Chương 5
A promise.
A boundary.
A choice.
From outside came the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.
The cousin stood so fast his chair scraped across the floor.
His grandmother closed her eyes for half a second.
The grandfather held Ava tighter.
Whatever came through the front door next would not stay inside this kitchen.
Rachel came through the front door without taking off her coat.
“Where is he?”
Her son hurried from the kitchen before anyone answered.
She caught him by both shoulders and looked him over so quickly that he had to turn his head when her fingers brushed his cheek.
“I’m okay.”
“You sounded like you weren’t.”
“I’m okay now.”
Rachel looked past him.
Her father stood in the kitchen holding Ava.
Her mother remained beside the sink.
The distance between them told Rachel almost as much as their faces did.
“What happened?”
Her son looked at the floor.
The grandfather opened his mouth.
The boy spoke first.
“Grandma made me hit Ava.”
Rachel stopped moving.
The words seemed too large for the room.
“What?”
The grandmother straightened.
“That is not an accurate description.”
The boy looked at her.
“You told me to.”
“You were correcting bad behavior.”
Rachel’s face changed.
She turned toward Ava.
The little girl pressed closer to her grandfather.
“Ava.”
Rachel crossed the kitchen.
“Sweetheart, come to me.”
Ava reached for her immediately.
Her grandfather transferred her carefully.
Rachel held her with one arm and touched her hair, her shoulders, then her wrist.
A faint red impression remained where fingers had held her.
Rachel saw it.
Her breath caught.
“Who did this?”
The grandmother answered before the child could.
“I held her because she was refusing to stand still.”
Rachel looked at her mother.
“You held her while he hit her?”
“It was one swat over pajamas.”
Rachel stared.
The phrase landed with the ugliness of something rehearsed.
“One swat.”
“Yes.”
“You told my son to hit my daughter.”
The grandmother’s composure began to crack.
“Your daughter was behaving badly.”
Rachel took one step toward her.
Her father moved between them.
“Don’t.”
Rachel looked at him.
“Move.”
“No.”
“You don’t get to tell me to calm down.”
“I’m not telling you to calm down.”
“Then move.”
“I already hit her.”
Rachel froze.
The grandmother looked away.
Her son looked toward the floor.
Rachel’s eyes returned to her father.
“You what?”
“I slapped her.”
Ava whimpered at the change in her mother’s breathing.
Rachel shifted the child against her chest.
“Why?”
“I was angry.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only true one.”
Rachel looked between her parents.
“And him?”
She pointed toward the hallway.
“The security guy?”
“He grabbed me.”
Her father’s mouth tightened.
“I punched him.”
Rachel laughed once in disbelief.
“You punched him.”
“Yes.”
“So everybody just started hitting everybody.”
No one answered.
Her son sat down slowly at the kitchen table.
Rachel stared at her father with a kind of exhausted fury.
“You were supposed to protect her.”
“I did.”
“No.”
The word came sharply.
“You got her away, and then you turned the room into another fight.”
Her father absorbed it without argument.
Rachel looked at Ava.
The child had stopped crying, but her hands remained clenched in the front of Rachel’s coat.
“That is not protection.”
The grandfather nodded.
“You’re right.”
His wife gave a quiet, bitter sound.
Rachel turned toward her.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The grandmother folded her arms.
“You came in here already convinced.”
“My son called me crying.”
“He is emotional.”
“He is nine.”
“Exactly.”
Rachel stared at her.
The boy looked up.
“Mom.”
Rachel immediately turned.
“Yeah?”
“I want to go.”
She nodded.
“We’re going.”
Ava lifted her head.
“I go too.”
Rachel kissed her temple.
“Yes.”
The grandmother moved away from the sink.
“Ava is supposed to stay here until Mark picks her up.”
Rachel gave her a look of disbelief.
“No.”
“You cannot simply change arrangements whenever you’re upset.”
“I absolutely can.”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
Her mother’s mouth closed.
Rachel looked at her father.
“Where are Ava’s shoes?”
“Family room.”
Her son jumped up.
“I’ll get them.”
Rachel stopped him with one hand.
“No.”
He looked confused.
“I can.”
“I know you can.”
She glanced toward the hallway.
“I just don’t want you going back in there yet.”
The boy understood.
Her father went instead.
The family room looked almost ordinary again.
The fallen books had been put back.
The framed photograph remained facedown on the carpet.
Ava’s slippers were beside the sofa where one had come off.
He picked them up.
For a moment he stood there looking at the cream cushions.
His wife had sat in that same place last Christmas, laughing while Ava tried to put a red bow on her head.
The memory arrived without invitation.
He hated it because it complicated the room.
People preferred clean truths after ugly moments.
He had learned that much.
Someone was cruel, so everything before became counterfeit.
Someone was kind, so cruelty must have been an exception.
Real life rarely helped that way.
He carried the slippers back.
Rachel was putting Ava’s coat on over her pajamas.
The little girl protested.
“It’s scratchy.”
“It’s cold outside.”
“It’s not cold.”
“It is to me.”
“I’m not you.”
Rachel closed her eyes briefly.
Despite everything, her son almost smiled.
Her father did too.
The tiny argument lasted five seconds and made the kitchen feel human again.
Rachel pushed Ava’s arms through the sleeves.
“Fine.”
She left the coat unzipped.
Her mother watched in silence.
Rachel’s son picked up his backpack from beside the pantry.
He had brought it earlier for homework that never got done.
The grandmother noticed.
“You have a math worksheet due Monday.”
The boy stopped.
Rachel stared at her mother.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m saying he has responsibilities.”
“He can do math somewhere else.”
“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.”
Her voice had become brittle.
May you like
Rachel’s son put on his backpack.
His grandmother looked at him.
