Chapter 11
The fluorescent light buzzed and it was too cold. That was the first thing that stayed with me after Dad's voice faded on the other side of the door.
I could hear him still out there, his shoes on the marble, and then a pause and his phone. He wasn't pounding anymore. He was talking low and fast, but the wood was too thick and I couldn't make out the words. Teresa had her hand over my ear like she could keep the cold out, but the cold was coming up from the concrete through my sneakers.
My teeth started to chatter even though I didn't want them to.
Teresa pulled back and looked at me. Her eyes went to my arms. I had my beige sweater on but it wasn't enough. The basement air smelled like bleach and damp stone.
"You're shivering," she whispered. Her voice was very low, almost just breath. "Come here, sweetheart."
She stood and went to the green metal shelves on the left. I watched her hands. They were shaking a little too, but she moved quick and steady. She pulled two big white towels off the stack, the ones folded in perfect squares, and shook one out. It made a soft snap in the quiet.
She came back and knelt behind me and wrapped it around my shoulders like a blanket. It was not warm. It was clean and cool and smelled like laundry, but it blocked the air. She tucked it tight under my chin and then wrapped the second one around my legs.
"There," she said, and rubbed my arms through the towel, fast little circles. "Better?"
I nodded. My sneakers were still cold. She saw me looking down at them and pulled my feet up onto her lap so they weren't on the floor anymore. Her uniform was dark and her apron was white and now my white towel made us both look like we were wrapped up together.
On the shelves across from us there were bottles lined up. Blue spray bottles and big white jugs with red caps and a yellow box that said CAUTION. There were rolls of paper towels still in plastic and a stack of light bulbs. No food. No water. I looked for it without meaning to, my eyes moving along each shelf. There was a mop bucket in the corner and a broom.
I whispered, "There's nothing to drink."
Teresa followed where I looked. She didn't lie to me.
"No, honey, there isn't," she said. She kept rubbing my arms. "We won't be here long enough to need it. Your dad is right out there. He called for help. You heard him, didn't you?"
I nodded again, but my throat felt tight. The light was so bright and harsh it made my eyes hurt. It hummed louder whenever I held my breath.
Teresa shifted so she was sitting beside me, her back against the shelves, and she pulled me into her side. The towel slipped and she fixed it. Her breathing was slow on purpose, I could feel it.
"You know what my mom used to do when I was little and I couldn't sleep?" she said, so quiet I had to listen hard.
I shook my head.
"She would tell me about the market on Saturday mornings," she said. "We would go before the sun was up. It was still dark and cold like this, but the stalls all had lights strung up, yellow lights. And she would buy me warm bread in a paper bag. We would hold it between us to keep our hands warm while we walked."
She talked slow, with small pauses between sentences. Her hand kept moving on my back, up and down, matching her words.
"She always let me pick one orange," she went on. "Just one, and I would carry it the whole way home and not eat it until we were at the kitchen table. I would peel it and she would say I was saving the best part for last."
I breathed when she breathed. I didn't mean to, it just happened. My chatter got slower.
"What kind of bread?" I whispered.
"Pan dulce," she said and smiled a little. "With sugar on top. Pink sugar. You would have liked it."
I tried to picture the yellow lights and the paper bag. The basement still buzzed, but her voice was closer than the light. I tucked my face into the towel and it smelled warm now from being against me.
We sat there. Dad's voice had stopped. I didn't hear pounding anymore, just the house being quiet above us. The cold was still in my feet and the floor was still hard, but inside the towel I wasn't shaking as much.
Teresa kept her arm tight around me.
May you like
"We're going to stay right like this," she whispered. "You're doing so good, Claire. Just keep breathing with me, okay?"
I said okay. My eyes stayed on the locked brass handle on the wooden door. It didn't move, but I couldn't stop watching it.
