Page 40 of The Quiet Tenant

Cecilia’s still raving about her musical. What do you think aboutthe new cast? she wants to know. What are your favorite songs? At this, her father looks up and tells her to press “play” on her TV show already.

Every night he sits in his chair, phone glowing under his fingers. When you’re done watching whatever it is you’re watching, he tells Cecilia to go get ready for bed. That’s your cue to say good night, go back to the room. He comes in a couple of minutes later with the handcuffs. Later on, he returns. Always he returns.

Things start happening later than usual. His nightly visits, the handcuffs clinging to the bed frame. Maybe that’s why you start noticing it. You used to be asleep by the time it happened, but now you’re awake, and there’s no denying it.

Every night, around what you assume are the early hours of the morning, steps creep along the hallway. At first, you think someone is going to the bathroom. But the pattern doesn’t match. You listen, night after night. A door opens and shuts. Someone walks from one location to another. There is silence. And then, it happens again. Steps, a door opening and closing.

Theories sprout in your mind. She’s scared. She has nightmares, night terrors. He goes to comfort her. But you never hear any voices. No one calling for Dad, no one screaming in their sleep. Just steps, doors, and silence.

You resist thinking it, and then you do. He’s going inside her room, night after night. There is an anchor in your stomach. You want to scream, to hurl things at the walls, to set the house on fire. You’re going to throw up.

You can’t know for sure, but everything about it makes sense to you. You cannot imagine a world where he knows how to love without destroying.

You want to wrap her in your arms and tell her it’s all going to be okay. You want to promise her a safe place, a new world. You’ll build it for her if you have to, but you’ll take her there.

Maybe you’re mistaken. Maybe this isn’t what you think it is. You lie awake, waiting to be proven wrong. You try to put your faith in other scenarios—maybe she’s afraid of the dark and he knows, just knows to go in without her calling out to him. Maybe he is a father, and fathers know when their daughters need them.

But you know the kind of man he is. And you remember things from the world, from before. You know how it’s all supposed to go. No matter how hard you search, how far back you look, you can’t think of a good reason for a man like him to disappear into his daughter’s room every night.

CHAPTER 27

Cecilia

Suddenly, my dad has all these friends.

First, there was Rachel. And that was fine. Rachel, I could understand. She needed somewhere to stay and people to be nice to her.

But this new woman? I don’t think so.

I don’t even know her name, and I don’t want to learn it. I’ve seen her around town before. She works at that restaurant my dad likes. I guess that’s how he knows her. But that still doesn’t explain what compelled him to spend the whole morning of that stupid race with her.

I wouldn’t have minded so much if he hadn’t made me go. But if you tell me I have to attend something, maybe talk to me once or twice while we’re there. I feel like maybe that should be a rule.

My dad understands rules. He’s always been very into them.Don’t touch other people’s stuff, keep out of other people’s business.I don’t want to touch your stuff, I used to tell him. No offense, but I don’t care about your stuff. But then one day my mom told me he got that from his time in the marines, because no one there had any boundaries and his stuff got stolen all the time, so now he’s territorial. Which, you know. Fine. You serve in the marines, you’re entitled to some quirks.

But I was still pissed off about the race. And I was mad on Rachel’s behalf, too. Which is a bit weird, I know, but I was. If my dad is going to have some weird lady-friend thing going on, well, the position is already taken. By Rachel.

I guess that’s why I gave her the pads. My dad has been adamant that under no circumstances should I go anywhere near Rachel’s bedroom, but after the race, I didn’t care about his rules anymore. I just did what I wanted to do.

Not that she thanked me, mind you. A thank-you would have been nice.

So there’s Rachel, and there’s Restaurant Woman, and then there’s the texting.

People think teenage girls text all the time. They should see what my dad has been up to these past few days. Typing constantly, especially when he thinks I can’t see him.

Maybe it’s Restaurant Woman. Maybe it’s a third one. Who knows, at this point? For fifteen years, my dad only had eyes for my mom. If I were mean, I’d say he’s making up for lost time.

But I’m not mean. And I don’t really believe that.

I will say, though, that this wasn’t the deal. And I don’t think my mom would be thrilled with the way he’s been acting. It makes me really sad to think it, but it’s the truth.

Not long before my mom died, she gave me a little speech. She waited until my dad had gone to talk to some doctor. He spoke to a lot of doctors around that time, not that it changed anything. They had run out of ideas to make her better.

Once it was just the two of us, my mom patted a spot next to her on the bed.

“Come here.”

It was weird being so close to her near the end. She didn’t feel like herself anymore. She had lost a ton of weight. Her hair grew back after they stopped the chemo, but thinner than before, with gray streaks. Whenever I hugged her, she was all bones under my fingers.

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