Chapter 3 - Upstairs With the Door Locked
Dad's hand was around mine so tight it hurt going up the stairs. I could hear my shoes thumping on each step and my breath coming fast and loud in my ears. Downstairs the plates were still on the table and nobody was eating. My stomach felt sick from crying.
He didn't let go until we got to the top. The hallway light was on and it was too bright after the dining room. I kept looking back at the stairs because I thought she would follow us. I kept waiting to hear her heels.
"She's not coming up," Dad said. His voice was low. He checked behind him once, then he pulled my bedroom door open. "Come on, baby. Just us."
My room smelled like my blanket and the toothpaste from the sink. My bed wasn't made. Lamby was on the pillow where I'd left her that morning. Dad shut the door and turned the little lock. Click. My shoulders jumped.
He saw it. He held up both his hands so I could see them. "It's just to keep it quiet," he said. "Nobody's coming in."
I stood by my dresser and wouldn't move. My fingers were curled hard into my pocket. I could feel the edge of it under the fabric. Sharp and folded. I didn't want him to be mad if it was broken.
Dad looked at me for a second. Then he did something different. He got down on his knees right there on my rug. His gray shirt pulled out of his pants a little in the back. Now his eyes were level with mine.
He breathed in slow through his nose and out through his mouth. "Do it with me," he whispered. "In... out."
I shook my head. I couldn't. My chest kept hitching up.
He didn't get up. He just kept doing it, slow, watching me. In... out. In... out. After a while my breath started to follow his without me trying. It still shook, but it got slower.
"That's it," he said softly. "I'm right here."
My hand was sweating inside my pocket. I pulled just a little, so the top corner peeked out. It was white and torn on one side. I saw Dad's eyes drop to it.
He didn't grab. His hand stayed on his own knee. "Can I see?" he asked.
I shook my head fast and shoved it back down deep. My fingers wouldn't let go of it. "No. She'll know."
"Vanessa won't know," Dad said. "I promise. No yelling. I'm not going to yell at you, Emma. Not tonight. Not ever about this."
He swallowed and his voice got even quieter. "Why did you point at her down there? What scared you?"
I looked at the locked door. I looked at Lamby. I pressed my back into the dresser so the hard corner pushed into me.
I leaned in so close my hair fell over his cheek. My mouth barely moved.
"She said it before dinner," I whispered. "Up here. She said if I told, I'd be sorry."
Dad stopped breathing for a second. I felt it because his shoulder was touching mine now. His eyes went to my pocket, then back to my face.
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"Before dinner," he repeated, so quiet it was almost not sound. "Here in this house."
I nodded and started crying again without noise. He didn't ask to see it again. He just put his arm careful around my back and held me while I shook, kneeling on my rug with the door still locked.
