Chương 2
“So are you.”
The grandmother stared at him.
He stepped closer.
For the first time, confidence left her face.
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t get to hide cruelty behind the word discipline.”
She lifted her chin.
“Oh, spare me.”
His hand moved.
The open palm struck once.
The grandmother recoiled from the blow and lost her balance against the edge of the sofa.
She fell backward onto the cushions, more shocked than injured.
For one second nobody moved.
Then Ava screamed again.
Not from pain this time.
From fear.
Her grandfather turned immediately.
That second of distraction was enough for the bodyguard to move.
“Sir.”
The man rushed forward and reached for his shoulder.
The grandfather pivoted away from Ava.
The bodyguard’s fingers caught fabric.
A single punch drove him backward.
He collided with the bookshelf.
The impact shook the shelves.
Three books toppled after him, followed by a framed photograph that landed facedown on the carpet without breaking.
“Stop!”
The cousin’s voice cracked.
The grandfather stopped.
So did everyone else.
The bodyguard remained upright against the bookshelf, one hand braced on its edge.
He looked furious for a moment.
Then embarrassed.
Then tired.
“I’m done,” he muttered.
“Good.”
Ava’s grandfather turned away from him.
The grandmother sat upright on the sofa with one hand against her cheek.
Her disbelief had hardened into rage.
“You hit me.”
“Yes.”
“In front of the children.”
The words struck him differently than she intended.
He looked at Ava.
Her eyes were enormous.
The cousin had backed against the toy box.
Neither child looked safer now.
The grandfather’s jaw tightened.
For all his anger at what he had walked into, he had just added another frightening act to the room.
He looked at his own hand.
Then at the grandmother.
“That should not have happened in front of them.”
She gave a bitter laugh.
“How noble.”
“I didn’t say it was noble.”
“You think saying that fixes it?”
“No.”
The answer seemed to unsettle her.
She had prepared herself to fight justification, not admission.
The bodyguard straightened slowly.
“I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”
The grandfather glanced toward him.
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
The man touched his jaw.
“You shouldn’t have punched me either.”
“No.”
Another silence.
The cousin stared between the adults as though waiting for somebody to announce which rules still existed.
Ava began crying softly again.
Her grandfather crouched and opened his arms.
She ran into them.
He lifted her and held her against his chest.
The grandmother watched.
“You are rewarding her.”
He turned his head.
“For what?”
“For this.”
She gestured around the room.
The overturned truck.
The fallen books.
The bodyguard.
Herself.
The crying children.
He stared at her for several seconds.
“A three-year-old did all this?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t think you know what you mean.”
The cousin wiped his face with his sleeve.
“I’m sorry, Ava.”
Ava peeked over her grandfather’s shoulder.
Her cousin looked miserable.
“I didn’t want to.”
The grandmother started to speak.
The grandfather raised a hand, not threateningly, but firmly enough to stop her.
“Let him talk.”
The cousin looked at the floor.
“Grandma said you had to learn not to be bad.”
Ava sniffed.
“I’m not bad.”
“No.”
His voice became very small.
“I know.”
The grandfather felt Ava’s fingers tighten around his collar.
He kissed the top of her head.
The grandmother stood from the sofa.
“This is my house too.”
“No one said it wasn’t.”
“You come in here after being gone all afternoon, see ten seconds of something, and decide you understand everything.”
“I understood enough.”
“You always do.”
There was history in the sentence.
Old resentment entered the room alongside the immediate anger.
The grandfather heard it and refused to follow it.
They could fight about decades later.
Ava was trembling now.
That mattered first.
He carried her toward the doorway.
The grandmother stepped forward.
“Where are you taking her?”
“Away from this room.”
“You cannot simply walk away every time someone challenges you.”
He stopped.
Ava’s face remained pressed against his neck.
He looked back at the grandmother.
“No one orders anyone to hit my granddaughter.”
The older cousin lowered his head.
The bodyguard stared at the books scattered near his shoes.
The grandmother said nothing.
The grandfather walked into the hall.
Ava clung to him so tightly that one of the buttons on his shirt pressed into his throat.
He did not loosen her arms.
At the end of the hall, he entered the kitchen and switched on the light.
A bowl of apples sat on the counter beside an unopened stack of mail.
The dishwasher hummed.
Normal household sounds seemed absurdly loud after the family room.
He sat with Ava at the kitchen table.
She refused to leave his lap.
“That hurt,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Grandma was mad.”
“I know.”
“Is she still mad?”
“Probably.”
Ava considered this with the solemnity only a small child could give such a question.
“Are you mad?”
He looked toward the dark hallway.
“Yes.”
“At me?”
His face changed.
“No.”
She searched his expression to make sure.
“Never because you got scared.”
Ava leaned against him again.
A minute later, the cousin appeared in the kitchen doorway.
He did not enter.
The grandfather looked at him.
The boy rubbed his palms against his shirt.
“Am I in trouble?”
“That depends.”
The child’s eyes dropped.
“Did you know hitting her was wrong?”
A long pause followed.
“Yes.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Grandma told me.”
The grandfather looked at Ava.
She was listening.
He looked back at the boy.
“That explains it.”
The cousin waited.
“It doesn’t make it right.”
His eyes filled again.
“I know.”
The grandfather nodded toward the chair across from him.
“Come sit down.”
The boy hesitated, then entered.
Behind him, somewhere in the family room, a fallen book was picked up and returned to the shelf.
May you like
No one spoke from the other room.
The cousin sat.
