Chapter 2 - Always Means Something
Her breath was warm against my ear and it smelled like ginger ale. That was the first thing my brain held on to because the rest of what she said didn't make sense yet.
She'd pulled me down by the sleeve of my sweater until my knee pressed hard into the wood floor of the hallway. The doorway was narrow. Behind her, the dining room glowed. I could hear forks hitting plates and my mom laughing at something, and the Christmas tree buzzed faintly where the lights were strung too tight. Maya's hands were in my collar now. She wasn't fidgeting anymore. She was holding on.
I didn't move. I kept my head tipped toward her so she knew I was still listening. My heart was beating so loud I was scared she could feel it through my shirt.
"Dad" was the only clear word I'd caught. The rest had come out rushed and broken, half swallowed. Something about her room. Something about being in trouble if she told. I wasn't sure if I'd actually heard that second part or if my mind had filled it in because her voice shook so hard.
She pulled back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were wet but she wasn't crying. She was doing that thing kids do when they're trying hard not to, blinking fast, mouth pressed shut.
I put my hand flat on the doorframe beside her, not on her, so she could see it and decide. "Hey," I said low. "I'm right here."
She glanced at my hand, then she nodded once and slipped her fingers around two of mine. Her fingers were cold. Her dress had ridden up a little on one shoulder from where she'd been tugging at it, red velvet crushed under her grip. I wanted to smooth it back down and didn't.
"You okay breathing?" I asked.
She nodded again, but she breathed in through her nose loud enough for me to hear it catch.
From the dining room, somebody set a glass down hard and my brother laughed. Mark's laugh. I knew it from twenty-some Christmases, loud in the middle, quick to cut off. Maya flinched at it. It was small, just her shoulders jumping, but her grip on my fingers tightened.
She turned and checked over her shoulder toward the table. I followed her look.
The table was full. Candles in the center threw light up on everybody's faces. My mom at one end, my dad carving nothing anymore just talking with his hands. Mark sat halfway down with his chair pushed back a little, a beer bottle by his plate. He wasn't looking at us. He was listening to my cousin, smiling. One arm rested on the back of the empty chair next to him. Maya's chair. Her milk glass was still there, and a roll on her plate she'd taken two bites out of.
She stared at that empty chair like it was a test she hadn't studied for.
I stayed crouched. My other knee had started to ache. I ignored it. Standing up felt like it would break whatever thread was holding her here with me instead of back in there pretending to eat.
I didn't want to ask the wrong thing. I'd already said always, and I was starting to feel the weight of that. She was five. She'd asked me not to tell. I couldn't promise the part I didn't understand yet, but I couldn't take back the way I'd said it either.
So I picked one safe question. One that didn't make her repeat the scary part.
"Do you want to stay here with me a minute longer?" I said. "We don't have to go back yet."
Her eyes came back to me. Relief moved across her face so fast I almost missed it. She nodded, and leaned her weight just slightly into my side. I shifted so she could, letting my shoulder take her. The velvet of her dress brushed my sweater. The tree lights blinked red against the hallway wall.
"Okay," I said. "We stay."
I rubbed my thumb once across the back of her hand. Slow. She breathed out. For a second the noise from the dining room felt farther away, like we were in a pocket outside of it.
Then Mark called out, "Maya? Food's getting cold, bug."
Not mad. Easy. Dad-voice, carrying over the table chatter. He'd finally noticed the empty chair. He lifted his beer and tipped it toward the hallway where we were. "Come on, tell Uncle Caleb his stories can wait."
A couple people laughed. My mom said, "Let her have a minute, Mark."
"She's fine," Mark said, still smiling. "Right, Maya?"
Maya went still against me. Her fingers slipped out of mine and went right back to picking at the edge of her dress. She wiped her nose with the back of her wrist and stood up straighter.
I looked up at her. "You good to go back?" I kept my voice quiet enough that only she heard it.
She nodded, but she didn't look good. She looked like she was bracing.
I pushed myself up slow, my knee popping. I kept my hand open at my side. She didn't take it this time. She walked ahead of me toward the light of the dining room, her hair swinging down her back, red dress bright against the dark wood.
Mark pulled the empty chair out for her with one hand as she got close. "There she is," he said.
She climbed in. He set his hand on the top of her head for a second, then ruffled her hair once. It should have looked normal. It did look normal. But she ducked her chin down and reached for her milk with both hands, and she didn't drink, just held it.
I stood in the doorway watching my brother for the first time with something I didn't have a name for yet. Doubt sat too light for it. It was heavier, low in my stomach.
He caught me looking and grinned. "You get the uncle talk out of the way?"
May you like
"Yeah," I said. "We're good."
Maya didn't look at me. She stared at her plate, and I went back to my seat with her cold fingers still printed on mine.
