Jay gripped one of the bed frame’s slats; his fingers stretched almost painfully. A year ago he couldn’t feel the mattress bottom with the tips of his fingers – the slats had been too far apart.
Jay turned his head to see the doorway, getting dust on his cheek. They weren’t playing hide and seek; he just liked to confuse her. Where’d you go? She’d ask, and he would squiggle out from under the bed. He’d feel clever.
Marjory’s feet rounded the corner of the door frame in purple socks, but she didn’t say anything. She left and he could hear her going downstairs. Now it was embarrassing. The delay ruined it.
He would have to get out from under the bed quickly, before she came back. He shuffled sideways and pushed himself up as quickly as possible. He brushed the dust off his sleeves. He shook his pant legs while moving toward the door, almost falling over.
When Jay got to the staircase she was coming up.
“Where were you?” Marjory asked. “I thought you’d gone downstairs for a snack.”
“I was looking at the piano.”
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