Chapter 12 - Noah Cries at the Wall
Noah didn't wake up slow. He went from breathing on my neck to screaming all at once.
One second his cheek was hot against my back inside the shawl, and the next his whole body jerked and he let out a cry that hit the wood walls and came back at us. The study made it louder. It bounced off the windows and the desk and the tall bookcase until it sounded like there were two babies crying.
I pressed my hand to his leg through the blue shawl. "Shh, shh, it's okay," I whispered. My heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my throat. "I'm here. I'm here."
Daniel was sitting on the edge of the rug by the vacuum. He'd had his head in his hands. When Noah screamed, he looked up fast.
"He's overtired," I said. I didn't want him to think something was wrong with him. "He gets like this when he misses his nap. He just needs to move."
Daniel nodded and stood up. He kept his hands out a little, like he wanted to help but didn't know where to put them. "What do you need?"
"Just walking," I said.
I started walking. I couldn't stay still while he cried. I went back and forth across the rug in my bare feet, from the desk to the windows to the vacuum and back. I bounced a little with my knees the way I'd seen moms do at the bus stop. The shawl pulled tight on my shoulders with every step.
Noah's fists were bunched up by his face. His face was all red and wet. Every time I breathed in I smelled milk and sleep and his sweaty hair.
"Shh," I said in his ear. "We're okay. We're just cleaning. Remember the rug? We did the rug."
The rug was soft under my feet. The vacuum sat in the middle of it, big and gray. Its black hose curled around the side. I stepped around the wheels so I wouldn't trip.
Daniel stayed near the desk at first. Then when I walked past him, he walked with me a couple steps, then stopped. He wasn't trying to take Noah. He was just there.
"It's the echo," he said quietly. "The room makes everything louder at night."
I nodded. I kept bouncing. "He doesn't like loud."
Noah cried harder for a minute, that high cry that made my ears ring. I turned so his face wasn't right toward the windows. I walked toward the bookcase side because the lamp over there was warmer. The wood looked softer in that light.
As I got close to the bookcase, his cry changed. It wasn't just crying anymore. It went out and hit the tall wood and came back hollow.
I stopped. I didn't mean to. I just heard it.
Daniel heard it too. He looked at the bookcase, then at me, then at the bookcase again.
"Bounce him right there," he said. His voice was low. "Walk slow by the shelves."
I didn't understand, but I did what he said. I took two small steps along the front of the bookcase and bounced. Noah cried out, and the sound hit the wood panels and rang a little.
Not like the desk. Not like the wall by the windows. Hollow. Like when you knock on a door that has nothing behind it.
Daniel stepped closer. He put his hand flat on the side of the bookcase, up high where the wood was dark. He didn't push hard. He just steadied it, his fingers spread wide.
"Again," he whispered.
I walked another step and bounced Noah. He wailed, short and sharp. The wood hummed back.
Daniel's eyes moved down to the narrow seam in the middle. The straight dark line I'd seen that first night. His hand tightened a little on the wood.
"It's hollow," he said. It wasn't really to me. It was like he was checking something he already knew.
My arms hurt from holding Noah's weight in the shawl. I shifted the blue cloth higher on my shoulder. "Does that mean it's broken?" I asked.
"No," Daniel said. "It means there's space behind it."
Noah sucked in a big shaky breath and then let out another cry, and he kicked his legs hard inside the shawl. The kick thumped against my back and made me stumble a half step forward. My shoulder bumped the bookcase edge.
The whole tall shelf gave a little shiver. Daniel's hand pressed harder to steady it.
That was when we heard it.
Click.
So soft I almost thought I made it up. Not from the room. From inside the wall. Like a little metal piece moved when the wood shook.
We both froze.
I stopped bouncing mid-bounce. I held my breath. Noah hiccupped against crying, his mouth open on my neck, his hot tears on my skin. I could feel his heart thumping fast against my back through the shawl.
Daniel didn't move his hand. He was looking right at the seam. His breathing had stopped too.
We stayed like that. The lamp buzzed. Rain tapped the windows far behind us. Noah made a small whimper noise, but I put my hand on his back and rubbed circles and he didn't start screaming again.
"Did you hear that?" I whispered. It came out barely any sound.
Daniel nodded once, very slow. He didn't take his eyes off the seam. "Yes."
"What was it?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away. He lifted his other hand and held one finger up, telling me to wait. He leaned his head a little closer to the wood, listening.
Nothing else clicked. The house was quiet.
After a long second, he looked at me. His face was pale in the blue window light. "Vibration," he said quietly. "Something loose in there moved when you bumped it."
I swallowed. My throat hurt. "Are we in trouble?"
He shook his head. He finally moved his hand off the bookcase, slow, like he didn't want to shake it again. He stepped back from the shelves and put his hand lightly on my arm to move me back too, away from the seam.
"No," he said. "But we need to keep him calm. No more bumping."
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I nodded and started bouncing again, softer this time, in the middle of the rug by the vacuum. Away from the wall. Noah's cries got smaller, turning into tired whines. I kept rubbing his back through the faded blue shawl and whispering shh.
But I couldn't stop hearing that hollow sound. And that click. It was still there in my ears even after the room went quiet.
