atie’s dancing in a shaft of sunlight. The living room’s hot, because San shut the window, and Katie’s bare-legged and barefoot.
She’s spinning, grinning, the music nowhere else but inside her head. I smile, but San doesn’t even look. Not at Katie, not at me. It’s been three days. I get up, reach for Katie’s hands. ‘Here,’ I say. ‘Let me dance with you.’ And as we start to spin, we’re both laughing. The sun is shining. It’s June. Everything should be beautiful. Suddenly, Katie stops. Lets go of my hands. There’s that look, as if the world has a secret. ‘Daddy?’ she says. ‘What’s knees for?’ ‘Knees?’ I say. ‘What they for?’ She’s tapping them. Both hands. I look over at San. I want to share this. Like always. She stands up, walks out. She doesn’t even look at us. Katie looks at the open door, then at me. ‘What’s wrong with Mummy?’ ÉCLAT FICTION
The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com