Chapter 2
His face was so close I could see the little line between his eyebrows. The one he got when he was trying not to be mad.
My hand had stopped in the air. I didn't remember reaching for him. My fingers just hung there, inches from his cheek, shaking a little. The hallway light made his eyes look wet.
I didn't mean to say it loud. It came out small, like breathing.
"Dad."
He flinched.
Not a big move. Just his head jerking back, his eyes shutting for half a second, his mouth pressing tight. Like I'd touched something hot.
Behind him I heard Sarah make a sound. Emily was still crouched beside the vent with the plate in her hands, and her blonde ponytail had fallen forward. She didn't move.
Sarah's voice came from the hallway behind us, sharp.
"Mark. What did she say?"
Mark didn't answer right away. His hands were still on the broken edge of the vent where he'd pulled the white slats off. The wood behind it was rough and splintered and there was drywall dust on his dark pants. He was kneeling so close to the dark hole that his knee was inside it.
"Mia," he said. His voice sounded strange, thick. "Mia, hey."
I pulled my hand back. My dress was dirty. I could feel grit under my legs where I sat on the bare boards inside the cavity. My knees were tucked up.
Sarah stepped closer. I saw her cream blouse, the little tie at her neck bouncing as she moved. Her hand was still at her chest.
"Mark, who is this?" she said. "What did she call you?"
He turned his head to look at her. Not all the way. Just enough.
"She's -" He swallowed. "She's Diane's girl."
The name hung there. I didn't know Diane. But Sarah knew. Her face went white.
"Diane?" she said. "Your ex? Mark, Diane passed two years ago."
"I know," he said fast. Too fast. "Her mom called. Two weeks ago. Said she couldn't keep Mia. No warning. I was supposed to - I panicked, Sarah. It was a temporary thing while I figured out custody. I didn't want to bring chaos into the house right before your partnership dinner and Emily's testing."
It was a lie. Not all of it. But the way he said temporary made my stomach hurt. Eleven nights I'd listened to that word in my head when he slid bread through the slats and told me just a few more days.
Sarah stared at the hole in the wall. At me inside it.
"Temporary?" she said. Her voice got quieter, which was scarier. "You put a child inside our wall?"
"It's not like that," he said. He finally looked back at me. His eyes were red now. "Mia, come here. Come out of there."
I didn't move at first. The cavity was narrow and cold and my back had memorized the studs. The hallway was bright and the wood floor shone and it looked too clean to touch with my dirty feet. Emily looked at me then at her dad, and she shifted the plate a little so it wouldn't tip. Two slices of white bread still sat on the white plate with the gold rim. She'd kept it safe the whole time.
"It's okay," Emily whispered to me. Not to them. To me. "You can come out."
Mark reached in. He put one hand under my arm, careful, and his other hand on my back. His suit jacket pulled tight at his shoulders. He lifted me and I was lighter than I thought, or he was stronger. Dust fell off my dress. My legs had fallen asleep and they tingled when they straightened.
He set me down on the glossy hardwood floor outside the vent. The wood was warm from the sun. I sat where Emily had been sitting, my dirty dress puffing around me, my bare feet not reaching flat. Instant cold through my dress from the floor.
Sarah made a small noise and took a half step back.
"Oh my god," she said. "Her legs. Mark, look at her."
I looked down. My knees were scraped and there were faint red marks on my shins. My hair hung lank around my face. I tried to tuck it behind my ear and my hand shook.
Emily didn't leave the plate. She knelt beside me now, shoulder to shoulder, holding the plate in her lap like she was guarding it. Like if she held it no one could take it away and pretend nothing happened.
Mark stayed kneeling. He didn't stand. His hands hovered near me, not touching, not sure where to go.
"Sarah, please, let me explain upstairs," he said. His voice was low and fast, meant for her, not for us. "Her grandmother - the paperwork - I didn't know how to tell you I had another kid. I thought I'd have a place for her by Monday. This got out of hand."
Sarah didn't look at him. She looked at me. Her eyes kept flicking from my face to Mark's face, back and forth, seeing the same nose, the same brown hair color.
"How long has she been in there?" Sarah asked.
Mark opened his mouth. Closed it.
Emily answered instead, quiet.
"Eleven sleeps," she said. "I brought her bread when Dad was at work."
The hallway went silent. Sun came through the window at the end and made a hard line across the floor, half bright, half shadow, right where I sat. The vent lay broken beside us, screws on the wood, white slats cracked. The dark hole behind it stayed open.
Mark stared at Emily, then at me. His face did that flinch again, like he wanted to be somewhere else.
Sarah's hand dropped from her chest.
May you like
"Mark," she said, and her voice was flat now. "You are going to tell me the full truth. Right now. How long, and why, and what you were going to do with her."
He didn't answer. He just kept kneeling on the hardwood, breathing hard, one hand finally resting light on my dirty sleeve, looking at the hallway like someone might walk in and see.
