Chương 4
“Were you worried about that?”
“I was worried about everything.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have right now.”
Andrew reached for the dish towel, folded it once, then unfolded it.
“She left Hannah in a crowd.”
“I know.”
“She came back for her purse.”
“I know.”
“She told us Hannah was with her.”
“I know.”
“Then what is there to think about?”
Jenna’s tiredness sharpened. “There is a child upstairs who loves your mother. There are ten years of your family treating every boundary like an attack. There is my own family three states away and a biological father who sends birthday cards late, if he sends them. There is Hannah asking me whether everybody is mad at her. That is what there is to think about.”
Andrew stared at her.
Jenna hated the relief she felt after saying it. She hated that anger could make a person feel briefly clean.
“So we protect my mother because Hannah has already lost people?” he asked.
“No. We make decisions carefully because she has.”
He looked toward the stairs. “I made my decision.”
“You said we’re done in front of half the town.”
“I meant it.”
“I know you meant it. That doesn’t mean we don’t have to decide what done looks like tomorrow.”
Andrew pushed away from the counter.
“Tomorrow it looks like she doesn’t come near Hannah.”
“That part is easy.”
“It should all be easy.”
“It isn’t.”
His face tightened. “You think I don’t know that?”
The fireworks outside grew louder. Red light flashed briefly against the kitchen ceiling, followed by blue.
Jenna lowered her voice. “I think you have spent years telling me your mother didn’t mean things the way they sounded.”
Andrew looked at the folded towel in his hands.
“She bought Hannah those shoes,” Jenna continued. “She insisted all the kids match. She told Hannah she was being sensitive when the seams hurt. She invited us. She said she wanted Hannah there. I believed her because you kept asking me to.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No. It isn’t.”
He dropped the towel on the counter.
For a second Jenna expected him to defend Brenda. The habit was so old that his silence felt like suspense.
Instead he said, “I should have stopped it before today.”
The anger left Jenna too quickly, leaving something heavier behind.
Andrew turned toward the dark window over the sink. In the reflection, the kitchen looked like another family’s room: cereal boxes on top of the refrigerator, a child’s drawing held by magnets, a dish left soaking.
“When Hannah was five,” he said, “Mom gave Carter and Brooklyn those big Christmas stockings with their names stitched on them. She gave Hannah a gift bag.”
“I remember.”
“I told myself she ordered the stockings before she knew you two were coming.”
“She had known for four months.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t then?”
“I knew enough.”
The first full fireworks display began over the park. The sound rolled through the neighborhood. Upstairs, a floorboard creaked. Jenna and Andrew both looked toward the ceiling.
“I kept thinking if I didn’t accuse her,” Andrew said, “she’d eventually act better without having to admit she’d acted badly.”
“That was convenient.”
“Yes.”
He said it without defense.
Jenna sat at the table. Her phone vibrated again.
A private message from Dennis appeared.
Is Hannah okay?
Jenna showed Andrew.
He let out one breath through his nose. “Now he asks.”
“What should I say?”
“The truth.”
Jenna typed: Her foot was treated. She was dehydrated and frightened. We filed a police report.
Three dots appeared, vanished, then appeared again.
Dennis replied: I’m glad she’s okay.
Andrew took the phone and set it facedown on the table.
“That’s not an answer,” he said.
“No.”
They sat in silence while fireworks shook the windows and neighbors cheered from a driveway. Jenna finally opened the sparkling water. It had gone flat.
The next morning, Hannah woke before six and came into their room without knocking. She stood beside Jenna’s side of the bed, holding the bandaged foot off the floor.
“I had a dream I couldn’t find the chairs.”
Jenna lifted the covers. Hannah climbed in between them, careful not to touch Andrew at first. He woke when she shifted.
“What happened to your foot?” he murmured, still half asleep.
Hannah giggled once. “Dad.”
Then she remembered, and the giggle disappeared.
Andrew opened his eyes fully. “Bad dream?”
She nodded.
He sat up, checked the bandage, and carried her downstairs though she insisted she could hop. While he made toast, Jenna changed the dressing. The wound looked cleaner but more painful in daylight.
Hannah watched the toaster.
“Will the police take Grandma to jail?”
“No,” Jenna said.
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t think anyone is taking her to jail.”
“Then why did we tell them?”
Jenna paused with the medical tape between her fingers.
“So there is a record of what happened.”
“Like school attendance?”
“A little.”
Hannah frowned. “What does the record do?”
“It tells the truth even when people disagree later.”
Andrew set a plate on the table. One piece of toast was darker than the other. He always burned the second piece because he became impatient and turned the dial too high.
Hannah pointed to the darker one. “That’s yours.”
“I know the rules.”
She smiled faintly.
The police follow-up call came at nine twenty. Officer Chen asked Jenna to confirm the timeline and whether Hannah was available to answer a few questions later with a child interview specialist. Jenna’s stomach tightened at the phrase. Officer Chen explained that because Hannah had been separated in a crowded public event for an uncertain amount of time, the department wanted a clear account. It did not mean criminal charges were expected. It meant they were documenting a safety incident involving a minor.
Jenna agreed to bring Hannah to the station on Monday.
May you like
After the call, Andrew walked into the backyard with his coffee. Jenna followed.
He stood near the fence, where a neighbor’s sprinkler sent a fan of water across yellowing grass.
