Chapter 7 - The Linen Closet Door
I don't remember crying right away in my room. I remember trying not to. I was three and I had learned that if I breathed through my nose and kept my mouth shut, the tears would stay back behind my eyes a little longer. Daddy was still crouched by my bed with the sheet in his hand. He'd checked under the pillows twice like he thought he'd missed something the first time. He hadn't. The corner where Bunny always sat was empty and the little frame from my nightstand was gone and the room just looked wrong without them, too clean.
He looked at me and I could see him trying to keep his voice even. "Okay, baby. Think for me," he said. "When did you see them last?"
I held my gold spoon even though we weren't at the table anymore. I hadn't put it down since dinner. The metal was warm from my hand. I stared at the empty shelf and tried to picture Bunny's ear, the one that flopped down. I didn't want to say the wrong thing and make Daddy mad at me.
Then I remembered the hallway. It came back not like a whole story, just a flash of color. Burgundy. Veronica's dress moving past my door earlier that night before dinner, when I'd been playing on the rug. She'd been carrying something pale against her side, tucked close so it didn't drag. I hadn't seen what it was because her arm covered most of it, but I'd heard her heels stop outside in the hall where the air always smelled like clean sheets.
"She went there," I said, and pointed toward the door. My voice sounded small. "To the closet with the blankets."
Daddy didn't ask me if I was sure. He just stood up and held out his hand. I took it. My fingers were sticky from pasta and I wiped them on my white lace dress without thinking. The bow at the back of my head had slipped and kept tickling my neck as we walked.
The upstairs hallway felt colder than my room. The chandelier from downstairs didn't reach up there, just the small yellow lights along the wall and the night coming in blue through the window at the end. Our footsteps were loud on the wood. Daddy's silver watch clicked faintly against the doorframe when he reached for the linen closet handle.
I remembered standing on my tiptoes to watch him. He pulled the door open and the light inside clicked on automatically. Stacks of white towels and folded sheets lined the shelves, everything smelling like soap. Everything was straight except for one thing. On the middle shelf, a folded gray blanket stuck out too far, like someone had shoved it back in a hurry. The edge hung over and one corner was bunched up underneath, not flat like Veronica always kept them. She hated things messy. She'd fixed that closet twice since she started staying over.
Daddy stared at it for a second. He didn't touch it right away. He just breathed in through his nose and I saw his jaw move. Then he reached forward and lifted the edge of that blanket a little, just to see what was under it.
"James."
Veronica's voice came from behind us and I jumped. I hadn't heard her come up the stairs. She was still in her burgundy velvet dress, the thin straps dark against her shoulders, her diamond necklace catching the hall light. Her hair was still pinned up. She looked calm, but her mouth was a straight line.
Daddy turned, his hand still on the blanket. "Sofia remembered seeing you up here," he said quietly.
Veronica glanced down at me. Her eyes moved to my hand holding Daddy's shirt. I'd grabbed a fistful of his black button-up without realizing it, wrinkling the sleeve near his elbow. "Sofia should not wander the house making up stories at bedtime," she said. "She's tired. She doesn't know what she saw."
It wasn't loud. It wasn't mean in the way yelling is mean. It was cold and final, like a door closing. She stepped closer and put her hand lightly on the closet door, not quite shutting it, but holding it so Daddy couldn't pull it wider.
"I saw," I whispered into Daddy's shirt. The fabric smelled like candle smoke from the dining room. I didn't look at her. I kept my eyes on his watch and the tattoo that ran up under his cuff.
Daddy looked from Veronica's hand on the door back to that crooked blanket. He let the edge drop slowly. He didn't push past her. Not yet. But he shifted his weight so his shoulder stayed between me and her, and he tightened his fingers around mine.
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"We're going to finish looking," he said. His voice was low. He paused before he spoke again, and I heard him swallow. "After I put her to bed."
Veronica didn't move her hand. She held his stare. The hall light buzzed faintly above us. I could feel Daddy breathing, slow and controlled, and I held harder to his shirt and didn't let go.
