A Breath Too Late - Rocky Callen Page 0,15

a slap.

On the way home one day, you had asked me, “Ellie, wouldn’t it be amazing to see the mountains right outside of our window?” You were looking at our neighborhood as if seeing more than the boarded-up doors, barred windows, and rusty playground equipment in abandoned yards.

I loved the mountains. I loved the way my chest and my legs ached as we climbed up trails, and the peaks where it looked like we could see the whole world while sitting cross-legged with peanut butter and jellies. But I looked at our neighborhood and couldn’t see beyond the rust and dried grass. I couldn’t see whatever wondrous thing you had built up before your eyes. “There are no mountains around here, Momma.”

You were quiet for a moment before looking ahead toward our driveway. “You are right. There are no mountains here. But what if we chased them?” You looked at me then, a smile flickering across your lips.

“I’d like that! An adventure.”

“That’s right, beautiful. Our own little adventure.”

We didn’t say anything else as we climbed the stairs. Father was inside.

I ran to Father for a hug that felt too tight and my chest felt compressed with too little air. “Father! We are going to chase the mountains!” I squealed. I was practically bouncing in his lap with excitement.

His eyebrows pitched up. “Oh really? And how are we gonna chase the mountains, doll?”

“We are going to go on an adventure, silly. We could drive…”

“Momma doesn’t have a car…”

“We could fly! Or walk! I am a very good walker.” I puffed out my chest. I knew I would be the best adventurer.

“And whose idea was it to go on this little adventure?”

“Momma’s!”

“Ellie…” Your voice was soft yet urgent, but I was too excited to pay attention.

“She said that we could live in a house and have mountains right outside our windows and…”

“Is that so?” Father said.

“Ellie…,” you said at the same time.

I was thinking about treasure maps and big windows and mountain peaks. I didn’t notice the air getting sucked out of the room or the way you and Father watched each other. On a razor’s edge. A step away from explosive mines in the floorboards that I was too oblivious to see.

“Go upstairs, Ellie,” Father said.

I ran upstairs, skipping steps and humming all the way to my room. My bedroom floor vent looked into the kitchen and I perched myself above it and spied. I couldn’t see everything. But I could see enough.

You and Father didn’t move from your spots. You stared at each other. I had thought that you’d both be excited, but something was taut between you and I suddenly felt all wrong. My tapping toes and humming stopped.

“The mountains, huh?”

“Abel, we were just daydreaming. You know, make-believe as we walked home.”

Father reached for the glass of whiskey that I hadn’t seen on the table and took a long sip until it was empty.

I looked at you and your eyes were squeezed shut.

Father stood up, his chair croaking as it slid across the floor.

The slap was like a thunderclap.

Father was looming over you. You were holding your cheek. Your shoulders were heaving in little breaths and then your eyes flicked up to the ceiling and found mine through the vent. I started to get to my knees so I could run downstairs to see if you were okay, but with the slightest shake of your head I knew that I had to stay where I was. I had to just watch and do nothing. I held my breath.

Father grabbed a fistful of your hair and then nuzzled your neck. “Don’t think I don’t know who you are, Regina. You left me once. You won’t leave me again.” You closed your eyes and gave a tiny nod. His voice went lower. “If you try, Regina, I swear, if you try to chase mountains or chase daydreams … I will chase you. I will find you. And you will regret stepping out of this house.”

Then he kissed you, only to break away to say, “You are mine and you aren’t going anywhere.”

And we didn’t.

That was the first day you wore your doll face.

The violence snuck into our home slowly and all I could do was look away and hide.

A grab. A slap. A shove against the wall.

He’d beat you and then when you were done hiccupping tears in the bathroom with the shower running so no one could hear you, he’d come back and stroke your hair. He’d whisper apologies and