Chương 3
Ava watched him from the safety of her grandfather’s arms.
For a while, all three of them listened to the dishwasher and the faint sounds of adults dealing badly with what adults had done.
Then Ava reached one small hand across the table.
Her cousin stared at it.
He took it carefully.
For several seconds, neither child moved.
The cousin’s fingers barely closed around Ava’s hand, as if he was afraid even that small pressure might hurt her.
Ava studied him with swollen eyes.
Then she asked, “Why did you do it hard?”
The boy’s face tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” her grandfather said.
The cousin looked at him.
There was no anger in the older man’s voice now, which somehow made the question harder to escape.
The boy swallowed.
“Grandma said if I didn’t do it right, she’d make me do it again.”
Ava’s grandfather went still.
The dishwasher clicked into another cycle behind them.
Ava withdrew her hand.
The cousin stared at the empty place where it had been.
“She said you were too soft with Ava,” he continued.
“She said everybody was.”
“Everybody who?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not good enough.”
The boy flinched.
The grandfather immediately regretted the sharpness.
He leaned back in the chair.
“Sorry.”
The cousin rubbed his thumb over a scratch in the tabletop.
“She said you, Aunt Rachel, Uncle Mark.”
Ava’s grandfather glanced toward the hallway.
Rachel was Ava’s mother.
Mark was her father.
Neither of them was supposed to be home until after dinner.
“What else did she say?”
The boy looked nervous again.
“That Ava gets away with things because she’s little.”
“That’s all?”
A hesitation.
“No.”
The grandfather waited.
The boy’s eyes filled.
“She said if I always let people cry and get what they want, I’d grow up weak.”
Ava frowned.
“You’re not weak.”
The cousin gave a miserable half laugh.
“Thanks.”
Ava leaned against her grandfather’s chest.
The simple exchange hurt more than the shouting had.
He looked toward the doorway again.
His wife had always believed weakness was contagious.
She treated comfort as if it spoiled people.
For years he had told himself that was only her way of being tough.
He had used softer words because softer words made marriage easier.
Strict.
Old-fashioned.
Blunt.
Demanding.
He had spent decades translating harm into personality.
That realization did not arrive dramatically.
It settled in him like an unpaid bill finally opened.
The cousin spoke again.
“She said Ava needed to stop acting like a baby.”
Ava lifted her head.
“I am a baby.”
The boy shook his head quickly.
“No, I mean, not a baby baby.”
“She’s three,” the grandfather said.
“I know.”
“She is allowed to act three.”
“I know.”
Ava looked from one face to the other.
“What am I supposed to act?”
Her grandfather almost laughed.
The sound caught in his throat before it became one.
“Like Ava.”
She accepted that answer.
The cousin did too.
Footsteps approached from the hallway.
The grandmother appeared in the kitchen doorway.
The side of her face had reddened where he struck her.
The sight of it turned his stomach.
She saw him looking.
“Happy with yourself?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She crossed to the sink and poured a glass of water.
Her hands were steady.
That irritated him until he realized the irritation was childish.
He wanted visible proof that the moment had affected her.
He wanted shaking hands or tears or something he could hate without complication.
Instead she drank half the glass and set it down carefully.
The cousin rose from his chair.
“Sit,” she said.
He sat.
The command came automatically.
The grandfather noticed.
So did the boy.
The grandmother turned toward them.
“What exactly are we doing now?”
“Talking.”
“You mean putting me on trial.”
“No.”
“It feels remarkably similar.”
Ava tucked her face into her grandfather’s shirt.
The grandmother saw it.
Something flickered in her expression.
Not remorse.
At least not yet.
Annoyance mixed with something less certain.
“You’ve frightened her enough,” the grandfather said.
Her mouth tightened.
“You struck me.”
“Yes.”
“So perhaps you should stop pretending you’re the peaceful one in the room.”
“I’m not pretending.”
He shifted Ava higher against him.
“I lost my temper.”
“That’s a charming way to describe it.”
“I hit you.”
The cousin looked at him.
Ava went very still.
He continued before he could soften it.
“It was wrong.”
His wife stared at him.
The words seemed to offend her more than denial would have.
He looked at the children.
“What I did was wrong.”
The cousin’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
The grandmother crossed her arms.
“You’re apologizing to them?”
“I’m telling them the truth.”
“What an impressive performance.”
He looked at her.
“And what you did was wrong.”
“There it is.”
“You held a three-year-old while telling a nine-year-old to hit her.”
“She had been warned.”
“Stop saying that like it changes her age.”
“She was not injured.”
Ava pulled one sleeve over her hand and pressed it against her mouth.
The grandfather noticed the movement.
“So that’s your standard?”
“My standard is that children need boundaries.”
“Boundaries don’t require another child’s hand.”
The grandmother looked at the cousin.
“I did not force you.”
The boy stared at her.
The grandfather felt Ava move against him.
He kept his voice low.
“You told him you’d make him repeat it if he didn’t do it right.”
The grandmother’s face changed.
She looked at the cousin again.
“You told him that?”
“No.”
Her answer came too quickly.
The cousin’s lips parted.
She turned back to the grandfather.
“I told him consequences only matter if they are taken seriously.”
“That’s not what he heard.”
“That is not my responsibility.”
The grandfather stared at her.
The room seemed smaller.
The boy pushed his chair back.
“I want to go home.”
His grandmother looked at him.
“Your mother is at work.”
“I can call her.”
“You will not upset her over this.”
May you like
He reached for his pocket.
His grandmother stepped toward him.
