“Storm.” I choked out the single word.
Daddy knelt down in front of me. I looked down. His hands were dirty. Why were they so dirty?
“I’m sorry, Honey. I am.” He softened now, sighing. I felt the anger melt a little bit as I looked at his boots, staring at the floor. “I had to go out. I tried to get home as soon as the storm started. I did.”
“Why?” I wanted to ask why he left, but only that one word came out. Daddy knew me, though. He knew what I meant.
He cleared his throat. There was a long moment. “There was an emergency. The storm knocked down a tree, and one of the guys from work needed some help. I didn’t want to wake you.”
I rocked. That didn’t make sense. Daddy didn’t leave when the storm started. He was already gone when it started storming. Still, I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to make Daddy upset. I could tell he felt bad enough.
“Ruby?”
He sat beside me but didn’t touch me.
“Okay.” I replied. It was better now. Daddy was back. Nothing else mattered.
“I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep,” he said. “I promise I’m not leaving.”
I lay back down, thinking about the storm that had passed and about Daddy leaving and about how I was glad he was home. I lay for a long time as Daddy sat beside me. He seemed calmer now. More peaceful. I didn’t understand. I closed my eyes and pretended to drift off, feeling much more at ease. After a long while, I heard him turn out my lamp and walk out of my room and down the thirteen creaky steps.
But he didn’t go to his room. I counted his footsteps. There weren’t enough. He was in the kitchen. I heard the back-door crack open, the opening of it alerting me to the truth. He didn’t keep his promise. It was still raining but softer now. I didn’t get up and look out the window, though. I didn’t want Daddy to be mad. I didn’t want him to know that I knew the truth. He was going to the garage. He must have to clean, I had thought, as I drifted to sleep.
When I woke up this morning, Daddy was already in the kitchen. His eyes were dark, and his face stubbly. But he was smiling, making breakfast for us. He was happier. I don’t know what it is, but the garage makes him smile more. Maybe he should go in there more often. Why does he wait so long? Maybe last night fixed Daddy. I’m still mad he left during the storm. It scares me to be alone. Maybe some time he’ll let me go with him. I wish he would.
I don’t think so. I don’t think Daddy wants me knowing what goes on out there.
It’ll be our secret, Diary. Our little secret that we know what Daddy does out there. Secrets. Secrets. Secrets. We all have secrets. My teacher says not to keep secrets. Grandma says secrets don’t make friends. Either way you look at it, it seems like secrets are bad.
But I don’t like my teacher, and Grandma is horrible, too. I think secrets can be fun, and I don’t have any friends except Daddy. Daddy and I both have secrets . . . and no one knows them but me. I just giggled a little bit at the thought. It feels good to know something others don’t. I like knowing more than they do. I like the secrets I get to keep.
Stay Safe,
Ruby
October 28, 2009
6:57 p.m.
Dear Diary,
I finally did it. I finally got to see it all.
Well, not all. I got to see the ending part. I got to see how he cleans. And it was so pretty. I loved it. I wished I could help. I have it memorized so I could tell you, Diary. I wish you could have seen it.
I knew Daddy was going to go out when he tucked me in. He had on his boots, the ones he had on the other night when it stormed. He was also shaking when he read to me. I know when his hands shake when he reads, it’s a garage night—or at least close to one. I almost asked him to go along. I asked if I had to go to bed.
“Stick to the schedule, Ruby. You don’t want to be off schedule,” he said. He looked surprised I was asking. I nodded. I wanted to go with him, but he was right. Schedules are important. And I could tell he had a schedule of his own, one he didn’t want me to know about. But I know all about the schedules he keeps, don’t I, Diary?
I waited and waited. I almost fell asleep. I let my mind dance over memories of me and Daddy to keep myself from falling asleep. Finally, I heard his truck pull in. I heard him click open the truck, but I stayed quiet. I didn’t want Daddy getting mad that I wasn’t sleeping. I heard him moving around the garage. Good thing no one is around to hear it. I don’t think Daddy wants anyone to see him working. It’s private. Good thing we live far away from everyone and Grandma doesn’t like to drive at night. We are alone, just the way Daddy needs it. That makes me glad.
After a while, I couldn’t wait anymore. I needed to see him clean. I imagined the red, swirling puddles of it all about. I imagined how clean it would be when he was done, everything in its place. I wanted to be a part of that, to know how he did it. I couldn’t wait anymore.
I was very quiet like a mouse when I snuck out. Not like the stupid one in the book we’re reading in school, but an actual, quiet mouse. Except I didn’t even squeak, not at all. I was silent, silent, silent like a sneaky shadow or a gentle breeze that barely moves the flowers. I needed to make sure I didn’t get caught. I didn’t know what Daddy would do if he saw me. So slowly, quietly, I crept downstairs. I edged out the door and around the house, the back side. I counted my steps, careful and calm. The hard part would be getting to the back of the garage. I had to sneak. I snuck along the ground, low and quiet, fast fast fast. I made it to the back, clinking of metal telling me Daddy wasn’t done yet.
I got to my spot behind the garage, to my little hole that lets me peek. Daddy’s back was to me, but when he moved to put stuff away, I got to see the lady.
Black hair. Short. She laid on the table Daddy had, quiet quiet quiet. I wondered if she was trying to not make Daddy mad, too. It looked like part of her was on the floor. But once my eyes saw the red, all the red, I didn’t notice anything else.
I watched Daddy for a long time, the way he worked so carefully. The way he soaked up the red as the smell of bleach spread. Bleach everywhere. He worked for so long, bagging things up.
After a long long time, when my eyes were heavy, he took the black bags outside. I heard the wheelbarrow move that is beside the garage. I looked at my watch. It was 3:45 a.m. So late. I crept along the side of the garage. He was driving, but not down the driveway towards the road. He was pushing the red wheelbarrow into the woods on the dirt path we sometimes walk on. Where was he going? I wanted to follow him. I wanted to see how he finished the cleaning. But I knew I had to get back to my room. He would maybe be done soon, and I couldn’t have him finding me. I looked one more time at the spotless floor, at the clean, clean, clean. Not a spot to be seen. That rhymed. My teacher would be proud.
No one would know that lady was here, I suspected. The red was only in my memory now, like a treasure of my very own. I thought of this lady’s splotches, how they were oddly shaped and swirled compared to last time. I loved how you never knew what the puddles would look like. It was like a painting on the floor, different every single time. And I felt like Daddy wanted it that way. I smiled. I could keep a secret. I was good at sneaking and at keeping secrets. I barely talked to anyone except Daddy, and if he didn’t want to talk about his garage game, then neither would I.