Page 26 of Worth the Fall

“I didn’t ask if you did,” Nate responds, making sure the man understands he’s on our time; we’re not on his. “May I see the rest of the people in the house?”

The man’s head startles at the request. “I’m home al⁠—”

“I just saw a little girl run by,” Nate interrupts. “I’d like to speak with her.”

Davis exhales loudly, his irritation written all over his face before he steps back to reveal more of the scene behind him. There is a dark stain on the carpet where it looks like the plant sitting on the pony wall at his back had been knocked over and the dirt has yet to be vacuumed. From what I can see of it, the house seems clean, which makes that smear of dirt stick out.

“Keely, get over here,” he yells, feet shifting, jaw clenched. With his movement, I can see one of his knuckles has blood on it and the others look a bit red. Nate notices it as well, and he slides a glance my way as I take a step forward.

“And your wife, too, please.”

“My wife isn’t⁠—”

“There are two cars in the driveway, sir,” Nate explains. “So I’d like to make sure she’s okay, too.”

“Was it that damn lady next door who called?” he asks. “She’s so goddamn nosy. Always getting in our business. Last year, our dog pissed on her begonias and killed them so now she’s out to get me back.”

“No phone call,” Nate says. “Like I said, we’re just going door to door and checking to make sure everyone is okay.”

Davis eyes both of us. His skepticism is etched in the lines of his face, but he shakes his head and calls back into the house. “Amelia. The police are here and want to make sure you’re okay. Can you come down here to show them you are?” He steps back. “You happy?”

“Thank you, sir,” I say, entering the conversation for the first time just as the blonde-haired girl peers out from the corner of the wall behind him. “What’s your name?” I ask softly as I kneel to get on her level.

The poor thing is scared to death. Her eyes flicker to her father and then to me and then back to her father. She waits for him to nod before she responds. “Ke-Keely.”

“Can you come here for a second, Keely?” I ask as her mother comes up behind her and places a protective and trembling hand on her shoulder. Keely looks back to her dad and waits again for him to consent before she slowly approaches the door. She reaches the threshold and just stands her hand clutching the arm of a worn teddy bear. There are matching smears of dirt on her cheeks that tell me she’s been wiping away tears.

Her mother comes forward also but seems much more timid than her daughter. Amelia’s hair is a mess and her red-rimmed eyes have black smudges under them from where her makeup has run. She crosses her arms over her chest to steady the shaking of her hands. Even though she remains several feet behind her husband, she never looks at him.

Alcohol or abuse.

It’s my immediate assumption. It’s definitely one of the two.

“Did you paint those super cool rocks over there?” I ask Keely, using the same soothing voice as before in an effort to earn her trust.

“Me and my mommy did.” She barely nods, but it’s enough for me to try to coax her away from her parents to make sure she is okay and not in danger.

“Can you show me which ones you did? I bet I can guess because they are so pretty like you.”

She gives me a ghost of a smile, and the fleeting glimmer of happiness in her sad eyes breaks my heart. She looks up to her dad, who does not seem to be too pleased with my request. Those are the breaks, asshole. “Can I?”

He nods at her before shooting a glance over his shoulder to his wife.

Keely wrings her hands as she takes a few steps before looking back at her dad as if she’s going to get in trouble. I gently place my hand on her shoulder to try to lead her over to where the majority of the rocks are—far enough away that I can ask her questions to make sure she’s okay. My gut tells me she is—for now—but her mom’s well-being is a whole other story.

“Which ones did you paint?” I ask as I squat back down.

She angles her head to the side and stares at me without responding, the willingness to talk to me moments before suddenly dissipating into the distance I put between her and her mother.

“I bet you painted that caterpillar there,” I say, pointing to a rock and hoping I’m correct in my guess. The corners of her mouth softly turn up and her back straightens with pride. “And that one there?” I wait for her eyes to find what I’m pointing at. “That butterfly is so pretty. Is pink your favorite color?”

She nods but still doesn’t talk.

I glance over to where Nate is talking to Mr. and Mrs. Davis, who are still standing in the doorway, and hope he is able to get Mrs. Davis alone for a moment.

“Ahh, there’s a K on that one. I bet you painted that for your name.”

“Yeah.” Her voice is so quiet, and yet, I can hear the fear woven through it.