Chapter 11: A Sheet Over the Gold Frame
The sheet was already there when I came downstairs. It was a white flat sheet from the linen closet, the one with the faded blue stripe along the edge. Susan had draped it over the gold frame and tucked it at the top so it hung straight down. You could still see the bulge where the torn canvas stuck out.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared at it. My dad was in the kitchen doorway with a mug in his hand that he wasn't drinking from. Vincent wasn't in the room, but I could hear him moving behind the living room wall.
"He's in the dining room," my dad said quietly. "He slept."
Arthur was in the recliner again with the blanket from last night pulled up to his chest. His eyes were open. He looked tired. The hall light was on even though it was morning and daylight was coming through the big windows.
Susan came out of the laundry room carrying the blue bucket. She didn't look at me. She walked past the sheet-covered portrait and went straight to the space behind it. She had pulled the sheet aside on one side and I could see the gray metal doors were open.
"What are you doing?" I said. My voice was small.
She didn't answer at first. She set the bucket down inside the dark space and started picking things up. The folded blanket that had been on the floor. An empty water bottle. Another one that was still half full. She stacked them and carried them toward the laundry room.
Vincent came around from behind the portrait. He had a roll of clear packing tape in his hand. He didn't look at me either. He slipped behind the sheet and I heard the tape pull, that sharp ripping sound.
My dad stepped forward. "Susan, stop."
"I'm cleaning up," she said. "Someone is going to come here and it looks like we keep a man in a closet. I'm not leaving it like that."
"You are leaving it like that," he said. He kept his voice low because Arthur was right there. "We called them. We don't touch it."
Vincent's hand appeared at the edge of the sheet, pressing tape along the torn canvas from the back. I could hear him smoothing it down. The sheet moved a little with his shoulder.
I walked closer to the portrait and lifted the bottom corner of the sheet. The tear was still there, a vertical rip right down the middle of the family picture. The canvas edges were curled and Vincent had started taping them together from behind. There was a shiny line of tape and you could see the gray doors through the gap.
Susan came back with her arms empty and reached for the blanket that was over Arthur. He made a small sound and held it tighter. She stopped.
"That's his blanket," I said. "Don't take that one."
"It's dirty," she said. "It needs to be washed."
My dad looked at me, then at her. "Eli's blanket stays. Leave it."
She hesitated, then turned back to the hidden space. She picked up the other blanket, the thin gray one that had been folded on the floor inside, and started to carry it to the laundry room.
I remembered my dad's phone on the kitchen counter. I had seen him set it there last night after he made the call. I went and picked it up.
"Dad, can I use this?" I asked.
He nodded. "For what?"
"To take pictures before it's gone."
He understood right away. He didn't say no. Susan was already in the laundry room and Vincent was still behind the sheet taping.
I lifted the sheet higher and held the phone up. I took a picture of the whole thing first, the gold frame with the sheet pulled back and the tear taped partway together, the gray metal doors open a few inches. Then I crouched down and took a closer one of the inside. The floor was concrete and there was a dark stain near where the bucket had been. The blanket was gone now but you could see the outline where it had been pressed down. I took a picture of that.
Vincent tried to step in front of me. "That's enough. Put that down."
My dad put his hand on Vincent's arm and moved him back. "Let him finish."
I went to Arthur in the recliner. His hands were resting on the blanket. The marks around his wrists were red and there was a little broken skin on the left one where the tape or whatever had rubbed.
"Grandpa, can I take a picture of your hands?" I asked quietly. "So people know."
He looked at me and then slowly turned his hands over. I held the phone steady and took two pictures. The camera made a soft click sound. His breathing was a little shaky.
Susan came back from the laundry room and saw what I was doing. "Marcus, you can't let him photograph your father like that. It's not right."
"It's evidence," my dad said. He took the phone from me gently and looked at the pictures on the screen, swiping through them. "He's right. We need this before you wash everything."
He walked to the hidden space and picked up the half-full water bottle that Susan had left on the floor inside. The bottom was cloudy. He also picked up the thin gray blanket that Susan had dropped on the washing machine when she came back. He didn't wash them.
"These go in the garage," he said. "Untouched."
Susan followed him. "You're going to keep trash in the garage? For what?"
"Because if anyone asks what was in there, we show them," he said. "You wanted to clean it. I'm preserving it."
Vincent came out from behind the sheet. Half the tear was taped together from behind but you could still see the line clearly, and the sheet didn't hide it at all. It just made it look more obvious, like we were trying to cover something.
My dad carried the bottle and the blanket through the kitchen to the garage. I followed him. He set the blanket on his workbench and put the bottle next to it, standing upright. He didn't put them in a bag or anything. He just left them there.
He looked at me. "You got the tape too?"
I nodded. "I got the shiny part."
"Good," he said. He put his phone in his pocket. "Leave the sheet where it is. They can see we didn't fix it right."
May you like
When we went back to the living room, Susan was standing by the window with her arms crossed. Vincent was pulling his hand out from behind the sheet, the tape roll empty. The portrait was still torn, still covered badly, and the dark gap was still visible at the bottom where the tape didn't reach.
Arthur's eyes were on me. He hadn't moved from the recliner.
