Chapter 8 - Hold It While I Look
The curtain bit into my palms and I could feel every thread through the sweat. My calves were shaking from holding still on the sill, and the daylight coming through the sheer behind me made everything too bright to blink away. Daniel hadn't moved the scissors. The black handle was locked in his right hand, the blade flat against the fold just below my left fist.
Mrs. Albright — the housekeeper — didn't let go. Her knees were on the hardwood and both her hands were twisted in the lower drape. When she breathed, the fabric moved, and when the fabric moved, I moved.
Daniel looked from her to his mother. "Keep both hands on it," he said to Mrs. Albright. His voice was low. "Don't shift your weight. Just hold it."
"I've got her," Mrs. Albright said. "I won't let go."
He turned his head a fraction toward his mother in the green blouse. The pearls at her neck caught the light when she breathed. "Step back from her," he said.
His mother didn't move at first. "Daniel."
"Step back," he said again. "Now."
She took one step, then another, until her light pants brushed the edge of the framed art on the cream wall. Her mouth was a tight line, but she moved her hands where we could see them.
My fingers were going numb. I tried to flex them without loosening my grip and felt the sill edge press harder under my shoes. The sheer curtain lifted a little with the air from the cracked window and touched my shoulder.
Daniel glanced at me. Just his eyes. "Don't look down," he said. "Look at me."
I did. His gray shirt was damp at the collar. He kept the scissors steady with his right hand. He didn't lift them away and he didn't press in. He just held them there while he turned his upper body toward the low bookshelf by the window.
"What are you doing?" his mother asked.
"Checking," he said. He didn't take his eyes off the scissors and my hands. He reached out with his left hand, feeling along the side of the bookshelf without looking. His fingertips hit wood, then the row of books. A small vase clinked.
"Daniel, this is ridiculous," his mother said. "Put those down and get her off that ledge before someone gets hurt."
"Stay where you are," he said. He kept his right arm locked. The scissors stayed against the curtain.
Mrs. Albright's shoulders trembled from kneeling. "Second shelf from the bottom," she said quietly. "Behind the art books. Taped under."
"I know," Daniel said. "You told us."
He crouched a little, still holding the scissors up near my hands, and stretched his left hand farther. I could see the strain in his face from doing two things at once. His right hand didn't waver. The brown belt at his waist creaked when he bent.
His fingers found the spines and pushed them forward. I heard paper slide and tape pull. He paused and looked down for half a second, then right back up at the blade and my grip.
"I see it," he said.
My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat. The curtain pulled a fraction as Mrs. Albright adjusted her knees, and I sucked in a breath and gripped harder.
"Easy," Daniel said to her. "Both hands. I mean it."
"Both hands," she repeated. She re-wrapped her fingers deep in the fabric. "I've got it."
His mother shifted against the wall. "Whatever she hid there, it proves nothing. Your father was ill. You know that."
Daniel didn't answer her. With his left hand he worked the envelope free. It was a plain white business envelope, thick, with yellowing tape on one edge. He held it pinched between two fingers while he straightened back up.
For a moment he just stood there with the scissors in one hand and the envelope in the other, the curtain between us pulled tight. He looked at the envelope, then at Mrs. Albright, then at me.
"Is this it?" he asked her.
"That's where he told me to put the copy," she said. Her voice shook from effort. "The date's on the front. Check it, but don't — don't put those down near her."
"I'm not putting anything down," Daniel said.
He folded the envelope once and slid it into the front pocket of his dark pants with his left hand. He patted the pocket flat. The whole time his right hand kept the scissors exactly where they were, blade against the drape, not cutting.
His mother stared at his pocket. "You are choosing them over your own mother over a piece of paper you haven't even read."
"I'm not choosing yet," Daniel said. "I'm holding still until I know."
May you like
The pressure in my hands didn't change. The curtain was still the only thing keeping me steady on the sill, still held from below by Mrs. Albright and from above by me, with his scissors resting against it. My legs ached and my eyes watered from the light, but I didn't move.
Daniel's gaze settled back on my hands. "I've got it," he said, quieter. "Just stay with me a minute longer."
