Nothing.
I knocked again. Harder.
“Ben. I know you’re in there. Your car’s in the driveway.”
Nothing.
“Ben, she’s in the car. Your daughter is in the car. She’s right there. Just come look at her.”
I saw the curtain in the front window move. Just a little. Just an inch. Then it fell back into place.
That was all I got. An inch of curtain.
My dad was beside me now. He’d gotten out of the car. He put his hand flat on the door, and I could see the muscles in his forearm tensing.
“Dad, don’t.”
“He’s going to open this door, Claire.”
“Dad. Please. Don’t.”
He looked at me. He looked at the door. His jaw worked back and forth.
Then he took his hand down.
“Get in the car, sweetheart,” he said, very softly. “I’ll get the bags.”
