Chapter 10 - The Fresh Glass on the Counter
The kitchen still smelled faintly of orange when I came back down the hall. Claire was at the counter with her back to the white cabinets, pouring from the carton into the same clear glass I'd bagged and hidden in my closet an hour earlier. Or an identical one. The light was the same soft daylight off the wood floor, and she held it the same way, at chest height, steady in both hands, like it needed to be presented.
She'd rinsed it. I could see the small beads of water on the inside before the opaque juice filled them in.
"You're back early," she said without turning fully. Her voice was even. "I poured you a fresh one."
I stopped at the edge of the kitchen where the flooring changed. Sophie was not with me — I'd left her in her room with the door cracked and a book — but I could feel her listening from the hallway.
Claire turned then and held the glass out. Same grip. Same height. Her smile was fixed and tight-lipped, calm in a way that didn't reach her eyes.
"It's fresh," she said. "It's very good for your health. You should drink it while it's cold."
I looked at the glass. The juice was thick, opaque orange, no pulp catching the light. No way to see what was in it.
For a second I thought about saying no outright. About telling her I knew what was in the last one, that I'd already sealed it in a bag upstairs. But Sophie was ten feet away in pink pajamas and I wasn't going to make this a standoff she had to hear.
So I stepped forward and took it. The glass was cold from the rinse.
"Thanks," I said. My throat was dry. I made myself breathe before I spoke again. "I'll have it in a second."
Claire watched my hands. She didn't move back to the counter. She stayed close enough that I could see the faint line of her cardigan's knit, the teal of her pants against the white cabinets. "You work too hard, Daniel. This will help you relax."
Sophie appeared in the doorway then, just as I knew she would. She had her arms crossed over her chest, her long light brown hair pulled over one shoulder. She didn't say anything. She just watched the glass in my hands.
I lifted it toward my mouth. I let my lips touch the rim without tilting. I felt the cold glass and the faint acid smell of the juice and did not open my mouth. I made a small swallowing motion, a little exhale through my nose like I'd taken a sip, and then I lowered it again.
Claire's eyes tracked the level. It hadn't moved.
I turned half a step toward the sink, casual, like I was going to lean against the counter. "Still cold," I said. I set the glass down on the counter next to the sink. Full. Untouched. The orange surface didn't even ripple.
That's when I saw it. The flicker.
Her tight-lipped smile didn't drop, but the corners tightened. Just a millimeter. Her lips pressed thinner and the muscle along her jaw flexed. Her hands, which had been clasped lightly in front of her gray cardigan, curled slightly at the fingertips. It was gone in less than a second, smoothed back into the same calm, but it had been there. Disappointment, or calculation. Annoyance that I hadn't drank.
"You didn't drink," she said, softly. Not an accusation. Almost a prompt.
I kept my hand on the counter, not on the glass. "I will. I just wanted to check on Sophie first. She had a rough morning."
Sophie shifted in the doorway. Her eyes went from the glass to me to Claire and back to the glass. I could see her remembering how awful she'd felt last time.
Claire followed my look to Sophie and her smile fixed again. "She can have some too if she wants. It's healthy."
"No," I said, quicker than I meant to. I softened it. "She just brushed her teeth. Right, Soph?"
Sophie nodded, just once.
Claire let out a small laugh that didn't have any air behind it. She reached as if to slide the glass closer to me, then stopped herself when I didn't move. "You're being strange about juice, Daniel."
"Maybe I'm just not thirsty right now," I said. I didn't pick it up again. I left it sitting there, full and opaque, catching the daylight from the window. "I'll keep it here for when I am."
We stood like that for a few seconds, the three of us in the bright kitchen, the suitcase still by the cabinets where it had been all morning, the glass between us like something we were all pretending was normal. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator.
Claire finally stepped back, her hands going to the handle of the suitcase as if to steady herself. "Okay," she said. "Don't let it sit too long."
I nodded. I didn't touch the glass again until she walked out toward the living room. Then I carefully slid a paper towel under it, lifted it without drinking, and set it further back on the counter where it wouldn't be knocked. Two glasses now. One bagged and hidden upstairs, one fresh and full down here. Both untouched. A pattern I could point to without my word alone.
Sophie came up beside me and slipped her hand into mine. Her palm was damp.
May you like
"We're not staying here tonight," I whispered to her, low enough Claire couldn't hear. "Not just us and her."
She squeezed my hand and looked up at the glass, and I knew she understood that the juice wasn't ever just juice.
