Chapter 1: The Kitchen Tile Was Warm
The tile was warm under my sandals and the kitchen smelled like garlic and pine garland, and my cheeks were wet. I could see the string lights reflected in the glossy floor all the way to the dining table where Daddy sat blurred behind the garland, his hands flat on the place mat. Daniel was crouched in front of me so his eyes were level with mine, his navy suit jacket open, his watch catching the light every time he breathed. My red ribbon had slipped down a little and my dress sash felt too tight.
I shouldn't have been crying during dinner and I knew it. Mom wasn't home yet and Daddy had said the house had to stay perfect for the holiday, and perfect meant quiet. But Daniel had knelt down when he saw my face in the kitchen doorway and he didn't tell me to stop.
My name is Sophie Reyes and I was seven that December.
It was 7:42 and the oven was still ticking behind me. I remember the fruit bowl on the counter to Daniel's left, the apples piled too neat, because I stared at it so I wouldn't have to look at the dining table again. My breath kept catching. Daniel didn't move. He just waited, eyebrows pulled together, his earpiece with the clear coil catching on his collar. The warm air from the vent made the hem of my white dress move against my tights.
He opened his mouth a little before he spoke, like he was making sure his voice wouldn't carry.
"Daddy says I have to keep the secret."
I didn't mean to say it that loud. It came out thin and wet and I felt the tear slide faster when I did. My mouth stayed open after. I could hear the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint wind hitting the windows outside. Daniel's eyes didn't leave mine. He didn't look toward Daddy. He didn't blink much.
"You can always tell me the truth."
He said it low, barely louder than I had. His left hand was resting on his own knee, the dark watch face turned up. I saw his jaw tighten and then relax. For a second I thought if I didn't answer, the whole kitchen would just stay like that, him crouched and me standing, with the garland lights buzzing warm over us.
I didn't answer at first. I looked left, past his shoulder, toward the dining area. My hands found the sides of my dress and lifted a little, just the hem, the way I did when I was nervous. The white fabric with the little vertical stitching pinched between my fingers. Daddy was still sitting there, out of focus, but I could see the shape of his shoulders and the back of the chair. He hadn't moved, but he was watching. I knew the difference between when he wasn't paying attention and when he was.
Daniel followed my glance for half a second and then brought his attention right back to me. His shoulder was at the edge of my vision, close enough that I could see the texture of his suit. I could hear my own breathing again, fast and shallow, and I tried to make it slower.
He leaned in just an inch. "Sophie," he said, quieter. "Is someone going to be mad you talked to me?"
I shook my head, then stopped. That was the lie. It was quick and I hated it as soon as it happened. Daniel saw it. His eyebrows furrowed deeper and he didn't call me on it hard, just soft.
"You don't have to lie for him."
I stared at his watch, at the second hand that wasn't moving. My fingers tightened on my dress. I wanted him to promise something he couldn't promise, and the only way I knew to ask was to tell him what would happen if he didn't.
"He'll lock me in the dark if you tell."
The words scraped. My voice broke in the middle and I didn't try to fix it. Daniel's eyes widened and his mouth opened, but no sound came out right away. He stayed crouched, completely still, and I could see the reflection of the string lights in his eyes. Behind us, the kitchen stayed warm and bright and too quiet.
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Then the chair scraped.
It was a short, sharp sound on the tile from the dining table, the legs dragging as Daddy pushed back. The garland over the doorway shivered a little with the air moving. Daniel didn't stand up. He kept his knees on the warm tile, his hand still hovering near but not touching my arm, his earpiece glinting. I froze with the hem of my dress still lifted in both hands, tears drying cold on my skin, and listened to the footsteps starting toward the kitchen threshold. He was coming to see why dinner had stopped.
