Chapter 13 - What the Room Looked Like Inside
The flashlight had fallen to the floor when Dad stepped back. It lay on its side just inside the doorway, and its beam cut a low white line across the hardwood and up onto the far wall.
I didn't move at first. None of us did.
Emma was still sitting on the mattress, her knees pulled up, the blanket half around her shoulders. The light made her squint. Dad was the first to break the silence. He breathed out, slow, and I saw his shoulders drop.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He was looking at Emma, not at the flashlight. "I shouldn't have come at the door like that. With the light in your face."
Emma didn't answer right away. She just nodded once, small.
I finally stepped into the room. The air was warmer in there than in the hallway, stale a little, like someone had been keeping the window closed for days. The spare room we used to call Dad's office was gone. The desk was still there against the wall under the curtained window, but the chair was pushed aside. On the floor was a twin mattress with a navy fitted sheet, the blanket folded at the foot. Next to it, clothes were folded in a neat stack — a couple of t-shirts, sweats, a zip-up — the kind of fold Mom did, corners tucked. By the mattress were three empty water cups, all plastic, lined up against the baseboard. And on the desk, half under a folded washcloth, was a plastic card.
I moved closer before I could stop myself. It was a school ID. Emma Carter, 11th grade, with a photo where her hair was longer and she was smiling a little.
Mom came in behind me and knelt by the mattress. She didn't touch Emma at first, just put her hand on the edge of the blanket.
"You kept everything so tidy," Mom whispered.
Emma gave a small shrug. "Didn't want to make a mess."
Dad stayed in the doorway. He looked around the room the way he did when he was trying to take everything in and not react too fast. His eyes caught on the cups, the folded clothes, the bare walls where he'd once had his diplomas.
He pulled the hoodie he was wearing over his head. It was his old gray one, the one with the frayed cuffs. He held it out, but not too close, like he was letting her decide.
"It's cold out in the hall," he said. "You want this?"
Emma looked at it, then at him. After a second she reached out. Her hands were thin. She slipped her arms into the sleeves. It swallowed her. She pulled the hood up a little and then pushed it back down.
"Thanks," she said, her voice hoarse.
Dad nodded. He glanced up at the ceiling light. "I'm going to turn the overhead on, okay? So we don't have to talk in that glare. I'll do it soft."
He reached for the switch by the door and clicked it. The warm light came on overhead, not bright, just a single bulb behind a frosted cover. It was so much gentler than the flashlight beam. I could see Emma's face clearly now, the shadows under her eyes, the way she was trying to hold still.
Dad bent and picked up the flashlight, clicked it off, and set it on the desk next to the floral-patterned box Mom had kept in there for storage. He didn't put it in his pocket again.
"Better?" he asked.
Emma nodded. "Yeah."
Mom helped her stand. Emma was taller than I'd thought from the floor, but still hunched a little, like she'd gotten used to making herself small. She kept the blanket around her shoulders over the hoodie.
"Lily," she said then, and looked at me. Her eyes were direct for the first time. "Will you stay with me? When they call? I don't... I don't want to be alone for that part."
My throat tightened. I felt Mom's hand find mine for a second and squeeze.
"Yes," I said. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll sit right next to you."
Dad was already moving toward the kitchen. "Let's not do this standing in a doorway," he said. His voice was steady again, the way he sounded when he was trying to be useful. "Let's sit at the table. Like people."
We followed him out, Mom with her arm just hovering near Emma's back, not pushing. Emma walked carefully, like her legs were stiff. I stayed on her other side.
The kitchen light was on, and the house felt different with that spare room door open behind us. At the table, Dad pulled out a chair for Emma. He set the key down in the middle of the table next to the white plate I'd left there yesterday, now empty and clean. He didn't make a point of it.
Emma sat and pulled the hoodie sleeves over her hands. Mom sat across from her, I sat next to her. The four of us were there, the room quiet except for the fridge humming.
May you like
Emma looked at me, then at Dad. "You can call now," she said quietly. "I'm ready if Lily stays."
Dad rested his hands on the table and nodded. "We'll call together," he said. "You're not alone for this."
