Chapter 11 - The Washer Lid
I did not understand washers yet. I understood the sound ours made that night, up at the end of the hall where the floor changed from wood to cold tile. It thumped and hissed behind a white door, too loud for that late at night. Daddy held my hand and did not let go, even when my gold spoon slipped in my fingers and clinked against the doorframe.
Veronica had followed us up. I could hear her heels on the wood behind us, slower than Daddy's steps. She had not changed out of her burgundy dress. Her necklace caught the hallway light when she stopped a few feet back and folded her arms.
Daddy pushed the laundry door open with his shoulder. The room was small and hot and smelled like soap and damp towels. The overhead bulb was too white after the candles downstairs. The washer shook a little with each turn, and the dryer beside it was quiet and dark. A basket of folded clothes sat on top of the dryer, and a pile of dark clothes lay heaped on the floor in front of the washer like someone had dropped them in a hurry.
He crouched down first. He did not touch the washer yet. He picked up a black sweater from the pile and turned it over in his hands. That was when I saw it. A small tuft of brown fur stuck to the sleeve, the same color as Bunny's ear. Daddy rubbed it between his thumb and finger and stared at it, and his jaw moved once. He glanced at me, then at the washer.
"Did you put a load in tonight?" he asked. His voice stayed low. He did not look at Veronica when he said it.
She breathed out through her nose. "I put towels in. Sofia spills. Someone has to keep up."
Daddy set the sweater down carefully on top of the washer. He checked the time on his silver watch, like he was counting. The machine clicked and started to drain, water rushing loud inside. My stomach tightened. I pressed my spoon against my dress and stepped closer to his leg.
He turned the big dial to off. The thumping slowed and then stopped, and the sudden quiet rang in my ears. Steam and soap rose when he twisted the lid open. The smell got stronger. Water stood high inside, gray and sudsy, with a white sheet twisted around something dark.
Daddy did not hesitate. He rolled his sleeve higher, the tattoos on his forearm flexing, and reached into the water up to his elbow. He pulled the sheet up hand over hand until the weight came with it. Water poured off it onto the floor and soaked his shoe.
Then I saw the ear.
It flopped over the edge of the sheet, soaked dark brown and matted, with the pink lining gone gray. One button eye stared past me. My Bunny. Swollen and heavy and dripping, caught in the wet sheet like he had been wrapped up to disappear.
A sound came out of me before I could stop it. It was not words. I dropped Daddy's hand and grabbed for Bunny with both hands, spoon and all, and I cried into his wet fur. The water soaked the front of my white lace dress and ran cold down my arms, but I would not let go. "Bunny, Bunny," I kept saying, and I pressed my face to him even though he smelled like soap and felt wrong and heavy.
Daddy knelt in the puddle and put his arm around me. "I've got you," he said quietly. "Let me hold him just a second, sweetheart. Just a second." His hands were gentle when he eased Bunny from my grip. He held him over the open washer and let the worst of the water drain, then he pulled a clean towel down from the shelf and spread it on top of the dryer.
He laid Bunny in the middle of it and folded the towel around him, tight and careful, the way you would wrap a real baby after a bath. He pressed down lightly to blot the water instead of wringing him. I watched his fingers shake a little. He tucked the corners in around Bunny's ears to keep them warm.
Behind us Veronica made a small impatient sound. "It's a stuffed animal, for heaven's sake. It needed washing. She drags it everywhere, it's filthy."
Daddy did not pick Bunny up right away. He kept one hand on the towel bundle and looked down at the wet floor, at my soaked dress, at the gold spoon still clutched in my fist. When he finally turned his head toward her, his eyes were different than they had been at the table. Not confused anymore. Heavier.
"A three-year-old's toy does not end up wrapped in a sheet in a running washer by itself in the middle of dinner," he said. "And you did not tell me you took it."
Veronica's mouth tightened. She glanced at the hallway like she wanted to leave, then forced her shoulders back. "You're making this into something it isn't."
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Daddy lifted the towel-wrapped Bunny and held him against his chest with one arm. With his other hand he reached for me, and I climbed into the space beside him, clutching his shirt and my spoon. Water from Bunny's towel seeped into his black shirt and darkened it, and he did not move away from it.
He looked at Veronica over my head. He did not raise his voice. He just held on to us both.
