Chapter 9 - The Hook by the Front Door Was Empty
I could hear his boots leave the basement hallway. That was the worst part. They got quieter instead of louder, going back up the stairs step by step, and I counted them without meaning to. Grandma kept her hand on my back and counted with me under her breath, like if we both counted the steps he would come back down faster.
"One," she whispered. "Two. Three."
Upstairs, a drawer opened. Metal slid on wood. I knew that sound. It was the junk drawer in the kitchen by the fridge, the one with rubber bands and old batteries and the spare house key on a blue plastic tag.
Then I heard Melanie's voice, clearer now because Dad was up there with her. "What are you doing?"
"Where's the key to that room?" Dad said. His duffel bag thumped against the floor. "The storage room."
"We don't keep a key for that," Melanie said fast. Too fast. "Claire was just in time out. She needs to calm down."
Grandma squeezed my shoulder. She leaned close to the door. I could feel her breathing shake.
Another drawer opened upstairs. Then another. I heard the little hook by the front door rattle, the one where Dad hung his work keys. He always checked there first when he came home from a trip.
Nothing jingled. I knew because it was quiet.
"Damn it," Dad said, low. "It was here."
"You're tearing up the kitchen over nothing," Melanie said. Her heels clicked on the tile. "Come on. Let them sit for a minute and then we'll talk about what she did."
"What did she do?" Dad asked.
There was a pause. I held my breath so I could hear it.
"She lied to me," Melanie said. "And she was rude when I called her on it. You want to act like a problem, then — you know how she gets."
My stomach twisted. Grandma shook her head at me, mouthing no. She put her finger to her lips, then pointed at the door.
I understood. She wanted me to knock.
I made a fist and tapped three times on the metal door. Soft at first. Then I stopped and listened. Grandma nodded for me to do it again.
I knocked three times again. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Down the hall, Dad went quiet.
"You hear that?" he said.
"It's pipes," Melanie said. "This house makes noise."
I knocked again, harder this time. My knuckles hurt from the cold metal. Tap. Tap. Tap. I waited two seconds and did it twice more. Tap. Tap.
Grandma put her hand over mine to stop me. She was listening too.
Dad's voice came from closer to the top of the stairs. "Claire? You knocking, baby?"
I looked at Grandma. She nodded once.
I knocked twice. Yes.
"Dad, we're in here," I tried to say, but it came out thin through the door. I wasn't sure he heard it upstairs, so I knocked twice again.
His boots came back. Fast this time, down the stairs and down the hall. The light under the door went dark for a second where his shadow crossed it.
"I'm here," he said through the door. His voice was right there now, on the other side of the metal. "I'm right here. You okay?"
I pressed my forehead to the door. It was cold. "Cold," I whispered.
Grandma spoke up, louder than me. "We're all right for now. Just get this open."
"She won't give me the key," Dad said. Quiet, like he didn't want Melanie to hear but she was already coming down the stairs behind him. I could hear her heels on the concrete.
"Because there isn't one," Melanie said. "Stop making this bigger than it is."
Dad didn't answer her. His hand hit the door flat. I felt it shake.
"I'm going to get my tools," he said. "From the truck."
"Don't you dare break my door," Melanie said.
He didn't move for a second. I heard him breathe out slow through his nose. Then his boots shifted on the concrete, turning back toward the stairs.
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"I'm opening it tonight," he said. "One way or another."
His steps started up again, and this time I didn't count because I knew he was coming back.
