Chapter 6 - The Unworn Pajamas
Clara stood completely motionless as Daniel helped her pull off the oversized green canvas coat.
Underneath, she was wearing a faded, pilled pink sweatshirt that was thin and frayed at the cuffs, and a pair of dark blue jeans that were stiff with dried slush around the ankles. Her socks were thin, mismatched, and damp.
Daniel set the canvas coat on the wooden chair by the desk. He took the emergency fleece pajamas Sarah Jenkins had left—a pair of bright yellow flannel pants and a top printed with cartoon reindeer, far too large for her tiny frame—and laid them on the bed.
"The bathroom is right through here," Daniel said, opening the side door to reveal a clean, bright bathroom. He turned on the warm water tap at the sink, filling a soft cotton washcloth with warm water. "Let's wash your hands and face."
Clara followed him obediently. She stood on her tiptoes to reach the sink. Daniel knelt beside her, gently taking her small, cold hands and washing away the dark grease and slush from Farley's lot. He wiped the dirt from her cheeks, her nose, and behind her small ears, his movements cautious and tender.
When he finished, he handed her the yellow pajamas. "Can you change into these by yourself, or do you need help?"
"I can do it," she whispered. It was the first time she had spoken since leaving the gas station.
"I'll be right outside the door," Daniel said. "Call me when you're ready."
He stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut until it was just a crack open. He leaned his back against the wall, closing his eyes, letting the crushing fatigue of the night finally wash over him. His watch read 1:15 AM.
Ten miles away, his mother, his brother Ray, and his extended family were likely asleep in their comfortable beds in Columbus, assuming Daniel was caught in a work emergency or stuck at his office. He hadn't called them back. He hadn't sent another text. The corporate world, his family obligations, his multi-million-dollar logistics firm—all of it felt abstract, distant, like something belonging to a man he used to be five hours ago.
"Mr. Mercer?"
Daniel opened his eyes. He pushed the bedroom door open.
Clara was standing by the edge of the twin bed. The yellow reindeer pajamas were ridiculously big on her; the sleeves covered her hands completely, and the pants were rolled up three times at her ankles to keep her from tripping.
She held the emergency fleece blanket hugged tightly against her chest.
"They're a little big," Daniel said with a faint, warm smile. "But they look warm."
He walked over and pulled back the blue quilt. Clara climbed onto the mattress, her small body barely making an imprint on the soft mattress. She pulled her knees up to her chest, curling into a tiny ball near the top pillow.
Daniel pulled the heavy quilt over her shoulders, tucking the sides securely around her frame.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. In the soft light of the lamp, he could see her amber eyes watching him, unblinking, filled with an ancient, heavy caution.
"Are you warm enough?" he asked softly.
She nodded once.
"Clara," Daniel began, choosing his words with immense care. "Tomorrow is Christmas Day. We're going to stay right here in this warm house. Nobody is coming to hurt you. Nobody is going to yell at you. Do you understand?"
She stared at him for a long moment. Then, her small hand reached out from beneath the blue quilt, her sleeve slipping back to reveal her wrist. Her tiny fingers reached out and lightly touched the fabric of Daniel’s sweater sleeve, holding onto a single thread.
"Are you going to go away when I close my eyes?" she whispered.
The question hit Daniel with a physical sharpness that made his breath catch. He looked down at her tiny hand clutching his sleeve, then at her pale face, resting against his son's old pillow.
"No, Clara," Daniel said, his voice thick, steady, and resolute. He shifted his position, leaning his back against the wooden headboard of the twin bed, keeping his arm resting on the mattress right beside her. "I'm sitting right here. I won't move until you wake up."
Clara let out a long, tiny sigh—a sound of profound, overwhelming exhaustion. Her eyelids fluttered, grew heavy, and slowly closed. Within three minutes, her breathing evened out into the slow, deep rhythm of deep sleep.
May you like
Daniel sat in the quiet room, illuminated by the single golden lamp, listening to the winter wind howling against the glass of his son's bedroom window. He reached out with his free hand, gently laying it over her tiny fingers, feeling the warm, steady pulse of her wrist.
He knew, with absolute, terrifying clarity, that whatever happened on December 26th when the county court opened, he was never going to let the world discard this child again.
