Chapter 8 - The Dark Overcoat By The Door
Grandfather hadn't let go of my shoulder since the cake table. His overcoat was still damp where I'd been holding the sleeve, and I could feel the heat from his hand through my red sweater. The living room had gone quiet except for the fire cracking and the snow melting off his coat onto the marble.
He bent down just enough so his eyes were level with mine. His breath was steady but I could see it shake a little.
"I need to step outside for a minute," he said, quiet, just to me. "Stay right by your sister. Don't move from this spot. You hear me?"
I nodded. I didn't want him to go. The woman in green was still by the cake, her hands clenched at her sides, and my dad was standing near the drinks table with his glass, not looking at any of us.
Grandfather straightened up and looked at my dad. "I'm going to make a call. Outside. So everyone can hear it clearly."
He turned toward the open front door. The cold was still coming in, that blue-white light from the snow outside against the warm lamps inside. He stepped over the pile of coats on the floor — my boots squeaked when I shifted — and walked out onto the front porch. The snow made a soft crunch under his shoes.
My sister moved closer to me. She put her hand lightly on my back.
From the porch, I could hear Grandfather's phone beep. He'd pulled it from his overcoat pocket. His voice carried through the open doorway, even over the wind.
"Yes, county dispatch? Non-emergency line... This is Walter Keene, I'm at 14 Ridge Hollow, the McAllister residence... I need to request a welfare check for two minors, my grandchildren... Yes, tonight, Christmas Eve."
Inside, the woman in green moved fast. She crossed from the cake table to the entryway in three strides of her black heels. Her updo had come a little loose. She didn't look at me or my sister. She reached the front door and pushed it.
I heard the deadbolt turn. Click. Loud in the quiet house.
She locked it. From the inside. With Grandfather still outside on the porch.
My sister's hand tightened on my back. My dad just watched. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. He didn't say stop.
Outside, Grandfather must have heard it too, because he paused. Then he kept talking into the phone, louder so we could hear through the thick wood.
"Children are ages seven and fifteen... The boy was made to hold a pile of wet winter coats on the marble floor in an open doorway with snow blowing in, no coat on... And I witnessed the adult female in the home raise a heavy brass candlestick toward me while I was holding the boy... Yes, that's a direct threat... I'm the maternal grandfather, I live in town on County Road F... No, I am outside the residence now, the door was just locked from inside with the children still in there."
The wind picked up and snow blew against the frosted glass sidelights. I stared at the brass handle. It didn't move.
The woman stepped back from the door and folded her arms. She looked at my sister.
"Go to your room," she said. "Both of you. Now."
My sister didn't move. She looked at my dad. "Dad?"
My dad stared at the floor, at the puddle spreading from the coat pile. "Just... just do what she says, honey. Let's not make this worse."
My sister's face went red. I could feel her breathing fast. She looked at the locked door, then at me, then back at the woman in green.
"No," she said. Her voice was small but clear.
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
My sister stepped forward. Her snow boots left a wet print on the marble. She reached for the deadbolt. Her hand was shaking.
"Don't you touch that door," the woman snapped.
My sister didn't stop. She turned the lock. Click, the other way. The sound was sharper this time. She pulled the handle and the door swung open a few inches, letting a blast of cold air and snow swirl into the entryway. Grandfather was right there on the other side, phone still to his ear, snow dusting his gray hair and his burgundy scarf.
He looked past my sister straight at the woman. He ended the call.
"They're sending a deputy and putting me through to child services for a welfare check tonight. They have the address. They have your name."
The woman's hand went to her throat. She didn't answer.
Grandfather stepped back inside, snow on his shoulders, and gently pulled the door closed behind him but didn't lock it. He put his hand back on my shoulder and looked down at my sister.
May you like
"Thank you," he said to her, quietly.
She was still holding the door handle, her knuckles white. She hadn't let go.
