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"The second time Cassandra Vale raised her hand toward my daughter, I caught her wrist before she could finish the swing. fileciteturn0file0
For one strange second, nobody in the Albright living room moved.
Hazel stood beside me with blood shining on her lower lip, one hand cupped beneath her chin as if she were afraid something else might fall out.
Two tiny teeth rested on the white marble between Cassandra's silver heels.
Six years of my marriage seemed to narrow into those two teeth.
Cassandra tried to pull away.
"Let go of me."
I tightened my fingers.
Her face changed when she discovered I wasn't going to obey.
"Mommy," Hazel whispered.
That broke whatever spell had settled over the room.
I released Cassandra and dropped to my knees.
Hazel's party dress had little yellow flowers embroidered along the collar, and there was blood on three of them.
I had spent twenty minutes that morning convincing her that the flowers looked like buttercups rather than scrambled eggs.
She had finally agreed because five-year-olds could be generous about things that mattered very little.
Now her mouth trembled.
I took the linen napkin from the cocktail table and pressed it gently beneath her lip.
"Open for me, sweetheart."
She shook her head.
"Just a little."
When she did, I saw the empty spaces where her front baby teeth had been loosened months before but hadn't been ready to come out.
The gum was bleeding heavily enough to frighten her, though not enough to explain the terror in her eyes.
That had come from Cassandra.
"She spilled champagne on me," Cassandra said behind us.
Her voice had changed from rage to explanation.
People like Cassandra became reasonable only after they noticed witnesses.
I looked over my shoulder.
Three catering employees stood near the dining-room doors.
A bartender had stopped polishing a glass.
Spencer's assistant, Evan, was staring very hard at his phone.
Spencer himself remained beside the fireplace, fastening the cuff of his tuxedo shirt.
"Spencer."
He glanced up.
"Call the dentist if you're worried."
I waited.
He frowned as though I had failed to understand something obvious.
"She's losing those teeth anyway, Gwen."
Hazel heard him.
Her fingers closed around my sleeve.
That hurt more than anything Cassandra had said.
I picked up the teeth and wrapped them in the clean corner of the napkin.
Cassandra touched the damp stain on her champagne-colored gown.
"Do you know what this cost?"
"No."
"Eight thousand dollars."
Hazel made a small choking sound.
She had started crying without noise.
I stood and lifted her against me.
She was getting too big to carry comfortably, but fear made children lighter somehow, or perhaps mothers simply stopped noticing the weight.
Cassandra stepped closer.
"She grabbed the glass right out of my hand."
"She was trying to take her stuffed rabbit from the table," I said.
"Same difference."
"No, it isn't."
Spencer sighed.
"Can we not do this right now?"
I looked at the man I had married.
His tuxedo jacket lay across a chair, his cufflinks were platinum, and a makeup artist had left a faint powder mark near his hairline after preparing him for the photographs at that night's Grand Pinnacle Gala.
He looked expensive and mildly inconvenienced.
Hazel buried her face against my neck.
"Daddy saw."
Spencer's expression flickered.
Not guilt.
Annoyance.
"Hazel, don't start."
She went rigid in my arms.
Something inside me became very quiet.
I had mistaken silence for safety for years.
Silence kept Spencer from shouting.
Silence kept Patricia from threatening to have me removed from the house.
Silence kept accountants from asking why my household allowance required Spencer's approval while Cassandra could charge jewelry to an Albright corporate card.
Silence kept dinners civilized and photographs pretty.
I had told myself that Hazel needed stability.
What she had actually learned was that adults could hurt her and her mother would negotiate afterward.
I kissed the side of her head.
"No one is touching you again."
Cassandra laughed once.
"Oh, please."
The front doors opened before I answered.
Patricia Albright entered talking to someone behind her about valet congestion at the country club.
She wore cream silk, diamonds, and the expression of a woman perpetually arriving somewhere she believed had been mishandled in her absence.
Then she noticed Hazel.
"What happened?"
For half a heartbeat, hope rose in me.
Patricia's eyes dropped to the marble.
She saw the blood.
Her mouth tightened.
"Good God, Gwen, get her off the furniture."
The hope disappeared so completely that I almost smiled.
"She isn't on the furniture."
"You know what I mean."
"No, Patricia, I don't."
That got everyone's attention.
Patricia removed one glove finger by finger.
"Excuse me?"
"Cassandra hit Hazel."
Cassandra folded her arms.
"She ruined my gown."
Patricia looked at the stain, then at Hazel.
"Children need boundaries."
I stared at her.
She had said almost the same thing three years earlier when Hazel, then two, had cried during Patricia's Christmas luncheon because she was feverish.
I had taken her upstairs and sat on the bathroom floor with her until the medicine worked.
Spencer had stayed downstairs for dessert.
Patricia stepped toward me.
"Put the child down and clean this up before the guests arrive."
"We're leaving."
Spencer finally moved away from the fireplace.
"No, you're not."
"I wasn't asking."
His eyebrows lifted.
That was all.
Six years had trained him to believe he never needed more than that.
"Gwen."
I turned toward the hallway.
He caught my upper arm.
Hazel whimpered.
I looked down at his hand.
"Take it off me."
"Stop embarrassing yourself."
"Take your hand off me."
Patricia made an irritated noise.
"Both of you are behaving like trash."
Spencer released me with a small shove.
I stumbled half a step and recovered against the console table.
Hazel began crying properly then.
I heard Cassandra mutter, "Jesus."
My gaze stayed on Spencer.
May you like
His fist had closed at his side.
There had been other moments when I had wondered how far he might go.
