Chapter 1: On The Wood Floor Against The Pale Wall
The wood floor was cool against the backs of my legs and I had my knees pulled up so tight my pink dress bunched around them. My white sneakers with the velcro straps were tipped on their sides and my bows felt crooked. I couldn't stop shaking even though the house was warm and light was coming in soft across the pale wall behind me. My left cheek stung and was wet where the tears kept running over it.
That was the contradiction that kept me frozen. In our living room the yellow balloon was still floating near the ceiling like nothing had happened, bobbing a little by the light, while my dad was down on his knees in front of me trying to breathe slow and the two people who were supposed to come closest stayed back by the doorway with their arms folded and their faces turned hard. I hugged my knees harder and stared at my socks.
My name is Millie. I was six that afternoon.
Dad had lowered himself until his eyes were level with mine. He wore his pale yellow button-up shirt and his hair was a little messed like he'd run his hand through it. He wasn't smiling. His brow was furrowed and his hands hovered near my knees, not grabbing, just open. He made a small sound when he breathed and then he said it.
"Sweetheart."
I flinched before I could stop it. My voice came out thin and fast and I hated how small it sounded but I couldn't hold it back because I was sure he would be mad about the crying, about the mark, about whatever I had done wrong.
"Daddy, please don't be mad."
He shook his head right away, just once, and his hands stayed gentle in the air between us. He didn't reach for my cheek even though he was looking at it. He kept his voice low and even, the way he did when I had a bad dream.
"I'm not mad at you. I'm here."
Behind him the room stayed bright and quiet. I smelled wood polish and my dress and the faint rubber smell of the balloon. When I lifted my eyes past Dad's shoulder I saw them. Mom stood with her arms crossed over her dark green dress, her mouth set in a flat serious line, not moving at all. Grandpa Ray was just behind her in his blue collared shirt, blurred a little the way things get when your eyes are full of tears, standing completely still. They were watching but they didn't step forward. Mom's arms stayed locked and Grandpa didn't lift a hand. The yellow balloon drifted a little over their heads and made a soft shadow on the wall. Dad was the only one on the floor with me and the space between the two halves of the room felt like a line I wasn't supposed to cross.
I didn't know what to say that wouldn't make it worse. My cheek throbbed where the reddish abrasion was and I kept thinking if I was quiet they would just leave it alone and let me stay against the wall. I wanted to tell Dad I fell, that it was nothing, even though my throat felt tight with the real answer pushing up. For a second I stared at the velcro on my sneakers so I wouldn't have to look at anyone, and I tried to make my breathing match his.
He didn't rush me. His hand settled light on my shoulder, warm through the ruffle of my sleeve, and he held eye contact without pulling me or squeezing. His brow stayed furrowed and his mouth moved carefully, soft enough that I had to listen. I felt my lip tremble and my eyes fill again because his gentleness made the sting hurt more.
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"Millie, who scared you?"
I froze. The question hung right there between us with his hand still resting on my shoulder and my knees still locked to my chest. I could hear the quiet of the house underneath it, the faint hum from the kitchen and the balloon string ticking lightly against the ceiling when the air moved. I opened my mouth and no sound came. Mom hadn't moved. Grandpa hadn't moved. The front door down the hall was still closed but I could hear someone shifting weight near it, like it was about to open.
