Chapter 11
I woke up because the fridge was open. It wasn't the light exactly, it was the hum. Our fridge hummed louder when the door stayed open, and in our house at night everything else was so quiet you could hear it from my room.
I was on the little mattress on the floor in Dad's room. He'd started letting me sleep there after the meeting at school. The hallway was dark. The kitchen glowed at the end of it, just that white rectangle from the fridge, and I saw Dad standing at the marble counter in his t-shirt and sweatpants.
He had my door cracked and the kitchen light off. On the counter was Lauren's notebook. It was open and his phone was propped against the fruit bowl, the camera light on.
I stood in the doorway and didn't say anything at first. The dog bowl was still on the floor where it always was, orange and stainless steel, empty. Next to the sink was the white plate from that morning with the dried yellow corn stuck to it and my fork still on the edge. Nobody had moved it.
Dad looked up and saw me. He didn't jump. He just breathed out slow.
"Hey, baby," he whispered. "You okay?"
I nodded. My feet were cold on the marble. I walked to him and he put his hand on my back. His hand was cold too from the counter.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
He looked at the notebook, then at the hallway where Lauren's room was down the hall with the door closed. "I need to make a copy," he said. "Before it disappears. Can you help me?"
I nodded again. He lifted me up a little so I could reach the counter.
The notebook was thicker than I thought. The cover was plain and the pages inside were lined. Dad had already taken pictures of the first few. He turned to the next page and the phone made a soft click sound each time.
He said, "Hold it flat for me right here. Just like that."
I put both my small hands on the corners of the page. My fingers barely reached. The paper was smooth and a little curled where Lauren had pressed hard with her pen.
My name was on that page. Maya at the top. Under it there were dates and little boxes with check marks and words next to them. Corn - half portion. No second helping. Water only. Training. At the bottom in bigger letters it said privilege not right.
I stared at my name with all those checks next to it. My stomach felt tight again, even though I wasn't hungry right then.
"That's me?" I asked.
Dad's jaw got tight. He kept his voice low. "Yeah, baby. That's you."
He took the next picture. I held the next page. And the next one. My hands were shaking a little because I was trying to keep the page from curling up. He steadied my wrist with his hand, gentle.
"You're doing perfect," he said. "Just a few more."
The fridge light made the marble look bluish. The corn on the plate looked hard and old. The dog bowl shone a little where the light hit the steel part.
When we got to the last page, I saw his writing on a sticky note he'd stuck in the back - counselor 10am, nurse note, scan - in his quick messy handwriting. Different from Lauren's neat one.
He tapped his phone and I watched the pictures turn into a long row of little squares on his screen. He pressed something and a little circle spun.
"Saving to the cloud," he whispered, more to himself than to me. "So it stays even if the phone breaks."
The circle stopped. He tapped again and the screen said Upload Complete. He let out a breath I'd felt him holding.
He closed the notebook careful, exactly how it had been, and wiped the counter with his hand where our fingers had been. He carried it back down the hallway, his steps slow so the floor wouldn't creak. I followed him in my socks.
Lauren's door was still closed. We could hear the quiet sound of her sleeping.
Dad slid the notebook back where it lived, in the drawer under the cookbooks in the kitchen, not on top but underneath where Lauren kept it. He closed the drawer slow until it clicked.
Back at the counter, he picked up his phone and turned off the camera. The kitchen went dark except for the fridge again.
He closed the fridge. The hum stopped. It was dark and quiet and I could hear us both breathing.
He knelt down so his face was level with mine. "We didn't take it," he said. "We just made sure we remember what it says. That's important."
I wrapped my arms around his neck. His t-shirt was warm. The marble was still cold under my feet but I didn't feel scared like before.
"Did I do good holding it?" I asked.
May you like
"You did so good," he said.
He picked me up and carried me back to the little mattress. The white plate with the corn and the dog bowl were still there in the dark kitchen, but now the pictures were safe in his phone, up in the cloud where nobody could erase them.
