Chapter 3 - The Melting Snow On The Marble
The snow didn't stay snow for long. On the marble it turned to water and the water kept spreading.
I was standing in it. I hadn't realized how cold my feet had gotten until my grandfather's hand tightened on my shoulder and I felt my boots really. The white trim around the top was dark now, soaked through. My socks were wet inside. The puddle under the pile of coats had gotten bigger and it had reached my boots while I was holding still.
He looked down. Not at the coats. At me.
He crouched a little so we were closer. His overcoat smelled like cold air and his car heater. Snow was still on his shoulders and melting there too.
"Your sweater's wet," he said. It wasn't a question. He touched the sleeve of my red sweater lightly, just two fingers. The wool was damp and it clung.
I nodded. I didn't know what to say. My arms had held all those coats for a long time by the door while the ladies took them off and handed them to me. One after another. They were heavy when they were wet.
He leaned in a little closer. His voice got lower so only I would hear it, but my sister was right there.
"When did you eat last?" he asked.
I tried to think. It was hard to think with everyone looking. I remembered standing by the kitchen doorway earlier and being told to wait.
My sister answered for me. She was a few feet behind us, half in the shadow of the entryway table.
"This morning," she said. Her voice was so quiet I almost didn't hear it. "He didn't have lunch. She said he'd spoil dinner."
She didn't look at the woman in green when she said it. She looked at my grandfather. Her hands were tight around each other.
My grandfather didn't stand up right away. I felt his hand stay on my shoulder. He breathed once, slow, and his jaw moved.
The woman in green heard. She'd been by the cake table, straightening herself, but she came back toward us fast on her black heels. Her smile was back but it wasn't the same as before. It was the one she used when guests were listening.
"Well, we're all a little behind today," she said. Her voice was bright, too bright. "With the party. Honey, why don't you be helpful and take care of those coats? Take them to the laundry room right now, before someone slips. That's a good boy."
She was talking to me. She pointed at the pile on the floor. The red scarf on top had slipped off a little and was in the puddle.
I knew that laundry room. It was down the hall past the kitchen, cold and loud with the washer. She wanted the pile gone. If the coats were gone, the water would be wiped up. It would look like nothing had happened.
The guests near the drinks table were watching. I could feel it even without looking. The man in the dark suit, my dad, had moved a step closer but he wasn't saying anything.
My grandfather looked at the woman, then at me. He didn't tell me what to do. He just kept his hand where it was.
I had always done what she said right away. If I didn't, there would be that tone at dinner and my dad would look at the table and not at us. So I always moved fast.
But my boots were stuck a little to the wet marble and my sweater was cold against my skin and my sister had just said out loud what I hadn't known how to say. And my grandfather was right there, holding on.
"No," I said. It came out small. I wasn't sure it was loud enough.
The woman's smile got thinner. "Excuse me?" she said.
I swallowed. My heart was beating so fast I could hear it. I didn't pick up the coats. I stepped half an inch closer to my grandfather instead, so my shoulder was against his side. My boots left a little wet mark when I moved.
May you like
"I don't want to," I said. This time it was a little louder.
Nobody moved to pick up the coats either. The pile stayed right where it was on the marble, the sleeves all tangled, the water around it shining under the entryway lights. The melting snow kept making the puddle a little bigger by the second and my socks were still wet, and everyone could see it.
