Dolores sat on the bottom-most step, barring entry to his room. He closed in eyes and breathed in deeply and out through his nose, praying for patience.
"Shouldn't you be in bed, mi muñeca?"
"Shouldn't you?"
"That's where I'm headed."
"Why were you late?"
He sighed again. "I never said when I was coming home."
She moved to let him pass then rose to follow him. "Tía was worried."
"She's always worried." He said dismissively. "I'm can look after myself."
"Mamí said – "
"I know, I know."
Casita's tiles hopped up and down, reprimanding him for his tone. He ignored it and pushed on his door. The salty smell of sand wasn't exactly welcoming, but it was familiar and safe, and a small amount of the tension in his shoulders loosened.
He heard Dolores slip off her shoes and step into the dunes comprising most of the floor.
Pth, pth, pth.
Plodding over to the corner wall opposite his hammock, she reached up onto the high shelf and replaced the last book she had borrowed and began perusing his collection for another one.
"Can I read in here?"
"Dolores, I need to sleep."
"I'll be quiet."
He ran a face over his hand in irritation. "You need to sleep."
"I'm fine."
"That's not what I said."
"Yes, it is!" She shot at him. "It's what you told Tía! And it's what you tell Mamí! And Abuela and Papí and everyone, and it's not true!"
He blinked at his quaking niece. "It's...I – what?"
"I heard it, Tío. I heard...everything." She whispered.
Ay, Dios. He groaned, the full weight of tonight taking his bad leg out from under him. He slid down the wall and landed with his bowed head coming to rest on his hands.
She didn't move for a while. Maybe she was ignoring him. Maybe she was gone. Maybe he had finally scared her off.
Eventually, cool, trembling fingers lifted his chin so she could look at him in the starlight trickling in from the ceiling. Her eyes moved over the bruising and scabs, finally coming to rest in his. There was nothing to say. She'd heard it all.
"Tío..."
"I'm f – "
"Don't lie to me, Tío." She sounded much, much older than ten.
"I will be fine, then." God, he was tired. "I'll heal."
"Let me bring you something."
"I'll be fine, mi muñeca." He repeated. "I'm not going to waste your tia's cooking."
"It's not a waste."
He gave her a long, hard look, struggling to find the balance of comforting the child and trusting the woman. "I thought you didn't want me to lie to you."
"I don't." She said uncertainly.
"Then...the truth is..." He forced himself not to look away. "It'll happen again. It always happens again."
She let go of him like a hot coal and pressed her hands over her mouth, an expression of deepest terror contorting her face. She was too scared to cry, too scared to scream, too scared to stay alone with what he'd become. She left the room quickly and quietly, leaving her shoes buried in the sands.
A/N: Kind of a part 2 to the previous drabble.
