Chapter 4 - She Saw It in My Bedroom
Dad didn't stand up right away. He stayed crouched next to the white column so his face was level with mine. His wine glass was gone. I didn't see where he put it. His hand was still warm around my fingers, and I could hear him breathing hard like he'd been running.
The music from the party sounded far away. Ice clinked in somebody's glass behind us. My sash had come twisted and I kept pulling at it.
"Hey, baby," Dad said. His voice was low. "Can you tell me what happened just now?"
I looked past him at the marble floor. The white cloth was still there by the gray bucket. One of the chairs was still on its side. My throat felt tight.
"Mom said get down," I whispered. "She said that to her. Not to me."
He nodded real slow. "To who?"
I tipped my head toward her. She was standing close with her hands folded in front of her apron. She wouldn't look at Dad. Her bun had come a little loose.
"Her," I said. "She was cleaning. I spilled. I didn't mean to."
Dad glanced up at her, then back at me. "What did you spill?"
"Juice," I said. "Red juice from the banquet table. It went on my dress and on the floor." I touched my skirt. There was a sticky spot near the hem. "Mom got mad. She said I'm making us look bad."
My eyes burned again. I remembered Mom's hand tight on my shoulder. Her nails through the thin pink fabric. She'd leaned down and her breath smelled sweet and sharp.
Dad rubbed my back in little circles. "You're okay. Take your time."
I swallowed. "At home, when I spill in my bedroom, Mom—" I stopped. The chandelier lights blurred. "She grabs my arm. Like this." I showed him with my own hand around my wrist. "And she says don't cry or I'll give you something to cry about."
Dad's hand stilled on my back. He didn't say anything for a second. I could feel his chest move up and down.
"Did that happen tonight?" he asked.
I nodded, then shook my head. "Almost. She raised her hand. She" — I pointed at the maid — "she saw. She was right there."
Not she saved me. Just she saw. That was important, and I wanted Dad to get it right.
Dad looked up at her. "Is that true?"
She twisted the edge of her cuff between her fingers. Her eyes flicked toward the banquet table where Mom was standing. I could see Mom's maroon dress out of the corner of my eye. She wasn't moving closer yet, but she was watching.
"Sir," the maid said quietly, "I was mopping by the table. The young miss bumped a glass. Mrs.— your wife— she told me to stay out of it. She told me to get down and clean it."
Her voice shook on the last part. She bent her head lower.
"Have you seen something like this before?" Dad asked. "At home?"
She pressed her lips together. Her hands were red from the cleaning water. For a long moment she didn't answer, and I heard the party noise swell and dip behind us.
"Please don't make me lose this job," she whispered. "I have a boy. Rent's due. But yes. I have seen. In the hallway. In her bedroom. The way Mrs. speaks when no guests are around. I heard crying twice last week."
My stomach dropped hearing her say it out loud. I gripped Dad's shirt sleeve tighter.
Before Dad could answer, heels clicked fast on the marble. Mom was there. Her bun was perfect again except one strand by her ear. Her face was pale under the warm lights.
"That's enough," Mom said. She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "She's six, honey. She spills things and she makes stories bigger. You know how she is at bedtime."
Dad stood up slowly, keeping one hand on my shoulder. I stood pressed against his leg.
"She's not making up a hand raised at her," he said.
Mom waved toward the bucket. "I was disciplining the help for being careless, not her. The girl got scared by the noise. That's all this is. You're frightening our guests over juice on the floor."
"She pointed to her wrist," Dad said. His voice stayed quiet, but it had an edge I'd never heard. "That's specific."
"She bruises easy and she forgets where," Mom said quickly. "Ask her nanny. Ask anyone. I correct her when she lies. That's called parenting."
The maid stared at the floor. I wanted to reach for her hand, but Dad held me close.
Dad looked from Mom to the maid to me. Then he let out a long breath through his nose. He crouched back down and fixed my sash with both hands.
"Here's what's happening tonight," he said, looking at me, not at Mom. "You're sleeping in the guest room with the door locked from the inside, with me on the couch right outside. No one goes in but us."
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Mom's smile froze. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not discussing it here," Dad said. He stood and lifted me up. My pink skirt hung down over his arm. I laid my head on his shoulder so I didn't have to see Mom's face.
