Chương 9
"I brought your sweater."
Wren looked at him.
"The itchy one?"
"It's the only one I found."
She made a tiny face.
Desmond smiled despite himself.
For several seconds, they were just brother and sister arguing about a cardigan.
Julian stood beside the table and let them.
Mrs. Alvarez handed him a paper towel.
He realized only then that his eyes were wet.
"Hospital?" she asked quietly.
He nodded.
"Do you want me to drive?"
"No."
She looked toward his house.
"You sure?"
Julian followed her gaze.
Through the dining-room window, Corinne was still standing beside the marble table.
From this distance she looked ordinary.
That frightened him more than anything had yet.
"Yeah," he said.
"I'm sure."
The emergency department was quieter than Julian expected, which somehow made every small sound sharper.
A television mounted in one corner played a cooking show with the captions on.
Wren sat pressed against his side in a molded plastic chair, wrapped in the pink cardigan she had complained about but refused to take off.
Desmond occupied the chair on her other side and held both straps of his backpack even though they had left school hours ago.
Julian had packed nothing before leaving the house.
No chargers.
No snacks.
No change of clothes.
He had simply put the recorder, the locks, and his phone in a canvas grocery bag and walked out with his children.
At registration, the woman behind the glass asked Wren's date of birth.
Julian answered.
She asked what brought them in.
His mouth went dry.
"My daughter was struck in the face."
The woman looked at Wren.
Her expression did not change much, but the speed of her typing did.
"By whom?"
Julian hesitated only once.
"Her mother."
Wren's hand found his sleeve.
He covered her fingers with his.
The registrar asked several more questions in the same calm voice.
Each answer seemed to make the facts more permanent.
When she handed Julian a wristband for Wren, he stared at the printed name for too long.
It looked absurdly official.
Wren Vale.
Female.
Age six.
As though a label could somehow make the day manageable.
A nurse called them back less than ten minutes later.
She was broad-shouldered, middle-aged, and wore purple glasses with tiny scratches across one lens.
"I'm Nina."
Wren looked at Julian instead of answering.
Nina did not push.
She crouched beside the exam table.
"I'm going to check a few things."
Wren's fingers twisted in her cardigan.
"Do I get a shot?"
"No shots from me."
"Promise?"
Nina smiled.
"I promise I am not hiding one behind my back."
Wren looked at both of Nina's hands.
"They're empty."
"Very observant."
Desmond sat in the corner.
Julian noticed his shoulders loosen slightly.
Nina checked Wren's pupils, asked her to follow a penlight, then examined the swelling along her cheek.
When she asked what had happened, Julian started speaking.
Nina raised one hand.
"I need to hear from Wren first, if she can tell me."
Julian stopped.
Wren looked at him immediately.
He nodded.
"You can tell her."
Wren stared at her shoes.
"I ate."
Nina waited.
"I wasn't supposed to."
"What happened after you ate?"
Wren touched her cheek.
"Mom hit me."
Nina's voice stayed gentle.
"With what?"
"Her hand."
"Once?"
Wren glanced toward Julian.
He forced himself not to answer with his face.
"Once today."
Nina's eyes shifted briefly toward him.
"Has she hit you before?"
Wren became very still.
Julian felt his own muscles tense.
Desmond looked at the floor.
Wren whispered, "Not like that."
Nina did not react.
"What does that mean?"
Wren rubbed the seam of her cardigan between her fingers.
"Sometimes she grabs."
"Where?"
"My arm."
"Anywhere else?"
Wren shook her head.
Nina turned slightly toward Desmond.
"And you are?"
"Her brother."
"What's your name?"
"Desmond."
"Do you know anything about what Wren is talking about?"
He swallowed.
"Yes."
Julian saw Nina make a note.
The sound of her pen against paper was almost unbearably ordinary.
A physician came in later, examined Wren again, and asked about Tuesday.
This time Wren refused to speak.
She slid off the exam table and climbed into Julian's lap without asking.
He held her.
The physician did not insist.
Instead she asked Julian for the timeline.
He gave it carefully.
He said pantry.
He said padlock.
He said vomiting.
He said no medical evaluation afterward.
He said recorder.
The physician's face remained composed.
Only once did her expression change, when Julian placed the cut locks on the counter inside the grocery bag.
"You brought these?"
"I didn't know if I was supposed to."
"That's okay."
"I have photos of them attached."
"Okay."
"I have photos of her cheek too."
"Keep those."
Julian nodded.
His mind kept trying to turn the conversation into a checklist.
He recognized the habit.
At work, problems became manageable when converted into tasks.
Call this person.
Send that document.
Confirm this deadline.
But Wren was asleep against his chest now.
Her mouth had fallen slightly open.
There was dried strawberry juice on her cuff.
No checklist contained that.
The physician left and returned with another woman.
She introduced herself as Maya, a hospital social worker.
Wren woke when a cart rattled past the hallway.
Maya pulled a chair close but not too close.
She spoke first to Julian.
"We're going to make a report."
He nodded.
Corinne's warning came back to him.
People come into our house.
They ask questions.
His stomach tightened anyway.
"What happens now?"
"It depends on what child protective services determines."
"Are they coming here?"
"Possibly."
"Tonight?"
"Possibly."
Julian hated the word.
It meant nothing and everything.
Maya seemed accustomed to that reaction.
"For now, I need to understand whether the children have somewhere safe to stay."
"With me."
"Will their mother be there?"
"No."
"Where will she be?"
Julian opened his mouth and stopped.
He had not planned that far.
May you like
Home still meant Corinne.
Every alternative sounded temporary because he had never imagined needing one.
