward the living room like she was giving a tour at an open house. "This is our living room. As you can see, everything's fine."
I couldn't make myself look straight at him. I stared at the dark wood floor by his boots and tried to breathe the way I'd practiced in my room, slow in through my nose, out through my mouth, so my shoulders wouldn't shake.
The sheriff didn't come far inside. He stayed near the doorway, his hands in front of him, not touching anything. He looked at me first, then away, like he didn't want to stare.
"Hi there," he said to me. "I'm Sheriff Daniels. Your school counselor asked me to stop by and make sure everything's okay at home. That's all this is."
I nodded. My throat had closed up. I managed a small, "Hi."
She answered for me, stepping a little closer to the sofa. "She's been a little under the weather. Tired. You know how kids get. She naps on the sofa."
"Uh-huh," the sheriff said. He wasn't looking at her anymore. His eyes were moving around the room slowly, the way grown-ups look when they're trying to remember something.
He glanced up at the ceiling. The white smoke detector housing was still there, but it wasn't straight. The man in the dark jacket had reached for it the other day, and no one had fixed it since. One edge sat lower than the other, a thin dark line showing underneath where it had been pulled away from the ceiling.
He looked down again, at the beige rug. The corner nearest the door was turned up, just a half inch, where she'd kicked it straight earlier and it hadn't stayed. The light from the window caught the edge.
"Been doing some work in here?" he asked casually.
"Just cleaning," she said, her voice still pleasant. "Dust gets everywhere."
The sheriff nodded. He took one slow step further into the room, not toward me, toward the center where he could see the sofa and the door and the ceiling all at once. He kept his distance.
"You mind if I take a quick look around? Just routine. I like to note what I see so I can let the school know I checked."
"Be my guest," she said. She folded her hands in front of her, the satin pulling again over the pocket. "We have nothing to hide."
He didn't open anything. He didn't touch the detector or the rug. He walked to the middle of the rug, looked up once more, then back at me. I felt his eyes on my hands where I was clutching my own knees.
I was breathing too fast again despite trying not to. Each breath caught a little at the top. I couldn't stop it. My chest rose and fell and my fingers tightened on the pink fabric.
The sheriff crouched down a little, just enough to be closer to my eye level, still a few feet away.
"You doing okay?" he asked me quietly. "You safe here? You can tell me."
I looked at her, then at him. She was watching me so hard I could feel it. I swallowed.
"I'm okay," I whispered. It was the answer I'd been told to give. My voice shook on the second word.
He held my gaze for a second longer, then stood. He didn't push me. He looked at her again, his expression still calm, still polite.
"Thank you for letting me in," he said. He pulled a small card from his windbreaker pocket and set it on the little table by the white door. "I see a couple things I'd like to follow up on properly. With a warrant I can document everything the right way, make sure that ceiling fixture is working like it should. County likes paperwork for these things."
Her smile tightened, just at the corners. "Of course. Whatever you need."
"I'll be back tomorrow morning with that paperwork, just to finish the check," he said. "Shouldn't be a disruption. If you think of anything you want to tell me before then, number's on the card."
He gave me one more small nod, not a wave, just an acknowledgement, and stepped back through the white door. She closed it behind him softly, turned the lock, and stood there with her hand on the knob, listening until his boots were gone from the sidewalk outside.
She didn't look at me. She pressed her palm flat against the pocket of her blouse where the dark object sat hidden, and took a slow breath.
May you like
"That was unnecessary," she murmured, more to herself than to me.
I stayed curled on the gray sofa, my breathing still loud in the quiet room, the crooked white circle on the ceiling above us both.
