Chapter 12 - Upstairs Light Feels Too Bright
The upstairs light felt too bright after the basement. My eyes watered when Dad carried me past the stair railing into the foyer. He set his duffel bag down by the front door with the glass panels and didn't let go of me. His coat was cold from outside and smelled like the car.
"You okay?" he whispered against my hair. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
I shook my head because my throat was too tight. My legs were shaky from the stairs. He pulled my sweater down straight where it had bunched up and rubbed my arms fast with both hands to warm me.
Grandma came up last, holding the rail with both hands. Her breathing sounded thin. Dad turned and put one arm around her without putting me down all the way.
"Mom, sit," he said. He pushed the duffel bag out of the way with his foot and steered her toward the couch edge by the living area. "Sit down for me. You look pale."
"I'm all right," Grandma said, but she sat. She kept her hand on my back when I leaned into her side. Her apron front was wrinkled where Melanie had grabbed it downstairs.
Melanie stood by the staircase with her arms crossed. Her blouse had come a little untucked on one side. She looked at Dad like she was waiting for him to agree with her.
He looked back at her. "What happened?"
She breathed out fast. "Claire lied to me, and she talked back when I called her on it. I put her in time out in the storage room to calm down. Your mother made it worse by going in after her and refusing to come out."
My stomach dropped. That wasn't how it happened. I looked up at Dad and tugged his sleeve.
"That's not—" I started.
Dad held up his hand, gentle. "Hang on, baby. Let me hear her, then you."
Melanie kept going, steadier now. "We have house rules when you're gone. She knows them. I told her if she wanted to act like a problem, she could sit somewhere quiet until she was ready to listen. I didn't lock anyone in. The door sticks."
Grandma didn't raise her voice. She just looked at the floor and then at Dad. Her hand stayed on me.
"David," she said quietly. "The door doesn't stick. She turned the latch from the hallway. I heard it click."
Melanie cut in. "That's not true."
Grandma kept talking, slow. "She told Claire to get out of her sight. Then she told me if I wanted to protect her, I could stay with her. I said no, please. I said Melanie, don't do this. She said maybe now we'd both learn our place. Then she shut it."
Dad went very still. He looked from Grandma to me.
"Claire," he said. "Did you hear that latch?"
I nodded. My voice came out small. "I heard it click. And then it was dark except the light over the bins. Grandma held my hand so I wouldn't cry loud."
Melanie laughed a short sound. "She's eight. She's scared, so she's repeating what she thinks you want to hear."
Dad didn't answer her right away. He pulled his phone out of his coat pocket. His hands weren't quite steady. He opened the camera and took a picture of my face, then my sweater sleeve where it was damp from crying. Then he took a picture of Grandma's wrist where the skin was red from where the door edge had pressed when Melanie pushed it.
"What are you doing?" Melanie asked.
"Writing down what happened while it's fresh," Dad said. He opened his notes app and typed with his thumb. "Time. Who was where. What was said. I can still hear that latch in my head from the hallway."
He read it back low, just to us. "Basement storage room door locked from outside. Claire and Mom inside. Found after I got home."
Melanie stepped closer. "David, you're really going to take their word over mine over a time out?"
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Dad locked his phone and put it back. He kept one hand on my shoulder and the other on Grandma's chair. He looked at Melanie for a long second.
"I know what I heard when I walked in," he said. "I heard my daughter calling for me from behind a locked door. That's what I'm going with."
