Chapter 2
Nobody moved right after my dad said it.
My stepmom stood in the foreground with her mouth still open, eyes wide like she hadn't heard him right. I could hear my own breathing behind her. My stepsister was next to me in the hallway, blurred at the edge of my vision, and neither of us knew what to do with our hands.
My dad didn't take it back. He stayed planted on that patterned rug in front of the stone fireplace, arms at his sides, looking at my stepmom like he'd drawn a line and was waiting to see if she would cross it. The framed photos on the mantel were right over his shoulder. The TV was black behind him.
My stepmom was the first to break. She made a sharp sound in her throat and turned away from him. She didn't look at me or my stepsister. She walked straight past the couch and down the short hall toward the bedroom, her low ponytail swinging. Her bedroom door clicked shut. Not slammed. Just closed hard enough that we all heard it.
The quiet that fell after that was worse than the shouting.
My dad stayed in the living room. He dropped onto the edge of the couch and put his elbows on his knees and stared at the rug. He didn't look over at us in the hallway either.
My stepsister and I were still standing by the staircase. The wood paneling ran all the way up the walls and across the ceiling beams, and it made the hallway feel narrow, like the house had gotten smaller. Her cheeks were still flushed. She looked down at her brown ribbed sleeves and picked at a loose thread.
My dad finally looked up and saw us there.
"Go to your rooms for a bit," he said. His voice was low and tired. "Just for now."
It wasn't an angry voice. It was the voice he used when he didn't know what else to do.
My stepsister went first. She turned and walked to the small bedroom on the left side of the hall, the one with the white door that my stepmom had painted last spring. She went inside and shut the door quietly. I heard the soft thud of it latching.
I went the other way, to my room at the end of the hall by the stairs. I closed my door too. Through the thin cabin walls I could hear my dad get up and walk a few steps on the rug, then stop. I could hear my stepmom moving around behind her closed door — drawers opening, something set down hard on the dresser.
I sat on the edge of my bed and listened to the house split in half.
We didn't eat together. That had never happened before. Usually my stepmom called us at six and we all crowded around the small kitchen table. That night, there was no call.
Around six-thirty I heard my dad go into the kitchen. He opened the fridge. He moved pans around. The smell of butter and bread hit the hall a few minutes later — grilled cheese, the only thing he knew how to make quick when he didn't want to think. He knocked once on my stepsister's door.
"Food's on the counter if you want it," he said through the wood.
No answer at first. Then her door opened a crack and I heard him set a plate down on the little table outside her room. Her door closed again.
He knocked on my door next. Same soft knock.
I opened it. He held a plate with two grilled cheeses cut diagonally, a few chips on the side. He tried to smile but it didn't reach his eyes.
"You good?" he asked.
I nodded. I took the plate. My hands were shaking a little and I hoped he didn't see.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he said quietly, so only I could hear.
I didn't know how to answer that, so I just held the plate tighter.
He put a hand on my shoulder for a second, squeezed once, and let go. "Stay in here tonight. Keep your door closed, okay? We'll figure it out in the morning."
Then he went back to the living room. I ate on my bed with my door closed, listening to the house. From the other end of the hall I could hear my stepsister's door open and close as she took her plate inside. From the bedroom, I could hear my stepmom's voice, low and murmured, like she was on the phone. I couldn't make out the words, just the tone — tight and fast.
Later, after the plates were cleared, I heard my dad settle back on the couch. He didn't go to the bedroom. He stayed out on that patterned rug, the springs creaking as he shifted. The hallway light stayed off. My stepmom's bedroom door never opened again, except once when my stepsister slipped in there and then slipped back out to her own room.
Around ten, I got up to use the bathroom. The hall was dark and cold. My dad was still on the couch under a blanket, facing the fireplace, his silver watch catching the faint light. He wasn't asleep. He was just staring at the stone.
May you like
He looked over at me and gave a small nod. I nodded back and went back to my room and shut the door.
That night the cabin felt divided by its doors. My stepmom and my stepsister behind one set of closed doors on one side, me behind mine on the other, and my dad out in the middle on the rug keeping watch over the empty space between us. No one said goodnight.
