Chapter 11 - The Drawer Where He Kept the Card
He sent for us after lunch, when the house went quiet.
The message came through the kitchen runner, a boy in a white shirt who wouldn't meet my eyes. Mr. Balanki wants Lily and you in the study. I wiped my hands on a side towel and checked Lily's socks. She'd been drawing at the small table in the laundry room, her crayons spread out in a careful row. When I told her, she lined them up straight before she stood.
"Do I have to talk?" she asked.
"Only if you want to," I said. "Just stay by me."
The study smelled like leather and wood polish. The curtains were half closed against the afternoon light. Mr. Balanki stood behind his desk, his suit jacket off, sleeves pushed up just enough that I could see the large gold-tone watch on his left wrist. His long dark hair was tied back. He didn't look angry. He looked tired in a way I'd never seen at the table.
He nodded at the door and I closed it.
"Thank you for coming," he said. His voice was low. He looked at Lily. "Hey, Lily. You okay?"
She nodded, her curls moving with her. She stayed close to my leg, her hand in my apron ruffle.
"I need to check something," he said to me. "It'll only take a minute." He pulled open the top right drawer of his desk. Inside was a tray — pens, a checkbook, a stack of mail with the edges squared. He lifted the tray out and set it aside. Underneath was a felt-lined space. Empty except for a small paper slip.
He stared at it.
He put his hand in the space, as if touching it would change what he saw. Then he closed his eyes for a second and breathed out through his nose.
I didn't move. I knew better than to lean forward.
"My card," he said, mostly to himself. "I keep it here." He tapped the felt. "Always here. I haven't taken it out in a week."
My stomach tightened. Lily's fingers curled tighter in my dress.
He looked up at me. "Has anyone been in here cleaning?"
"No, sir," I said. "I do the study on Mondays. I dust the shelves. I don't open the drawers."
"I know," he said quickly. "I'm not asking it like that."
He sat down slowly in his desk chair and rubbed his beard. The tattoos on his neck shifted when he swallowed. For a moment he just looked at the open drawer, like he was running back through days in his head.
Then he looked at Lily again, softer.
"Lily," he said. "Can I ask you something about the other night? At dinner."
She glanced up at me. I nodded.
"You pointed toward the hallway," he said. "Toward the stairs. Do you remember?"
She nodded.
"I need you to show me again. Just with your hand. Can you do that?"
She hesitated. Then she lifted her arm and pointed toward the wall, past him, in the direction of the upstairs hallway if you went out and up. Her hand was steady.
"Toward the stairs?" he asked.
"Up there," she whispered. "By the locked door."
No coaching. No new words. The same place she'd pointed that night at the table when she'd tugged his sleeve beside his watch. My chest hurt hearing it again in that small voice.
He watched her hand for a long moment, then nodded. "Thank you. That's good. You can put your hand down."
She did. She stepped back against me.
Mr. Balanki stood and came around the desk. He didn't get too close to her. He crouched a little so he wasn't towering.
"I believe you remember what you saw," he said. "That's all I'm asking right now."
Lily looked at his watch as it caught the light. She didn't reach for it this time.
He straightened and looked at me. "Walk with me."
We followed him out of the study and up the main stairs. The light changed as we climbed, from warm downstairs to that cooler blue that lived in the upstairs hallway. The runner muffled our steps. Lily held my hand the whole way, her other hand brushing the banister.
He stopped halfway down the hall. The locked door was at the end, plain and shut, the keypad dark beside it. He didn't take us all the way to it. He stopped well back, where Lily had stood that first night in my memory.
"Here?" he asked her quietly.
She nodded and pointed again, one quick lift of her finger toward the door. "There."
Consistent. Exactly the same.
He stared at the door. His jaw moved, but he didn't speak. A clock ticked somewhere downstairs. I could hear my own breathing.
"All right," he said finally. He turned to me. His eyes were serious, not cold. "Maya. I need you to hear me. I will handle Selene myself."
I nodded. "Yes, sir."
"No gossip," he said. "Not in the kitchen. Not with the driver. Not with anyone. If this gets out before I know what I'm holding, it gets twisted. Especially for Lily."
"I understand."
He looked down at Lily. "You did nothing wrong by telling," he said. "But for now, we keep this between us three. Can you do that, Lily?"
"Yes," she said.
He held my gaze a beat longer. "Stand by. Keep her with you when you can. If she needs to stay home from school, tell me. I'll cover it."
It was the closest he'd come to saying he was worried. I felt it land heavy in my chest.
"Thank you, sir," I said.
He glanced once more toward the locked door, then back toward the stairs, like he was already planning when to come back alone. He put his hand in his pocket and left it there.
May you like
"Go on back down," he said. "Use the back stairs."
We did. Lily didn't look back, but I did. He was still standing in that blue light, looking at the empty space in his day where his card should have been.
