Chapter 7 - The Kitchen Was Dark When I Went Back Down
The stairs didn't creak if I stayed close to the wall. I'd learned that a long time ago when I used to sneak down for water after bedtime. That night I didn't want water. I wanted the truth before anyone else threw it away.
The house was dark except for the living room. I could see the light from down the hall, yellow and low. I could hear them in there, low voices. His voice, then hers. I couldn't make out the words, but I knew they were still talking about the cake. About me.
My name is Lily and I was ten that summer, and my feet were bare on the wood floor. The kitchen tile was cold when I stepped off the rug. I stopped and just breathed for a second and listened.
The kitchen smelled like sugar and dish soap. The party lights were off. The balloons from the afternoon were tied to the chairs now, hanging low. In the daylight everything had looked bright. At night with just the stove light on, it looked different. Smaller. Messy.
I hadn't turned on the big light. I didn't want them to see it under the door. The little light over the stove gave me enough to see by. It made everything look gray.
First I went to the sink. The big metal mixing bowl was still there, upside down on the drying rack. Mom must have rinsed it after everyone left. I picked it up with both hands. It was too big for me and cold.
I held it up to the stove light and turned it slow. There was a thin film inside near the bottom, white where the batter had been. I put my nose close. It smelled sweet, like vanilla, but underneath there was something sharp. Like cleaning stuff. Like the medicine cabinet when you open it too fast.
I set the bowl down quiet. My hands were shaking a little. I wiped them on my dress.
I told myself I wasn't going to cry. Not down here.
Next was the trash. The tall can by the back door was full from the party. Paper plates with blue and orange frosting smeared on them. Napkins. Popped balloon pieces. Soda cans.
I didn't want to make noise. I knelt down and started lifting things out one at a time with my fingers and setting them on the floor beside me. The plastic bag crinkled every time I moved it. I froze each time and listened for the hallway.
Nothing. Just their voices, still low.
Halfway down I found a paper towel balled up stiff with batter on it. I smoothed it out. There was a little smear, yellowish. I stared at it like it would tell me something. It didn't. It was just trash.
I kept going. My knees hurt on the tile.
There was no vial in the trash. Just food and party trash. I pushed the plates back down careful so it didn't look messed with.
Then I turned to the recycling. We had the blue bin under the counter by the fridge. Dad was always strict about it. Bottles rinsed. Cardboard flat.
I pulled it out slow. It scraped a little on the floor and I winced.
Inside were milk cartons, a soda box, some cans. And near the side, stuck between a folded cake mix box and a plastic jug, there was something small that caught the light.
My breath stopped.
It was a tiny glass bottle. Maybe as long as my thumb. Clear, with a black cap screwed on tight. Empty.
I picked it up with two fingers like it might burn me. It was light. I held it up to the stove light and turned it.
No food label. No strawberry picture. No vanilla word. Just a white sticker on the side with tiny black letters I couldn't read in the dim light, and part of it was peeled up like someone had tried to scratch it off. The inside looked clean, but when I tipped it, a single drop slid slow down the glass.
That had to be it. The thing she'd poured in the morning. The thing from my video.
My heart was beating so loud I was sure they could hear it down the hall.
I slipped it into the pocket of my dress. My white party dress had those little side pockets Mom liked. The glass clinked faint against the seam. I pressed my hand over it to keep it quiet.
I was putting the recycling bin back when I heard his steps.
They were fast on the wood floor. Coming toward the kitchen.
I shoved the bin under the counter and stood up too quick and bumped the counter edge with my hip. I bit my lip so I wouldn't make a sound.
The hallway light spilled in. He stopped in the doorway.
"What are you doing down here?" he said.
He was still in his black suit pants and white shirt, but his tie was gone and the top button was open. He looked tired. His hair was messed up where he'd run his hands through it.
I kept my hand in my pocket, holding the vial still.
"I couldn't sleep," I said. My voice sounded small.
He looked at the sink, at the drying bowl, at the trash can with the bag pushed down funny. Then back at me.
"Lily," he said. "Don't lie to me tonight."
I swallowed. The glass was warm now from my hand. I could feel the edge of the sticker with my thumb.
"I'm thirsty," I said.
He stared at me for a long second. I thought he was going to walk over and pull my hand out of my pocket. I thought this was it.
Then he sighed and rubbed his face.
"Get a cup," he said, and stepped aside to let me to the sink. "Then go back upstairs."
I nodded fast and grabbed a plastic cup from the counter with my free hand. I filled it slow, my other hand still in my pocket. The water ran loud.
When I turned around he was watching me. Not angry like in the afternoon. Just sad and tired.
"Please go to bed," he said quieter.
May you like
I walked past him into the hall, holding the cup with both hands so it wouldn't shake. The vial bumped against my leg with every step.
I didn't look back until I was on the stairs and out of the light.
