I Held My Gold Spoon While Daddy Asked Veronica About Mommy's Missing Picture

I don't remember deciding to go upstairs. I remember holding on. My fingers were twisted in the back of Daddy's black shirt and I wouldn't let go, even when the fabric pulled tight as he took the steps two at a time. My white bow had slipped to the side and my socks slid a little on the wood stairs. The hallway light upstairs was too bright after the candlelight downstairs, and it made my eyes water.

Daddy didn't turn on the big hall light at first. Just the small lamp by the linen closet. It threw a soft circle on the carpet runner and left the ends of the hallway dark. Our house sounded different up there at night. The air conditioner hummed through the vents and I could still hear the clink of the candles downstairs, or maybe I imagined it. I breathed through my mouth because my nose felt stuffed from trying not to cry at the table.

Veronica came up behind us. I heard her heels before I saw her. Slow, even taps on the stairs. She stopped at the top step and smoothed the front of her burgundy dress with both hands. Her diamond necklace caught the lamplight when she breathed in. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't frowning either. It was the same still face she'd worn when Daddy had looked at her from the table.

"This is silly," she said. "She's tired. You're making it bigger than it is."

Daddy didn't answer right away. He bent down a little so I could keep holding his shirt without stretching. His silver watch was cold when it brushed my wrist. He put his hand over mine for a second, just to hold it there, and I could feel the roughness of his tattoos under his rolled sleeve. Then he looked up at her.

I pressed my cheek to the back of his arm. From there I could see both of them. Daddy's jaw moved once. He kept his voice low, the way he did when he didn't want the neighbors to hear through the windows.

"I'm going to ask you one time," he said. "Why did you move her mom's picture?"

It went quiet in a way I hadn't heard before. Not the quiet of dinner, where forks scraped and candles crackled. This was the hallway quiet. The air conditioner clicked off and I could hear myself breathing.

Veronica folded her arms. The thin straps of her dress didn't move. She glanced down at me, then back at him, and her mouth tightened just a fraction.

"Because I put it away," she said. "A new family needs new rules."

Daddy didn't move. His hand stayed over mine. I felt his shoulders go still under his shirt.

"What rules?" he asked.

She exhaled through her nose. "She doesn't need to stare at a dead woman every night before bed. She needs routine. She needs us. You said we were starting over, and starting over means we don't keep a shrine in a three-year-old's room."

I didn't know what shrine meant. I knew put away. Put away meant gone like Bunny was gone. My throat made a sound before I could stop it, a little whimper that shook on the way out. I let go of his shirt just long enough to grab it again lower down and I stepped behind his legs so Veronica couldn't see all of me. The carpet scratched my knees through my lace dress. I tucked my face against the back of his knee and breathed in laundry soap and cologne.

Daddy shifted his weight so I fit there. He didn't push me out or tell me to stand up straight. His hand dropped from his side to rest lightly on the back of my head, covering my bow.

"Don't," he said. It wasn't loud. It stopped her mid-breath. "Don't call her that in front of her."

Veronica's earrings swung once when she tilted her head. "You're twisting this. I'm trying to help her adjust. You leave for work, I manage the house. I can't do that if everything in this hallway still belongs to someone else."

I peeked around Daddy's leg. Her face hadn't changed, but her fingers were pressing hard into her own arms. White marks stayed where her nails dug in. Daddy saw it too. I watched him notice and then deliberately look away from her hands back to her eyes.

"That picture was by her bed," he said. His voice was flat now, careful. "You didn't ask. You decided. That's what I need you to hear."

He paused. I felt his chest rise and fall once, slow. The hand on my head was steady, but his thumb pressed a little harder against my hair, like he was holding himself still.