Chapter 9 - The Lamp and the Draft
The rain had not stopped. I could hear it on the glass behind me, soft and steady, but the windows were shut tight. The lamp on the desk made a warm circle on the rug and Dad — I mean Mr. Daniel — had left it on low like he said he would.
Noah was asleep on my back in the blue shawl. His head was heavy against my shoulder. I had the cleaning cloth in my hand. It was damp from where I had rinsed it in the bathroom sink.
Mr. Daniel sat at the desk with papers he wasn't reading. He kept rubbing his eyes. I didn't want to bother him, so I dusted quiet. I started by the lamp and went along the edge of the desk and then down near the floor where dust gets stuck.
The vacuum was still on the rug where I left it. Its hose made a black curl. I stepped around the wheels so I wouldn't trip.
When I got close to the tall bookcase, the air changed.
It was cold on my ankles first. My dress is thin and I was barefoot, so I felt it right away. I stopped and held still. I thought maybe a window was open behind the shelves, which was silly, but I checked anyway. The windows by the desk were shut. I could see the rain lines on them.
I moved my hand with the cloth out slow. The cold touched my fingers. It came from low down, near the floor, right where the dark wood made a straight line up the middle. I remembered that line from the first night. I had not touched it because he told me not to.
I breathed in and the air smelled different there. Not like books. Like basement air, clean and empty.
Mr. Daniel looked up. "Mia?" he said. "You cold?"
I shook my head, then nodded toward the shelves. "It feels like wind here," I whispered, because Noah was sleeping. "Right here by my feet."
He stood up fast, but not mad fast. His shoes made no sound on the rug until he stepped off it onto the wood. He came and stood behind me.
"Show me where," he said.
I held my hand out again. The cloth moved just a little, like someone blew on it soft. I felt embarrassed, like maybe I did it with my breath. I held my breath to show him it wasn't me.
He watched the corner of the cloth. Then he knelt down. His suit pulled tight at his knees. He put his own hand flat near the seam, not touching the wood, just hovering.
We both stayed quiet. The rain tapped the windows. Noah made a small snore against my neck.
Mr. Daniel's fingers trembled once. He moved his hand left, then right. Then he pressed his palm closer to that narrow line.
"Yeah," he said low. "That's air."
My stomach felt tight. I thought of the closet in our old apartment that wouldn't shut right and always smelled cold in winter. "Is there a window back there?" I asked.
He didn't answer for a long time. He kept his hand there, feeling. Then he sat back on his heels and looked up at the shelves like he was tired of them.
"This house is old," he said. "There's a sealed closet behind there. From before I bought it. I never use it. The air probably leaks through."
I looked at the seam. It went straight up, taller than me. "Why would they seal a closet?" I asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "People do weird things when they remodel. Cover things up instead of fixing them."
That sounded like something grown-ups say when they don't want to say the real thing. I knew that sound. But his eyes weren't mean. They were worried, the same way they were the first night when he turned off the vacuum.
I squeezed the cloth in my hand. The cold kept coming on my toes. I stepped back a little so Noah wouldn't get chilled.
"I can stay away," I said. "I promise. I won't dust here anymore if you don't want me to."
He looked at me. "Mia —"
"I mean it," I said fast. My voice got shaky and I tried to stop it. "I'll stay by the desk and the rug. I won't touch it. Just please let us stay till the rain stops. Please."
He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he nodded once.
"We have a deal," he said. "You stay away from that wall, and you and Noah can stay inside where it's warm."
May you like
I nodded back hard so he'd know I understood. The lamp buzzed soft on the desk. The cold air kept pushing out from under the bookcase, touching my ankles even after I stepped back, like it wanted to be noticed.
Mr. Daniel stood and put his hand on my shoulder for just a second. His hand was warm. Then he went back to the desk, but he didn't pick up his papers. He just stared at the bookcase over my head.
