House of Wonder by Sarah Healy

out a long, low whistle as the image appeared on the screen. They didn’t speak much to Silla. Her grandmother made her ham and cheese sandwiches and told her when it was time to take a bath or go to bed. Her grandfather sat in her father’s chair, watching her father’s television. Her grandmother slept in her mother’s room. Her grandfather slept in the guest room. And every once in a while, when Silla’s small feet would move over the floor without enough sound to be noticed, she’d hear them talking. She heard them talking about what a damn shame it all was, about what a damn fool Lee had always been. But mostly, she heard them talking about what was going to happen to all her mother’s damn money.
He could wind up without a cent!
    During the days, Mrs. Lloyd would come as she always had, and Silla would sit on the back steps while Mrs. Lloyd snapped laundry and set it on the line, squinting as she held the clothespins between her lips. She told Silla Bible stories, and Silla’s favorite was the story of Daniel, who was cast into a den of lions as a punishment for his prayers. “But the Lord sent down angels,” Mrs. Lloyd would say as she reached down into the basket full of damp clothes, “that came and shut the lions’ mouths tight.” And Silla would lift the toes of her saddle shoes up off the dirt, her hands holding her skirt over her knees, quietly delighted by the idea of beautiful winged angels that could subjugate mighty, ravenous lions.
    A few times, Silla asked Mrs. Lloyd, “When is my mama going to come home?” And she would see Mrs. Lloyd’s whole body seem to sink a bit, as if she were bearing an enormous burden. “Well . . .” was all she’d say, as she pinned up the end ofa billowy white sheet, her thin body struggling against its weight. It was a long sigh of a word.
Well.
After a few moments she’d speak again. “Has anyone ever told you about the time that Jesus helped a blind man to see?”
    Mrs. Lloyd was telling Silla the story—about the mud that Jesus mixed up and put on the blind man’s eyes—when Silla heard a car roaring down the driveway, kicking up huge clouds of dry dust into the bright blue sky. She leapt up and ran around the side of their brick house to see her father’s Cadillac come to a stop next to it. But her mother wasn’t in the passenger seat. Silla lifted up to the tips of her toes, as if that additional inch might help her see something she had missed. Her father got out of the car and stood looking at her with his hands on his hips. On his face, he was wearing an expression that she supposed was intended to be a smile. “How’s my Silla?” he finally called to her. But Silla didn’t move, sensing something, some great culmination. “Come here, my girl,” he said, clapping his hands together, his voice as sweet and as empty as sugar water.
    Silla looked back at Mrs. Lloyd, who was purposefully minding her business by remaining focused on the basket of laundry in front of her; then Silla began walking slowly toward her father. As soon as she was within arm’s distance, Lee Harris reached for her hand and pulled her close to him, bending down so that they were eye to eye. “Your daddy missed you,” he said, gently pinching her nose.
    But Silla’s face was solemn. “Where’s Mama?” she asked.
    Lines formed across Lee’s forehead. He looked like he was about to say something—then he suddenly straightened, lifting one finger. “Hold on, sugar,” he said, opening the car door and reaching in. He pulled out a pink, rectangular box and squatteddown in front of Silla. Holding the box to face her, he lifted its lid. Tinny, trilling music began playing instantly and a tiny ballerina began whirling and twirling in front of an oval mirror. Silla watched it, mesmerized. “It’s for your jewelry,