Chapter 8 - Hallway Choice
His hand closed around mine before I could wipe my cheeks.
It wasn't rough. Dad never was rough. His fingers were warm from holding his water glass and they wrapped all the way around my knuckles because his hands were so much bigger. He gave a little tug. Not a yank. Just enough to tell me to move.
I didn't want to look at Vanessa, but I felt her watching. She was still sitting back in that gold chair with her arms crossed, the diamonds at her throat catching the chandelier light every time she breathed. She didn't stand. She didn't have to. The table was hers again the second Dad started walking me away from it.
We went past the end of the long glass table. My shoes squeaked on the floor. Somewhere behind us a fork clinked against a white plate and then stopped, like someone had set it down to watch.
The hallway off the dining room was narrow and cooler. No windows back there, just warm lamps on the wall and the hum of the apartment. Our building always hummed. From where we stopped I could still see a slice of the dining room. The corner of the table. The tall candles. The city bright white through the glass behind it all.
Dad crouched down so his face was level with mine. His suit jacket pulled tight across his shoulders. His beard was close enough that I could smell his aftershave, the same one from Sunday mornings when he'd let me sit on the bathroom counter while he shaved around it.
"Elena," he said low. He glanced back toward the table. I heard a chair shift out there. A man's laugh, cut short. Mr. Carter trying to pretend this was normal.
My pink clip had slipped when I'd cried. I felt it hanging loose against my curls. I wanted to fix it but Dad was still holding my hand and I didn't want him to let go yet.
"Please, Dad, let me stay."
He closed his eyes for half a second. Just half. When he opened them he wasn't looking at me anymore, he was looking past me toward the voices in the dining room.
"Not now," he whispered. "I need this deal to go through."
It wasn't loud. It wasn't mean the way Vanessa could be mean without raising her voice. It sounded tired. Like he'd already decided before he took my hand.
Behind him, near the kitchen door, Rosa stood half in the shadow. She had a folded napkin in her hands, twisting it. She wasn't coming forward. She wasn't leaving either. She just watched us, her mouth pressed tight, her eyes wet in a way that made my chest hurt more than Vanessa's smirk had.
I tried to breathe quiet like Rosa had taught me when grown-ups were talking. In through my nose. Out slow. But my throat kept catching.
"Dad—"
"Stay right here for a minute," he said, and stood up. He smoothed my hair once, quick, and pushed the pink clip back into place. His thumb brushed my cheek where the tears were drying sticky. "Just until lunch is over. Okay?"
I nodded because my mouth wouldn't make another word come out.
He squeezed my hand one last time and then let go. His shoes made no sound on the rug as he walked back toward the light of the dining room. I watched his black suit disappear around the corner.
A second later I heard Vanessa's voice, light and smooth again, like nothing had happened. "So sorry about that. You were saying about the foundation dinner?"
Silverware started moving. Glasses lifted. Someone laughed.
May you like
Rosa looked at me from the kitchen door. She put her finger to her lips, not to shush me, but like we shared something. Then she slipped back inside as the kitchen door swung shut.
I stood alone in the hallway and listened to them eat lunch without me.
