Chapter 3: What She Said I Did
My father looked at me.
Not with suspicion.
With something more careful than that.
"Nia.
Do you know what she's talking about?"
"No," I said.
"I genuinely don't."
Vanessa made a small sound.
Not quite a laugh.
"She doesn't know." She set the dish towel on the counter with deliberate calm.
"Ask her about the money, Marcus.
Ask her about the two hundred dollars that went missing from my purse in October."
The air in the room changed again.
Caleb's head came up.
Ava's eyes went wide.
"I never took anything from your purse," I said.
"Two hundred dollars.
Gone the same afternoon you were home alone."
"I wasn't the only one home that afternoon."
Vanessa's eyes moved to Caleb.
Just for a half second.
Then back to me.
"Caleb and Ava were at their grandmother's."
"I didn't take your money."
My father held up one hand.
"Vanessa.
Even if that were true — and I'm not saying it is — that does not explain a lock on the refrigerator.
That does not explain throwing away her dinner."
"It explains that she cannot be trusted."
"She is sixteen years old."
"She is old enough to steal."
The word landed hard.
Caleb pushed his chair back from the table.
The legs scraped the floor.
"She didn't steal anything," he said.
Vanessa turned toward him slowly.
"Caleb.
I will not tell you again."
"I was home that afternoon." His voice shook, but it held.
"I came back early.
Grandma had a headache.
I was here the whole time and Nia never went near your room."
The kitchen went completely silent.
Vanessa's expression did not collapse.
It tightened.
"You were not here."
"I was.
I didn't tell you because you were already in a bad mood and I didn't want—" He stopped.
Swallowed.
"I was here.
I saw her.
She was at the kitchen table doing homework the whole afternoon.
She never went upstairs."
My father looked at Vanessa.
She said nothing.
He walked to the refrigerator.
He gripped the lock and pulled once, hard.
It held.
"Give me the combination."
"Marcus—"
"Right now, Vanessa."
Her jaw tightened.
She looked at Caleb with something that was not quite anger and not quite fear.
Then she looked at my father.
"Four.
Seven.
Two.
One."
He dialed it without looking away from her.
The lock clicked open.
He pulled it free and set it on the counter with a sound like a period at the end of a sentence.
Then he opened the refrigerator, took out the container of leftover rice, a block of cheese, two eggs, and a carton of orange juice, and set them all on the counter in front of me.
"Eat," he said.
I didn't move right away.
"Nia." His voice was softer now.
"Eat."
I pulled out a stool and sat down.
My hands were not entirely steady when I reached for the orange juice.
Nobody spoke while I ate.
Vanessa stood near the window with her arms still crossed.
She was looking out at the dark yard.
Her reflection stared back at her from the glass, and I watched it without meaning to.
She did not look defeated.
She looked like someone who had just moved a piece on a board she had been playing for a long time.
When I finished, my father picked up the lock from the counter.
He walked to the back door, opened it, and dropped it into the outdoor trash can.
He came back inside and looked at Vanessa.
"We need to talk.
Not here."
Vanessa finally turned from the window.
"Gladly."
They went upstairs.
Caleb waited until their footsteps faded.
Then he leaned across the table toward me.
May you like
"She's been doing this for eight months," he said quietly.
"I kept a list."
