Chapter 4 - The Woman On The Stairs
I didn't fall all the way asleep when Grandpa Ray stood up. I remember that part because the elephant was too new in my arms to let go of yet. Its ears were soft and folded wrong, and I kept fixing one with my thumb. The bed made a little dip sound when he moved off it. The purple bag rustled against his leg.
He didn't go far. I heard his brown shoes on the hallway floor, just two slow steps, then stopping. From where I lay against the pillows, I could see out the open door. The light in the hall was so bright it made my eyes water.
Mom was down by the stairs. I could hear her voice before I could see her. Low and quick, the way she talked when it was work. She had her phone up to her ear and one hand holding the rail. She didn't look up at our room. She turned toward the dining area like she wanted more quiet.
Ray said her name softly. "Jenna."
That made me open my eyes wider. He almost never called her Jenna in front of me. Usually it was honey or just nothing, he'd look at her and smile.
I slid a little more down into the bedding. The juice cup was still there by my knee. I could see the straw leaning, and the yellow color through the plastic. I didn't want any more then. My mouth tasted sweet and a little thick.
Grandpa didn't follow her right away. He stood in my doorway a second and looked back at me. I pretended I was resting my eyes, but I watched him through my lashes. His smile from the gift bag was gone. His mouth was flat. He tucked the bag handles tighter in his hand, then set the bag down real careful against the door frame, like he didn't want it to make noise.
Then he went after her.
I could hear them better than I could see them. The dining table chairs scraped once. Mom's voice went tight.
"I've got to call them back," she said. "This line keeps dropping."
Ray waited. I heard him breathe. In my memory, that pause is the longest part. He wasn't a man who pushed in fast.
"You got a minute?" he said. "It's Maya. She's awful sleepy for mid-morning."
There was a silence, and then Mom laughed a little. Not a happy laugh. A tired one.
"She's fine," she said. "She just missed her nap. You know how she gets."
"She was standing by the wall when I came in," Ray said. His voice stayed even. "She's moving slow. Her eyes keep closing. She drank some of that juice and got worse."
I hugged the elephant closer. Its trunk poked my chin. I wanted to tell him I was listening, that I wasn't that sleepy, but my arms felt heavy and good to keep still.
Mom's shoes made a small sound on the floor. I think she shifted her weight. The phone call was still there in the background, a little beep like someone waiting.
"Work's been stress," she said. "Nobody's sleeping much here. Don't — don't make it a thing in front of her. It's her birthday visit. I don't want her worried."
Ray didn't answer right away. I could picture him the way he looked in my doorway, big and still, his tan jacket hanging open over his blue shirt.
"I'm not trying to worry her," he said finally. "I just want to understand it."
Mom sighed. "She's seven, Dad. She stays up. She crashes. It's normal."
Another chair sound. I heard her phone voice come back, that work voice, brighter and thinner. "Yes, I'm here, I'm here, sorry —"
That was it. She went back to the call. I heard her footsteps moving deeper into the dining area, away from us, toward the windows where the daylight was strongest.
Grandpa stood there a moment longer. I know because no shoes moved. Then his steps came back down the hall toward me, slower than before.
When he got to my door, he picked up the purple bag again and came inside. He didn't say what they'd talked about. He just sat back down on the edge of my bed and put his hand, warm and a little rough, on my ankle over my jeans.
May you like
"I'm here, little one," he said.
I leaned my cheek against the elephant's head and looked at him. Behind him, through the open door, I could see the empty stairs where Mom had been. The house was quiet except for her low talking far off in the other room.
