The Little Red Jewelry Box Watched While My Brother Refused To Let Go...

Daniel carried me the whole way like I weighed nothing, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. The side door of the lake house was heavy and white, and he had to bump it open with his hip. Inside, the downstairs bathroom was small and cold and smelled like hand soap and old tile. He set me down on the closed toilet lid and locked the door behind us.

Outside I could still hear the party. It was muffled through the walls, someone laughing too loud, a chair scraping on the grass. He turned on the faucet in the sink and let the water run warm.

"Hey, buddy," he said quietly. He was kneeling in front of me, his charcoal shirt soaked through at the shoulders and sleeves. "You with me?"

I nodded but I couldn't stop shaking. My teeth were clacking together and my sneakers made a wet squeak every time I moved my feet. My light blue shirt was stuck to me and my hair was dripping down my neck.

He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, then my cheek, then held it there. His hands were still cold from the lake.

"You're freezing," he said. "Breathe for me, okay? Slow. Like this."

He took a big breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, and I tried to copy him. My breath came out shaky and fast. He didn't rush me. He just kept his hand on my cheek and breathed with me until mine slowed a little.

He stood and pulled two big white towels off the rack. One was thick and fluffy, the other was thinner. He shook out the thick one and wrapped it around my shoulders first, then pulled my sneakers off. They were soaked and made a soft thud when he set them in the bathtub. My socks came off next. He didn't say anything about the red trim being stained with lake mud.

He knelt again and rubbed my feet dry through the towel, quick and firm. Then he wrapped the second towel around my legs.

"You feel dizzy? Nauseous?" He was watching my face close. "Does your chest hurt?"

I shook my head. I wanted to tell him I was fine but my voice wasn't working. I just kept shivering under both towels.

He tucked the top towel tighter around my shoulders, his sleeves still rolled to his elbows, water dripping from his own hair onto the tile.

"You scared me," he said, quieter now. "When I saw you in the water."

I stared down at the tile floor. There was a little lake weed stuck to my dark pants near my ankle. I picked at it.

Daniel's hand was on my knee through the towel. "What were you doing down by the edge, Ethan? You know not to go near the water without me. Or Mom."

I didn't answer at first. The faucet was still running and the party was still going outside. I could hear Mom's laugh, that high party laugh she did.

He didn't push. He just waited, his hand steady.

"Mr. Richard said to," I whispered finally.

Daniel went still.

"What did he say?" he asked. His voice didn't change but his eyes did. He leaned in a little closer.

I pulled the towel tighter around me. My teeth had finally stopped clacking so loud.

"He dropped it," I said. "The little box. He said it fell by the grass and I should get it quick before anyone saw. He said Mom would be upset if it got dirty."

Daniel didn't move for a second. Then he reached into his gray trousers pocket. The small dark reddish-brown box was there, edges wet. He didn't take it out all the way, just touched it to make sure it was still there, then let it drop back in.

"The box on the grass?" he said.

I nodded. "He said I was small and fast. He said don't tell."

Daniel's jaw tightened. He looked down at the tile for a second and took a slow breath through his nose. When he looked back at me, his face was soft again, but something behind it had hardened.

"He asked you to get it from the water?" he asked.

"It was on the edge," I said. "I leaned and slipped."

Daniel closed his eyes for just a second. He put both hands on the sides of my towel, right on my shoulders, and pulled me forward until my forehead rested against his. His shirt was damp and cold but his hands on my back were warm now.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice low and steady. "You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me? Nothing."

I nodded against him. The shaking was finally starting to ease.

He pulled back enough to look at me. "I'm not giving that box back to him tonight," he said, more to himself than to me. He glanced at the locked door, at the muffled party outside. "He can wait."

He stood and turned off the faucet, then checked my hair again, gently ruffling it dry with the corner of the towel. I was still quiet and shaky, but I was dry, and my breathing was normal, and his hands kept checking — my forehead, my pulse at my wrist — like he needed to be sure.

"Stay right here a minute," he said. He unlocked the door and opened it just a crack. The hallway was empty, but light and talk spilled in from the kitchen where Aunt Sarah was passing.