Chương 8
A handwritten sign taped to the glass pointed toward temporary reception.
Inside, the familiar waiting room smelled faintly of disinfectant and crayons.
The fish tank was still there.
Wren stopped in front of it before they even checked in.
“The orange one is hiding.”
Desmond stood beside her.
“It’s probably asleep.”
“Fish don’t sleep.”
“They do.”
“You said they kiss.”
“They can do two things.”
Wren gave him a tired, offended look.
Julian checked in while they argued quietly.
The receptionist did not ask him to explain what had happened.
That somehow made him more nervous.
She verified Wren’s birth date, handed him a clipboard, and asked him to complete an injury form.
There was a box labeled CAUSE OF INJURY.
Julian stared at it.
He wrote struck by parent.
His handwriting looked unfamiliar.
A nurse called Wren’s name before he finished.
Wren reached for Desmond’s hand.
The nurse smiled.
“Brother can come too.”
Desmond followed.
Julian carried the unfinished clipboard.
They were taken to an exam room painted a color someone had probably chosen because it was supposed to be cheerful.
A faded decal of a giraffe covered one wall.
Wren climbed onto the exam table.
The paper beneath her crackled loudly.
She flinched.
The nurse noticed.
“I’m just going to check a few things, okay?”
Wren looked at Julian.
He nodded.
The nurse took her temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen reading.
Then she asked whether Wren had a headache.
“A little.”
Julian turned toward her.
“You didn’t tell me.”
Wren shrugged.
The nurse asked whether her vision was blurry.
“No.”
“Any tummy ache?”
“No.”
“Did you throw up?”
“No.”
“Did you fall down?”
Wren looked at Corinne’s empty place in the room as if expecting her mother to answer from there.
“No.”
The nurse crouched so they were closer to eye level.
“Can you tell me how your face got hurt?”
Wren looked at Julian.
He said, “You can tell her.”
Wren picked at the cuff of her cardigan.
“Mom got mad.”
The nurse waited.
“She hit me.”
“With what?”
Wren touched her cheek.
“Her hand.”
Desmond said, “Today.”
The nurse looked at him, then back at Wren.
“Has that happened before?”
Wren’s eyes shifted.
Julian felt the room tighten around the question.
She whispered, “Not on my face.”
The nurse did not react visibly.
Julian did.
His heart seemed to stumble.
“Where before?”
The nurse asked.
Wren rubbed one wrist.
“Sometimes here.”
Desmond said, “And her hand.”
Wren nodded.
Julian sat down.
He had not intended to.
His knees simply bent.
The nurse remained calm.
“Is it okay if Dr. Patel looks at your wrist too?”
Wren nodded.
“Thank you.”
The nurse stood.
She did not ask Julian anything else.
“I’ll get her.”
She left.
The door clicked shut.
Julian looked at Wren.
“Your wrist?”
She pulled her sleeve down farther.
“I forgot.”
He almost asked how anyone forgot something like that.
Then he looked at her face and understood that children could become very practiced at deciding what counted.
Desmond sat in the visitor chair beside him.
“I told you she grabbed her.”
“I know.”
Julian’s voice broke slightly.
Desmond heard it.
He looked away.
Julian said, “You did tell me.”
The boy’s shoulders tightened.
“I should have listened.”
Desmond picked at a loose thread on his beige trousers.
“You were busy.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“You’re always busy.”
Julian closed his eyes briefly.
There was no anger in Desmond’s voice.
Just information.
That made it harder to defend against.
Wren said, “Daddy?”
He looked up immediately.
“Yeah?”
“Am I in trouble because I told?”
“No.”
“Mom said family things stay in the family.”
Julian felt cold.
“When did she say that?”
Wren seemed to sense the question mattered.
She shrank back.
Julian forced himself to soften.
“You’re not in trouble.”
Wren looked at Desmond.
Desmond said, “She says it when people come over.”
“Who comes over?”
Julian asked.
Desmond shrugged.
“People.”
“What people?”
“The cleaner.”
Julian frowned.
“Marta?”
“Yeah.”
Wren said, “And Mrs. Green.”
Julian tried to place the name.
Desmond helped.
“The school counselor.”
His stomach dropped.
“Why was Mrs. Green at the house?”
Desmond looked surprised.
“You knew.”
“I don’t remember.”
“She came because Wren was crying at school.”
Julian stared at him.
“When?”
“Last week.”
He had been in Boston.
Corinne had not mentioned it.
“What was Wren crying about?”
Desmond looked at his sister.
Wren tucked both hands under her legs.
Julian waited.
She finally said, “Snack time.”
The exam room suddenly felt too small.
Julian said, “What happened at snack time?”
Wren’s feet swung once above the floor.
“I took two.”
“Two what?”
“Graham crackers.”
Desmond answered when she stopped.
“The teacher said she could.”
Wren nodded.
“But I knew I wasn’t supposed to.”
Julian leaned forward.
“Why weren’t you supposed to?”
“Mom said one.”
“At school?”
Wren nodded.
“How would Mom know?”
“She asks me.”
The door opened before Julian could say anything else.
Dr. Patel entered carrying a tablet.
She was a compact woman in her fifties with silver beginning at her temples and an expression Julian had always associated with brisk reassurance.
Today she did not smile.
“Hi, Wren.”
Wren whispered hello.
Dr. Patel looked at Julian.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Julian.”
She nodded.
“Julian.”
Her eyes moved to Desmond.
“And I remember you.”
Desmond sat straighter.
“Hi.”
Dr. Patel set the tablet on the counter.
“I’m going to examine Wren first.”
Julian nodded.
She looked directly at Wren.
“I’ll explain everything before I touch you.”
Wren’s shoulders loosened a fraction.
Dr. Patel examined her pupils, her cheek, the skin around the eye, her jaw, and then her wrist.
When she rolled Wren’s sleeve up, Julian saw faint yellowing marks he had never noticed.
Old enough to be fading.
Distinct enough to exist.
He looked away.
Dr. Patel did not.
She asked Wren whether they hurt.
“Not now.”
“How did these happen?”
Wren glanced at Julian.
He kept his face still.
“Mom grabbed me.”
“Why?”
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“I was running.”
Desmond said, “Not outside.”
