Chapter 7 - What She Said About the Rust
Evelyn didn't raise her voice. That was worse.
She stood at the end of the hallway with her hands flat at her sides, the maroon dress catching the low light, and looked from Milo's hand on the brass handle to me pressed back by the wood trim. The air felt hot and close. I could hear the old house ticking.
"Step back," she said.
Milo didn't move right away. His shoulders were up and his jaw was tight the way it got on the school pick-up line when some older kid cut in front of us. I wanted him to listen. I wanted him not to.
"Now," Evelyn said.
He let go. The handle clicked back into place. Evelyn walked toward us slow, her shoes quiet on the dark floor, and stopped in front of the torn wallpaper. She didn't look at it at first. She looked at us.
"You were told to stay out of this hall," she said.
Milo glanced at me. "Nora heard something."
"I didn't hear anything," I whispered, because I thought that was safer. My voice sounded small against the walls.
Evelyn's eyes moved to the tear. The blonde hair still hung out of it. The dark red line had dried a little at the edges. She stared at it like it was a scuff she could wipe off.
She bent down to my level. Her pulled-back hair was so tight I could see the skin pull at her temples. Her expression stayed controlled, but I saw her mouth press thin for a second.
"Nora," she said, "come here."
I didn't want to go closer to the wall. My legs felt shaky. She put a hand on my shoulder, not hard, and turned me so I had to face the tear.
"Look," she said. "This is old. This house has old pipes behind the walls. That red is rust and water. Do you understand?"
I nodded because she was waiting for it. The smell near the wall was sweet and sour at the same time, like pennies and dust.
"And this," she said, and pinched the lock of blonde hair between two fingers, "is doll hair. One of your old dolls got shoved back there when they papered over it. That's all."
My hand went up before I could stop it. I touched my own hair where it hung over my light shirt. It felt soft and a little damp from crying. The color in the dim light looked the same as the hair in the wall. Same pale yellow. I wound a piece around my finger and stared.
Evelyn saw. Her hand tightened just a bit on my shoulder.
"It's not yours," she said. "Don't be dramatic."
Behind us Milo made a sound. "That's not rust," he said. "Rust doesn't —"
Evelyn straightened up. The warmth went out of her face.
"Excuse me?" she said.
Milo swallowed. His hands were in fists at his sides. "It dripped. I saw it wet. And hair doesn't grow out of pipes."
One sentence. That was all he said. One quiet challenge, and the hallway went completely silent.
Evelyn looked at him for a long time. I could hear my own breathing. Then she nodded toward the back of the house.
"Pantry," she said. "The cans need sorting and the floor needs sweeping. You'll stay there until I say otherwise."
"Mom —" Milo started, then stopped himself. He never called her Mom when he was mad. He called her Evelyn in his head. I knew because he'd told me.
"Go," she said.
He looked at me. I wanted to grab his sleeve and not let go. He gave me a tiny shake of his head that meant don't. He walked past Evelyn with his head down, his dark top sticking to his back with sweat, and disappeared around the corner toward the kitchen.
Then it was just me and her in the hallway.
Evelyn smoothed the front of her dress. She took a breath through her nose.
"You will not talk about this," she said. "Not to Milo, not at school, not to anyone. It's rust and an old doll. If you keep crying over nothing, people will think you're making up stories."
"I wasn't —" I said.
She held up one finger. I stopped.
"Stay here until I call you," she said. "I need to get cleaning rags."
She walked away toward the laundry, leaving me alone by the double doors and the torn flowers. The house was so quiet I could hear the refrigerator humming far off and Milo moving cans in the pantry.
May you like
I looked at the tear again. I touched my hair again. I knew what my hair looked like when a strand fell out in the bathtub drain. I knew doll hair, too. Plastic and too shiny. This wasn't that.
I didn't say it out loud. I just stood there and kept my hand on my own hair and waited.
