Chương 3
“I’m practically her stepfather,” he said.
“You are not her legal guardian,” Barnes replied.
Margaret objected. Richard made another phone call. Grant looked at Vanessa as though expecting her to correct the officer.
Vanessa stood beside the ambulance doors, one hand gripping the lace at her hip. “Stay here,” she said.
Grant’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“Answer their questions.”
“Vanessa.”
She climbed into the ambulance without looking back.
Inside, Lily refused the stretcher and stayed against Ethan. Vanessa sat on the opposite bench. The vehicle was narrower than it looked from the outside, and every movement forced them to acknowledge one another. Medical bags hung from brackets. A monitor gave off a faint electrical hum.
For several blocks, no one spoke.
Lily watched Vanessa through strands of blonde hair. Vanessa tried to smile. Her face could not hold it.
“Sweetheart,” she said, “Mommy’s here.”
Lily turned toward Ethan.
Vanessa looked down at her hands.
The paramedic asked whether Lily had any allergies. Vanessa answered before Ethan did. Penicillin. A severe rash at age three. She gave Lily’s birth date, pediatrician, and insurance information without hesitation.
The ordinary competence of it made Ethan angrier than if she had known nothing.
“You knew she was missing,” he said.
Vanessa looked up. “I knew she had wandered away.”
“She was locked in a room.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Someone at your party knew enough to give her a phone.”
“This is not the time.”
“You said that in the garden.”
The paramedic busied herself with a cabinet.
Vanessa lowered her voice. “I was trying not to frighten her.”
“She was already frightened.”
“I can see that.”
“Can you?”
Lily’s shoulders drew upward.
Ethan stopped.
His anger had entered the ambulance before he realized he had invited it. Lily did not need to be protected from Grant only to spend the ride listening to her parents tear at each other.
He pressed his lips to her hair. “I’m sorry, Bug.”
She touched the button on his shirt with one finger.
Vanessa looked toward the small rear window. Streetlights passed across her face, making her appear and disappear.
At the hospital, a nurse led them into a private examination room with pale green walls and a mural of sea turtles. Lily stared at the largest turtle for a long time. One of its eyes had been painted slightly higher than the other.
A doctor examined her cheek, eye, ribs, shoulders, and wrist. She spoke to Lily directly and asked permission before touching her. Ethan stayed beside the bed. Vanessa stood near the sink until the doctor asked whether she wanted a chair.
“No, thank you.”
The ribbon had to be cut because the swelling beneath it was increasing. When the scissors appeared, Lily began to cry again.
“It’s my bracelet,” she said.
“I know,” Ethan told her.
“You tied it.”
“I can tie another one.”
“I want this one.”
The doctor suggested cutting only the knot and preserving the ribbon. Lily considered this with solemn attention. Finally she nodded.
The severed bracelet was placed in a clear evidence bag. The red fibers had left faint impressions across Lily’s skin. At one torn end, the ribbon was smeared with a gray-black streak.
The doctor photographed the injuries with Vanessa’s consent and Ethan’s. Lily endured the first few pictures and then turned her face into the pillow.
“Almost done,” the doctor said.
“People keep saying that,” Lily murmured.
The doctor paused.
Ethan looked at Vanessa. She had heard it too.
A hospital social worker arrived after midnight. Her name was Camille, and she carried a yellow legal pad with only three lines written on it. She explained that Lily would not be asked to tell the full story repeatedly. A specialized interview would be arranged in a child-focused setting. For now, they needed to know only whether Lily felt safe going home with either parent.
“With me,” Ethan said.
Camille’s gaze stayed on Lily. “Lily gets to answer.”
Lily’s fingers closed around Ethan’s wristwatch.
“With Daddy.”
Vanessa turned toward the sink again.
Camille asked whether Lily felt safe with her mother.
Lily did not respond.
The silence lengthened until Vanessa said, “She’s exhausted.”
Camille nodded. “She is.”
“Then don’t make her choose.”
“I’m not asking her to choose between parents. I’m asking where she feels safe tonight.”
Vanessa’s voice sharpened. “And I’m telling you she has had enough.”
Lily whispered, “Daddy’s.”
Vanessa pressed her thumb and forefinger against her eyes.
Ethan experienced no satisfaction. He had imagined winning arguments with Vanessa during the worst months of their divorce. In those private rehearsals, she always ran out of defenses, and he always stood calm and vindicated. Reality did not resemble victory. Reality was his daughter on a hospital bed, choosing one parent while the other tried not to cry near a sink.
Camille asked Vanessa if Grant lived in her home.
“He has a condo downtown. He stays with me sometimes.”
“Does Lily spend nights in the home when he is present?”
“Yes.”
“Has she ever expressed fear of him before?”
“No.”
Lily moved beneath the blanket.
Camille noticed. “Lily, you do not have to answer anything right now.”
Vanessa looked at her daughter. “She likes Grant.”
Ethan could not stop himself. “Does she?”
Vanessa’s head snapped toward him. “Do not do this.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’ve hated him from the beginning.”
“I thought he was smug.”
“You told me he was dangerous.”
“I said he liked making people uncomfortable and then pretending they were unstable.”
“That is not the same as knowing he would hurt a child.”
“No. It isn’t.”
The admission took some heat out of the room.
Vanessa lowered herself into the chair.
Camille wrote something on the pad.
May you like
At two in the morning, a police investigator arrived. Detective Nora Hale wore plain clothes and carried no visible notebook. She spoke first with Ethan and Vanessa in the hallway while a nurse sat with Lily.
Hale explained that they would schedule a forensic interview as soon as possible. She asked them not to question Lily, rehearse details, suggest names, or discuss possible consequences in front of her.
