Chapter 1
Tara stood in the light from the living room windows with her arms crossed and that look on her face I had already learned to check for. Her black button-up shirt was tucked smooth, the little gold pendant on her necklace catching the light every time she breathed, her mouth set in a flat, controlled line. She wasn't yelling. That was worse. The kitchen clock was ticking behind her and my cream sweater felt too thick and hot around my neck, the ribbed knit scratching at my skin.
She looked right at me and said it like she had already decided. "Marcus, I want your daughter out of this house." My stomach dropped so fast I felt it in my knees. I was standing by the staircase with my hands clenched in my sweater, and I couldn't figure out how we had gone from quiet Saturday morning to that sentence in the same hardwood hallway where my dad's shoes were still by the door.
My name is Maya and I was eleven that morning in that house.
It was just after ten, daylight coming through the front windows in that soft warm way it did on Saturdays, the pendant light over the stairs still off because we didn't need it. Dad had been gone running errands, gas station and grocery store, and Tara had been in her bedroom. I remembered the quiet. I had been on the couch with my legs tucked under me, not touching anything that wasn't mine. Then I heard her purse zipper, sharp and quick, and her footsteps on the hardwood getting faster. She came out holding her purse open with one hand, staring down into it, then staring at me.
She didn't ask me if I'd seen anything. She said, "$50 is missing from my purse." Her voice was low and even. "You were gone and Maya was the only other person here."
I felt my eyes go wide before I could stop it. My mouth was open a little and I couldn't get air right. I shook my head. "I didn't take your money." The words came out smaller than I wanted them to. I swallowed and my lower lip started to shake. I tried again, quieter. "Why would I steal from you?"
Tara didn't blink. "Because the money didn't disappear by itself."
The hardwood creaked behind me. I didn't have to turn to know it was Dad. I heard his keys hit the entry table the way they always did, and then his footsteps coming steady down the hallway from the back. He was still in his navy polo and brown trousers, his silver watch glinting when he moved his arm. He stopped halfway between us, looking from Tara to me, his forehead creased.
"What? Why?" he said to her.
I turned my face toward him before I could think. My eyes were already stinging. "Dad, you have to believe me."
Tara's chin lifted. "Then where is my money?" The pendant on her necklace lay flat against her collar, not moving at all.
Dad didn't look at her purse. He looked at me, then back at her, and he took one more slow step forward so he was closer to both of us but not blocking either of us. His voice stayed even, not loud. "Tara, being the only person here doesn't prove she took it."
The room went very still. The pendant light swayed a little from the air coming through the hall, and I could hear my own breathing loud in my sweater.
Tara's eyes narrowed. "Then where is my money?"
Dad held her gaze. "I don't know yet." He paused just long enough for the clock to tick twice. "Well, we're going to find out before we accuse my daughter."
My tears spilled then, hot on my cheeks, and I didn't wipe them. My lip was quivering so hard I had to press it together. I looked up at him.
"You believe me?" I whispered.
He crouched a little so his eyes were level with mine, his watch catching the window light. His voice softened but it didn't waver.
May you like
"I believe you deserve the truth."
None of us moved. Tara stood by the windows with her purse still open in her hand, Dad stood between us on the hardwood with his hands loose at his sides, and I stood at the foot of the staircase in my cream sweater with tears on my face, waiting for what he would do next while the front hallway stayed open behind him and the question hung in the air without an answer.
