Chapter 10 - One Hand at a Time
The curtain cut into my palms when I shifted my weight. I hadn't realized how much I'd been leaning on it until the housekeeper looked up at me and said, "Don't move yet."
My legs had gone half numb from the sill. The wood edge pressed up under my thighs through the thin fabric of my dress, and the daylight from the tall window was hot on the side of my face. I could feel Daniel close to my right, breathing hard, the scissors still in his hand. His mother stood two steps back with her arms crossed, her pearl necklace catching the light every time she turned her head toward the door like she expected someone to walk in.
Mrs. Harper — the housekeeper — didn't look at either of them. She kept both hands wrapped low around the curtain and pressed her knee harder into the floor.
"I'm going to brace it," she said. "Nobody pulls until she's down."
Daniel nodded once. "Okay."
My fingers were slick. I tightened them again around the heavy off-white fabric. The sheer behind me lifted a little with the draft from the window seam and brushed my hair.
Daniel looked at the scissors in his hand like he'd forgotten he was holding them. He crouched, keeping his eyes on me, and laid them on the hardwood floor well to his left. The black handles made a dull click against the wood. Then he used his foot to nudge them another foot away, out toward the middle of the room where none of us could grab them without stepping for them.
"There," he said quietly. "They're down."
His mother made a sound in her throat. "Daniel, this is ridiculous. Get the envelope and be done with it."
He didn't answer her. He stood back up slowly and held both hands up where I could see them, palms open.
"Hey," he said to me. "It's me."
I nodded. My throat was too tight to talk.
The housekeeper shifted her grip, winding a fold of the curtain once around her right hand to lock it. "Listen to me," she said. Her voice was low and steady. "I'm going to count. On three, Daniel takes your waist. You don't reach for him. You let him take your weight. You keep hold of the curtain until he says let go. Understand?"
I swallowed. "Yes."
"Say it again so I know you heard."
"I keep hold until he says let go," I whispered.
"Good."
Daniel stepped in closer, his shoes loud on the floor. He put his left hand on the window frame to steady himself and kept his right hand hovering near my back without touching me yet. I could smell his shirt, the faint laundry soap and sweat.
"You're okay," he said. "I've got you."
My arms were shaking. The curtain above my head creaked on the rod when I breathed.
"One," the housekeeper said.
I locked my eyes on Daniel's face. His jaw was tight, his eyes wet but focused. Behind him, his mother leaned in, her mouth a thin line.
"Two."
The housekeeper dug her shoulder in and took more of the weight. I felt the fabric go still in my hands instead of slipping.
"Three."
Daniel's hands closed around my waist, firm through my light purple dress. His fingers spread wide to take me without pressing hard on my belly. The baby moved then, a hard roll under my ribs that made me gasp.
"I got you," Daniel said. "Slide forward a little. I've got you."
I let my right foot move first, scraping off the sill. My ankle wobbled. He took the dip of my weight and held it. The curtain jerked in my hands as my center shifted, and the housekeeper grunted but didn't let it slide.
"Hold," she said. "Hold the curtain."
"I am," I said. My voice cracked.
Daniel bent his knees and lifted, not a big lift, just enough to clear the sill edge. My left foot slipped on the painted wood and I grabbed harder at the fabric. For a second all my weight hung between his hands and the curtain, and I thought the rod would give. Then his arms locked and he pulled me in toward his chest and down.
"Let go now," he said.
I opened my fingers. My hands stayed curled in the air like they didn't believe it.
He set me down on the floor in front of the window, my back to his chest for a moment while my legs remembered how to stand. The blood rushed back into my feet with pins. I swayed and he held me until I got my balance on the rug.
The curtain hung intact, wrinkled where we'd gripped it, dust shaking loose in the daylight. The scissors lay untouched in the middle of the floor where he'd left them.
I pressed a hand to my belly and felt the baby move again, strong. I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.
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The housekeeper unwound the fabric from her hand slowly, finger by finger, and stayed kneeling. She looked up at Daniel.
"She's down," she said. "Now we read."
