Chapter 6 - The Bed Without Bunny
Daddy carried me up the stairs with one arm locked around my waist. I remembered how his shirt smelled like candle smoke and pasta and the clean soap from the bathroom downstairs. My white lace dress bunched up around my knees and my bow had slipped to the side. I kept fixing it with one hand while I held on to his collar with the other. His silver watch pressed cold against my leg with every step.
Veronica went ahead of us. I heard her heels hit the wood before we turned the corner into the hall. She moved fast for someone in that long burgundy dress, faster than she needed to. Daddy had said we were going to look together, but she acted like she wanted to get to my room first.
My door was already open. The little lamp by my bookshelf was on, the one Mommy had picked with the white shade and the tiny stars cut out. It threw soft circles on the ceiling. My bed was made. That was the first wrong thing I noticed. Mrs. Alvarez always left my top sheet turned down after dinner so I could climb right in, and Bunny always sat against my pillow facing the door like he was waiting for me.
He was not there.
Daddy set me down by the foot of the bed. His hand stayed on my back. The tattoos on his neck stood out dark under the hall light and I could feel his breathing, slow and careful, like he was trying to stay calm for me.
"Okay, baby," he said. "Show me."
I crawled up onto the mattress on my knees. The lace scratched at my legs. I lifted my pillow first because that was where Bunny slept when I napped. Nothing but the cool sheet under it. I put the pillow down and lifted it again, like maybe I had not looked right. Still nothing. My chest got tight.
I patted down the blanket next, running both hands over the top and then shoving them underneath. I remembered thinking if I pressed hard enough I would feel his flat ear or his stuffed foot. The blanket was smooth and empty. I pulled the corner back all the way to the footboard and shook it. Air came up smelling like laundry soap.
"He goes here," I said, and my voice sounded small in that big quiet room. I pointed to the dent by my pillow. "Right here."
Daddy nodded. He did not tell me I was wrong or that I must have left Bunny downstairs. He just squeezed my ankle once and turned toward my nightstand. That was his spot, the little white table where my cup of water sat and where Mommy's picture had stood for as long as I could remember. It was a silver frame with a wavy edge. Mommy was smiling in it with her hair down and her hand half up like she was waving.
The table was empty except for the cup and my plastic night light shaped like a moon.
Daddy stared at it for a second too long. I watched his jaw work. He picked up the water cup and set it down again, then ran his finger across the wood where the frame used to sit. There was a pale rectangle in the dust, a clean line where it had been. He touched it and then wiped his thumb on his pants.
"It was right here," he said, more to himself than to me.
From the doorway Veronica said, "Maybe Rosa moved it when she cleaned." Her voice was even and light, but she did not come into the room. She stayed leaned against the frame with her arms crossed, her diamond necklace catching the hall light every time she breathed. Her earrings swung just a little.
Daddy looked over his shoulder at her. "Rosa doesn't touch that frame. I told her not to."
Veronica shrugged one shoulder. "Then Sofia probably carried it somewhere and forgot. She's three."
I shook my head hard. My hair swung into my eyes. "No. I did not."
Daddy held up a hand, not sharp, just enough to stop it. He turned back to me. His eyes were soft but his mouth was tight at the corners. He sat down on the edge of my bed and the mattress dipped under his weight. He pulled me into his lap so my legs hung over his arm.
"Check one more time for Daddy," he said quietly. "Blanket and pillow. Real slow."
So I did. I wanted him to see I knew how to look. I lifted the pillow all the way off and held it up. I pulled the top sheet down to the middle and smoothed it flat with my palm. I even lifted the stuffed elephant at the foot of the bed and looked under him, though Bunny would never have been under there. Each empty spot made my throat burn hotter.
Daddy watched every move. Then he stood and opened my nightstand drawer. Inside were only my hair clips and a little book about a bear. He closed it soft. He looked under the bed for a second, lifting the dust ruffle, but we both knew Bunny was not the kind of toy I threw on the floor.
When he stood up again he looked at Veronica in the doorway. She was still there, still watching, her face calm but her fingers pressing hard into her own arms.
"They're not in here," he said.
May you like
I grabbed a fistful of his shirt. "Bunny's gone," I whispered, because saying it out loud made it real. The lamp buzzed faint and the stars on the ceiling swam a little while I tried not to cry.
Daddy pressed his cheek to the top of my head. His stubble scratched my bow. "I know," he said. "I see that."
