Chapter 15: I Kept My Bows On Until Bedtime
That evening our house was quiet in a way it hadn't been that afternoon. The same light wood floor ran from the hallway into my bedroom, but the daylight was gone and Mom had plugged in the small night light by my dresser. It threw a soft warm circle on the wall. My white velcro sneakers were lined up by the door where Dad had put them, and my light blue bows were still in my hair because I hadn't wanted to take them out yet.
Dad knocked lightly on the door frame even though the door was already open. I was sitting on the edge of my bed in my pink ruffled dress, my legs not quite reaching the floor, my hands in my lap. My cheek still felt warm where the abrasion was. Mom had cleaned it earlier and put a little ointment on it and taken a picture with her phone because Dad said we needed to keep a record. She didn't like doing it, but she did it.
He came in and did what he had done on the living room floor that afternoon. He knelt down so his eyes were level with mine. Same pale yellow button-up shirt, sleeves pushed up a little. Same concerned face, but his breathing was slower now.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said.
I looked at him. That afternoon I couldn't hold his gaze. I kept looking down at my knees, at my sneakers, anywhere but his face because I was so sure he was mad. Now I kept my eyes on his. My breathing was steady. I could hear the little hum of the night light.
Mom stood in the doorway. She wasn't crossing her arms anymore. She had changed out of the dark green dress into a soft sweater, and her hands were clasped in front of her. She didn't come all the way in right away. She let Dad have the space.
Dad rested his hands lightly on the bed near my knees, not pulling me, just there. "I want to tell you something clearly, okay?" he said. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing today was your fault. That mark on your cheek was not your fault."
I nodded. My eyes got wet again, but it felt different than earlier.
"Daddy, you said you weren't mad," I whispered. I remembered saying please don't be mad on the floor, and him answering.
He nodded, and his voice got even softer. "I'm not mad at you. I was never mad at you, Millie. Not for one second. I meant what I said. I'm here."
Mom stepped forward then and sat on the edge of the bed beside me. The mattress dipped a little. She brushed a piece of hair back from my forehead, careful to avoid my cheek.
"And I'm here too," she said. "I should have listened better this afternoon. I'm listening now."
I leaned a little into her side, and she put her arm around my shoulders. Dad stayed kneeling, so the three of us were in a small circle, all at the same level.
Dad had told me earlier, while Mom was on the phone in the kitchen, what would happen next. He didn't make it sound scary or big. He just told me plainly. The person who had scared me and left the mark would not be watching me anymore and would not be at our family gatherings. Dad said he had spoken to them directly and told them they needed to acknowledge what they did, and that Mom and Grandpa Ray both agreed. He also said he and Mom had written down what happened and filed a note with the right office so there was a record, in case anyone ever needed to check. My stomach had tightened when he said that, but he added, "You don't have to see them tonight. Not tonight, not until you are much older and only if you ever want to. Tonight is just for you."
Now in my bedroom, I believed him. There was no yellow balloon floating here. That had been left in the living room and later Mom had let the air out and put it away. My bows were still neatly tied. My sneakers were by the door.
"Do you want to keep your bows in while I read?" Mom asked.
I nodded. "Until bedtime."
Dad smiled a little for the first time that day, a small real smile. "Then bows stay until bedtime."
He stood up slowly and pulled the little chair from my desk closer so he could sit instead of kneel, because his knees were probably sore. Mom tucked the blanket around my legs. She didn't rush me. She asked if my cheek hurt and I said a little but not much. She said the mark would heal and we would keep putting the ointment on.
When Dad read the bedtime story, he didn't do funny voices. He just read steady and slow, so I could follow each word. I kept my eye contact when he looked up between pages, and each time he nodded at me like we were checking in without needing words. Mom stayed, her hand resting lightly on my back.
May you like
After the story was done and the lights were low, Dad leaned down again to my level and said, "I'm right down the hall. If you need anything, you call me. I'm here."
I knew he meant it this time in a way that would last past tonight. I wasn't on the floor hugging my knees anymore. I was in my bed, with my bows still in, my cheek clean, and both of them watching over me until I fell asleep.
