Chapter 26 - The shoes
Three years after the afternoon I found Lily polishing Claire’s high heel, Lily was seven.
I was fifty-one.
We were preparing for a school concert.
She wore a navy dress.
White tights.
Black shoes.
One shoe had a scuff.
Lily looked down.
“Dirty.”
“I see.”
She went to the mudroom.
Returned with a soft cloth and the shoe cream Maria used.
My body reacted before my mind.
“Lily.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Her face became confused.
“I know.”
Then:
“I want shoes shiny.”
There.
Choice.
“Need help?”
“No.”
She sat on the entry bench.
Put a tiny amount of cream on the cloth.
Rubbed the scuff.
I stood too still.
Lily noticed.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Weird face.”
Apparently my permanent condition.
“I’m okay.”
She looked at the shoe.
Then me.
“Claire shoe?”
“Yes.”
She remembered.
Not perfectly.
Enough.
“I had maid dress.”
“Yes.”
“She said lick.”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
Lily thought.
Then held up her own shoe.
“My shoe.”
“Yes.”
“My choice.”
“Yes.”
She polished once more.
Then decided:
“Boring.”
Dropped the cloth beside me.
Of course.
I finished the shoe.
She ran upstairs.
That was recovery too.
A task becoming ordinary enough to abandon halfway.
No adult making her finish because fear must be memorable.
I wiped the polish from my fingers.
Then laughed.
Maria walked past.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She looked at the abandoned cloth.
“Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
Normal.
We went to the concert.
She missed one line.
Waved at me from the stage.
I waved back.
May you like
No one cared about the shoes.
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