Chapter 3
His gloves made a soft sound against the plastic.
I'd been watching his hand since it lifted. The brown leather caught the daylight from the window and left a faint shadow on the ceiling. He didn't look at me. He didn't look at her. He looked straight up at the white circle and fit his fingers around its edge like he'd done it before.
The detector was higher than he could reach without stretching. He went up on the balls of his work boots and twisted.
It wasn't a big movement. Just a quarter turn to the left. The housing creaked. A tiny, dry click I felt in my teeth.
I flinched. I couldn't help it. My shoulders jumped against the back of the sofa and my knees pulled tighter into my chest. The pink of my pajamas bunched in my fists. I heard my own breath catch and tried to swallow it quiet.
He paused with his hand still holding the plastic. He didn't force it. He tested it, like you test a lid that won't open. He twisted again, slower this time, and the whole white cover loosened. It sagged a little away from the ceiling. A thin dark line showed around the rim where dust had collected.
He didn't take it off.
From the corner of my eye I saw her move.
She was still standing to the right of the sofa where she'd been since the beginning. The small dark rectangle was still in her hand, down by her side now, not raised. Her other hand, the one with the red nails, rested lightly against the arm of the sofa. She didn't speak. She gave him a nod. Just a dip of her chin, quick and controlled. Her eyes never left his face.
He gave a nod back. Same size. Same quick.
I caught it. That little exchange that was supposed to be invisible. It wasn't for me to see, but I did. It landed in my stomach like cold water. They knew each other. They had a plan that didn't need words. She'd told him what to do before he walked through that white door, and he was checking if he'd done it right.
I understood then that the smoke detector wasn't just a detector. It was why she'd been so careful about where I sat, where I cried, what I did with my hands. The room had been watching me and I hadn't known until he looked up.
My eyes dropped without me telling them to. I was still curled in the corner of the gray sofa, and the edge of the light beige rug was right by my foot. The rug didn't quite meet the dark wood floor under the sofa leg. There was a little lift there, a curl where the binding had come loose. I'd picked at it before when I was bored.
Something was on the sofa beside me. When she'd grabbed my face, her hand had slipped. One of her red nails had caught on the seam of my pajama collar and snapped. Not all of it, just a sharp red chip. It had fallen onto the cushion next to my knee. Fake nail, thick, glossy. I'd seen it lying there while my eyes were watering.
While his hand was still up at the ceiling and her eyes were still on him, I moved.
I didn't make a big move. I let my leg shift like I was trying to get more comfortable. I curled tighter, like I was still crying. My hand, which had been fisted in my pajama pants, opened and brushed the cushion. I pinched that little red chip between my thumb and finger. It was warm from the sofa fabric.
Then I let my foot slide, slow, down to the floor. My toes found the lifted edge of the rug. I pressed with my big toe, just enough to make a pocket. In one small, hidden motion, I slipped the chip under there and let the rug fall back flat.
It was under the edge, against the wood, where the sofa leg would hide it if anyone looked down. You wouldn't see it unless you lifted the rug on purpose.
My heart was beating so fast I was scared they could hear it. I kept my head down and let my shoulders shake a little, like I was still too upset to notice anything else.
He lowered his hand.
He didn't remove the detector. He left it loosened, hanging just a little crooked, the gap around it still showing. He stepped back from under it and wiped his glove on his jeans, once. He glanced at her again. She tilted her head just enough to say that's enough.
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I stayed curled up. I breathed through my mouth so they wouldn't hear the shake.
The dark object stayed in her hand. The detector stayed on the ceiling, not taken, not fixed. And under the rug by my foot, the red chip stayed where I'd put it, a tiny piece of her that she didn't know she'd lost.
