Chapter 5 - It's Very Good For Your Health
I didn't put Sophie down when I walked back into the kitchen. She stayed hooked around my neck, her cheek pressed against my collar, her pink pajamas riding up a little at the ankle. The house was still bright, that flat morning light that made the white cabinets look too clean and the wood floor too loud every time I shifted my weight.
Claire hadn't moved. She was still by the hallway where the cabinets met the wall, the rolling suitcase right beside her with its handle all the way up. She held the glass in both hands now at chest height, the orange juice opaque and completely still. Her smile was fixed, not wide, just there.
I stopped a few feet away, closer than I wanted to be, and she lifted the glass a fraction toward me like she was offering a toast.
"Drink it, it's very good for your health," she said. Her voice was calm and soft, coaxing, the exact same way I'd heard her say it before. "Before it gets warm."
I looked at the glass and then at her face. I didn't reach for it.
The kitchen felt too quiet. The refrigerator hummed. From the window over the sink, daylight cut across the counter and caught the edge of the glass so the juice looked almost thick.
Sophie tightened her grip on my shirt. I could feel her breathing against my neck, fast and shallow. I put one hand on her back, rubbed a slow circle the way I always did when she couldn't fall asleep, and kept my eyes on Claire.
I had to say it plainly. Not an accusation I couldn't prove yet, not a fight with Sophie in my arms. Just the fact she'd given me.
"You said Sophie had some of this," I said, quiet. "She said after drinking that, she felt really strange. It was awful. Why was she offered the same juice?"
I kept my voice low enough that Sophie could hear it was steady. Claire's smile didn't drop. If anything it held in place a second longer before she blinked.
She tilted her head a little, the way she did when she was being patient with one of Sophie's stories.
"She imagined it," she said. "Too much sugar."
One short sentence. Smile fixed. Hands still around the glass.
Sophie made a small sound against my neck and didn't say anything. I felt her face turn further into my shoulder like she was trying to disappear into my blazer. My white shirt was damp where she'd been breathing.
I nodded once, not because I agreed, but because I didn't want Claire to keep talking to fill the silence. I needed that lie to sit there without me covering it up.
"Okay," I said.
Claire seemed to take that as an opening. She took a half step forward, the suitcase wheels giving a soft tick against the wood, and again held the glass out.
"It's just juice, Daniel," she said. "You haven't eaten. It's very good for your health."
There it was again, word for word. The same coaxing tone. I watched her fingers around the glass. Her knuckles weren't white. She held it steady, chest high, like she was waiting for me to do the natural thing and take it from her.
I didn't.
Instead I shifted Sophie higher on my hip and reached with my free hand for the counter, not the glass. I rested my palm flat on the laminate next to the coffee maker, grounding myself there.
"I'll drink something in a minute," I said. "I want to get Sophie some water first. She didn't sleep well."
Claire's eyes flicked down to Sophie, then back to me. Her smile thinned just a fraction at the corners. A micro-expression, there and gone. She didn't argue, but she didn't set the glass down either.
"She's fine," Claire said, still soft. "You're making it a bigger thing than it is."
Sophie didn't answer for herself. I could feel her fingernails catch lightly on my blazer. I kept my hand on her back and let the pause stretch. In the past I would have filled it, explained, softened things. That morning I just breathed and let the kitchen clock tick.
After a moment I turned slightly, angling Sophie away from Claire, like I was about to head to the sink for that water. It gave me a reason not to take the glass without saying I wouldn't take it.
"Let me get her settled," I said. "You can just leave that on the counter if you want."
I didn't wait for permission. I stepped past Claire toward the sink, keeping the island between us, Sophie still clinging to me. Claire turned to track me but stayed by the suitcase, glass still in her hands. She didn't follow.
At the sink I let the faucet run, filled a small plastic cup Sophie used for brushing her teeth, and handed it to her. She took it with one hand without looking up, her other arm still around me.
I glanced back. Claire was watching us, still holding the juice, her smile finally easing into something more neutral. The light from the window hit the side of the glass and made the liquid glow.
I knew then I wasn't going to win anything by debating what was in the juice in that kitchen. If I pushed, she'd pour it out and the story would become that I was paranoid. If I drank it to prove I trusted her, I was risking exactly what Sophie had warned me about.
What I needed was not another denial. I had her words now, twice, and her one-line evasion about Sophie imagining it. That was on record in my memory, and I needed it somewhere outside my memory.
I didn't escalate. I kept my voice even.
"We'll be in her room for a few minutes," I said. "Give her a minute to wake up properly."
Claire nodded once, the suitcase handle catching the light behind her.
May you like
"Of course," she said.
I carried Sophie out of the kitchen, my palm warm on her back, the glass still untouched behind us. As soon as we cleared the doorway I decided I would write down exactly what she'd said, time it, and find someone who could tell me what to do next without putting Sophie back in that room alone.
