Chapter 9 - The Water Went Quiet Before She Spoke
I ran the bath too warm and had to stand there with my sleeve pushed up, swirling it cool while Sofia sat on the closed toilet lid waiting.
She had her socks still on. She always waited for me to pull them off, like it was part of the routine. The bathroom tile was cold under my feet and the mirror had fogged at the edges. Through the wall I could hear Alexander downstairs, the low sound of his office door shutting. He hadn't come up. That was the rule now, unspoken since that morning. I did bedtime. He did the locks.
"You want bubbles or no bubbles?" I asked.
"No bubbles," she said. "They get in my eyes."
I nodded and turned the faucet off. The water settled. I lifted her down, pulled her shirt over her head, unsnapped her little pants. The light bow from dinner was long gone — I hadn't seen it since the table — and her curls had knotted at the back of her neck.
"Arms up," I said, and she stepped into the tub and sank down with that careful way she had, knees bent, hands gripping the sides like she needed to hold on.
For a while I just washed her. Washcloth on her shoulders, her back, the backs of her knees. She watched the faucet drip. The sconce over the mirror threw a soft yellow light and the water made small ticking sounds against the porcelain. I tried to keep my breathing even. After the fight in Alexander's office that afternoon, my hands hadn't stopped shaking.
I squeezed shampoo into my palm. "Tip your head back for me, baby. Like we practice."
She leaned back against my hand. Foam slid down. I rinsed with the plastic cup, pouring slow so it wouldn't run into her eyes. Her hair darkened and stuck to my fingers.
That was when she said it, so quiet I almost missed it under the water.
"She said the house is cold even when it's hot."
My hand stopped mid-pour. The cup dripped onto the tile.
"What, sweetheart?" I kept my voice low.
Sofia picked at a loose thread on the washcloth. She didn't look at me. "The lady. She said it's cold inside even when it's hot outside."
I set the cup on the edge of the tub. My pulse was loud in my ears. I made myself pick up the washcloth again, wring it out, start on her arm in small circles so my hands would have something to do.
"Which lady, Sofia?" I asked.
She shrugged. "With the loud car."
I thought of Elena's old sedan idling at the curb that day by the side gate, the engine knocking. Sofia hadn't been supposed to be there. Alexander had taken her to the garden. At least that was what I'd told myself.
"When did you hear that?" I said.
She frowned at the water. "When you were talking. I was by the fence."
I remembered then — the gap in the hedge, her pink shoes in the mulch. I had thought she was chasing a ball. I had not checked. A cold feeling moved through my stomach.
I wanted to ask everything at once. What else did she say? Did she touch you? Did Alexander see? Instead I heard my own breath catch, and I forced myself to wait. Sofia hated being pressed. She would shut down and go silent and I would lose her for the night.
So I just rinsed her arm and said, "Mm."
She watched me. "Daddy says don't go there."
"I know," I said. "Daddy wants to keep you safe."
She considered that. Water beaded on her shoulders. "Is it a mean house?"
I reached for the towel. "Stand up for me."
She stood, dripping, and I wrapped her tight and lifted her out onto the bath mat. I knelt and patted her dry, her legs, her feet, her hair with a second towel. She put her hands on my shoulders to balance. She smelled like baby shampoo and warm water.
"It's not about mean," I said finally. "Sometimes grown-ups worry about places. That doesn't mean you did anything wrong."
She didn't answer. I helped her into her pajamas, the ones with the small stars, and carried her socks and damp towel to the hamper. My hands were steadier now. Listening felt harder than asking, but I could see how closely she was watching my face for a reaction.
In her bedroom the lamp was already on low. Alexander must have turned it on earlier. The blankets were folded back exactly the way he liked them, corner to corner. Sofia climbed into bed and pulled her stuffed rabbit against her chest.
I sat on the edge of the mattress. "Do you think about what that lady said sometimes?"
She nodded, just once.
"Does it scare you?" I asked.
Another small nod. She pressed her cheek into the rabbit's ear.
I brushed a damp curl off her forehead. "Thank you for telling me," I said. "You can always tell me. Even if it's a little scary. Even if Daddy said not to go there."
Her eyes flicked to the doorway, then back to me. "Are you gonna tell Daddy?"
The question landed heavy. I glanced at the hall — empty, the house quiet except for the hum of the air vent. Alexander's rule from that afternoon was still ringing in my ears. No more contact. No more old house.
"I'll keep you safe," I said. "That's my job too."
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She seemed to accept that for now. She rolled onto her side, rabbit tucked under her chin. I stayed until her breathing slowed, my hand resting lightly on her back, feeling each rise and fall. I thought about the fence, the knocking engine, how much she must have heard while I thought she wasn't listening.
I didn't get up until I was sure she was asleep.
