I Pressed My Hand to the Wallpaper While Mother Watched the Blood Run Down

Evelyn put three plates down without a sound. I remember the clink of each one against the wood because nothing else was making noise. The dining room was at the end of the hall past the double doors, all dark chairs and a long table that made Milo and me look smaller than we were. The light in there was the same low warm yellow as the hallway. It caught the edge of her maroon dress when she moved.

She sat at the head. She didn't change for dinner. Her hair was still pulled back tight.

"No talking tonight," she said. "Eat."

Milo pulled my chair out for me like Dad used to do. I sat and folded my hands in my lap first, because I didn't want her to see my cuff right away. But the soup was hot and I had to reach forward. My sleeve slid back.

The brownish smudge was still there on my light shirt where I'd touched the wall. I'd tried to rub it out in the bathroom. It had only gotten wider.

Evelyn's eyes went straight to it. She didn't blink.

"What is that."

My throat closed. Milo kicked my ankle lightly under the table.

"Paint," Milo said quickly. "From my room. I was —"

She held up one hand and he stopped. She kept looking at me.

"Nora," she said. "What is that."

I swallowed. "Tape," I whispered. "Sticky."

She stared at me one more second. Then she set her spoon down.

"Go change your shirt," she said. "You don't come to the table dirty."

That was the moment Milo and I had talked about upstairs with the door shut and the faucet running. If she sent me away for any reason, I would go. If she didn't, we would make a reason after dishes. I tried not to look at Milo.

"Yes ma'am," I said.

I slid off the chair. My legs felt wobbly. Evelyn watched me all the way to the doorway.

"Be quick," she said. "And bring the dirty one down. I'll soak it."

I nodded and went into the hall. The wallpaper was there on my left, red and green flowers going down toward the double doors. I didn't look at the tear. I walked past it fast and up the front stairs, my socks quiet on the wood. My heart was beating so loud I thought she would hear it from the dining room.

Upstairs the hall was darker. The linen closet door was at the far end past Milo's room, tall and white with a little brass knob. Inside it smelled like folded sheets and cedar. The third shelf up held the stack of white pillowcases Evelyn kept perfect. I'd seen her that afternoon. She'd put the small brass key under the second one from the top when she thought I was playing in Milo's doorway.

I stopped outside Milo's room first and changed fast. I pulled off my light shirt and put on another one, same color. My hands were shaking so bad I missed a button twice. I balled the dirty shirt in my fist. The stain was on the inside now where she couldn't see it if she just glanced.

Then I heard it from downstairs. A crash and water running.

Milo had waited until I was upstairs. He'd knocked his whole soup bowl over on purpose, right into his lap and onto the table. I heard his chair scrape.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he was saying, louder than he needed to. "It's hot, it's on my —"

Evelyn's voice cut in, sharp. "Sit still. Don't touch it."

"I need a towel," Milo said. "Don't get up, I'll —"

"You'll sit still," she said. "I'll get it."

I heard her footsteps heading toward the kitchen, away from the table. That was my window. Milo was doing his job, keeping her eyes and her hands busy with the spill.

I didn't waste a breath. I went to the linen closet and opened it slow so it wouldn't creak. The pillowcases were right where she'd left them. I lifted the second one from the top with two fingers.

The key was there. Small and brass and warm from the house. It had a round head with a little line down the middle. It fit in my palm and disappeared when I closed my fist.

I shut the closet door and stood there a second with my back against it, breathing through my nose. Downstairs I could hear Evelyn wiping and Milo still apologizing over and over.

I put the key in the front pocket of my clean shirt and pressed my hand over it. Then I walked back downstairs holding the dirty shirt bunched up, like she'd told me to.

When I came back into the dining room, Evelyn was standing with a wet dish towel, her dress clean but her jaw tight. Milo's place was a mess of spilled soup. He looked up at me and then down fast.

Evelyn held out her hand. I gave her the dirty shirt. She checked the cuff. She frowned, but she dropped it on the sideboard.

"Sit," she said. "Finish."

I sat. Under the table, Milo slid his foot against mine. I slipped my hand into my pocket just enough for him to hear the tiny clink of the key against my fingernail.