Chapter 6: The Yellow Balloon in the Kitchen Doorway
Dad didn't pick me up. He looked at me on that hallway runner and said, "Stay right here for me, okay? Right here where I can see you."
I nodded. My back was against the wall where the wood floor met the rug. My sneakers made a faint squeak when I tucked my feet in. I could still hear the low murmur from the living room, but nobody came down the hall.
He'd asked me where it had happened, and I'd pointed without speaking, past the doorway toward the little dining nook where Mom had set up the gifts and the extra chairs for the gathering. My hand had shaken a little. He didn't say anything else. He just pressed his palm once, light, on the top of my head and stood.
I watched him walk the five steps to that doorway. He moved slow, like he was trying not to scare something away.
The nook was supposed to look nice. Mom had put a white tablecloth over the folding table and lined up the wrapped presents along the wall. There were three spare wooden chairs pulled out from the main table to make more space. One of them was knocked at an angle, its front legs off the rug and onto the bare wood. Another was pushed tight against the wall, not where it should have been. The tablecloth was pulled, one corner hanging lower than the rest, like someone had grabbed it.
Dad stopped just inside the threshold. He didn't touch anything at first. He just looked.
I could see the yellow balloon from where I sat. Its string had gotten tangled around the back of that angled chair, wrapped twice and pulled taut. The balloon itself floated low, too low, about halfway to the floor, bumping gently against the wall every time the air moved. There was a faint dark mark on the pale wall at about my height, a scuff, with a little transfer of pink. I knew that pink. It was the ruffle on my dress sleeve.
Dad crouched down. He ran his eyes along the scuff, then down to the chair legs, then to the place on the rug where it was rucked up. His jaw tightened, but he didn't make a sound. He reached out and, very gently, lifted the edge of the tablecloth. Underneath, a small plastic cup had tipped over. Water or punch had made a dark spot on the rug that no one had wiped up.
"Ray," Dad said quietly, without turning around.
I hadn't noticed Grandpa Ray was there. He was standing in the opening between the living room and the nook, his hands in his pockets, his blue shirt a little untucked. He hadn't moved far from where he'd been in the video, still blurred and stationary, like he'd decided his job was to stay put.
Grandpa Ray glanced at the chair, then at the balloon, then at me down the hall.
"It got a little crowded in there," he said. His voice was even. "Kids running around. Someone bumped the table."
Dad didn't answer right away. He touched the back of the crooked chair, just with his fingertips, and it wobbled.
"Who bumped it?" Dad asked.
Grandpa Ray shrugged, just a small lift of his shoulders. "Hard to say. Lot of people in and out of the kitchen. I didn't see the whole thing. Millie was playing near the presents. She must have tripped."
I felt my face get hot. My cheek still stung. I hadn't tripped.
Dad looked up at the scuff on the wall again, then back at Grandpa Ray. He didn't argue. His eyes stayed steady.
"She didn't trip into the wall like that," Dad said, but he said it low, not loud enough for the living room to hear. It wasn't a fight. It was just a fact he was setting down between them.
Grandpa Ray pressed his lips together. "You're reading a lot into a scuff, son."
Dad didn't touch the string. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his yellow shirt. I heard the soft click of the camera, once, twice. He took a picture of the chair with the balloon string, then the scuff on the wall, then the spot on the rug. He did it methodically, holding the phone level, not rushing. Grandpa Ray watched him and didn't stop him, but his arms, which had been at his sides, crossed again.
"We'll straighten it later," Grandpa Ray said. "No need to make a thing right now."
Dad slipped the phone back into his pocket. He straightened the edge of the tablecloth just enough that it wasn't hanging, but he left the chair exactly where it was. He left the balloon tangled.
"I'm not making a thing," Dad said. "I'm remembering it."
He turned then and came back to me. He knelt again, right in front of me in the hallway, so his knees were on the wood and his face was level with mine. I could see Grandpa Ray still standing in that doorway behind him, not coming closer, not leaving either.
Dad's hands hovered near my shoulders, not squeezing.
May you like
"You did good showing me," he said to me, soft. "Thank you for showing me."
I nodded again. The knot in my chest hadn't gone away, but it had shifted a little, because he had looked where I pointed and he had seen it too. He hadn't fixed anything yet, and he hadn't told Mom, and I could tell he wasn't going to, not right then. He just stayed there with me in the hallway, where the light was quiet and I could see both doors.
