Chapter 3 - The Photos He Didn't Want to Take
Mom didn't yank me. She held my wrist, her fingers tight right over the mark on my forearm, and walked me fast down the hall to my room. The kitchen light fell away behind us and the Christmas tree lights blurred past in the living room doorway. I had to do these little quick steps to keep up in my red dress, and I hugged my bunny against my chest so hard I could feel its pink nose press into my chin.
Daniel didn't follow. I heard his shoes stay on the kitchen tile. I looked back once and he was still kneeling where we'd been, his hand empty in the air where my arm had been.
Mom closed my bedroom door. She didn't slam it. She clicked it shut and stood with her back against it for a second, breathing through her nose. My room was too warm. The heater was running and my dress felt sticky against my legs.
"Okay, honey," she said. Her voice was low and bright at the same time, like she was trying to be calm for both of us. "Let's get you out of this dress. You don't want to get it dirty."
I didn't move. I kept holding the bunny. She knelt down and started to pull the dress hem, just a little, the way I'd lifted it for Daniel, and then she stopped and let go.
"You fell at school, remember?" she said. She smoothed my hair back. She wouldn't look at my arm. Her eyes stayed on my face, on my bunny, on the carpet, everywhere but the purple on my left forearm and the ones on my shin. "On the playground by the swings. You told Ms. Karen you tripped. That's what happened. You just got confused in the kitchen because you were tired."
I shook my head without meaning to. "It wasn't at school," I whispered.
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I know it feels real. Sometimes when we get upset we mix things up. Daddy would never play a game that hurts. Daddy loves you. If you tell that story, people will get very upset and Daddy could get in big trouble for no reason. Do you want that?"
I didn't answer. My throat felt tight. She stood and went to my dresser and pulled out my blue pajamas with the little stars and laid them on the bed.
"Put these on," she said. "I'll hang your pretty dress up. And leave bunny here for a minute, you're squeezing him too tight."
I didn't want to let go, so when she turned to open my closet I slid bunny under my pillow, just his ears sticking out. I sat on the edge of the bed in my red dress and stared at my shin where the marks showed. Mom came back and when she saw my legs she picked up the dress from the bed and held it up high, like she was checking it, so she didn't have to look down.
"Change, Sophia," she said softly. "For Mommy."
In the kitchen, Daniel did what I wouldn't know about until a lot later, when he had to explain it to a lady with a notebook. He stayed kneeling for a minute and then stood and took his phone out of his pocket. He didn't call right away. He took pictures first. Not of me. Of the kitchen where we'd been standing — the white marble island, the recessed lights, the spot on the floor where I lifted my dress. He took one of the clock on the microwave that said 5:42. He told me later his hands were shaking so bad he had to take it twice to get it clear.
Then he texted my dad. Just a short text. I saw it months later in a printed page. It said: "Need you to stay at the house tonight. Don't come home for dinner. I'll explain later but don't contact Sophia. - Daniel"
He didn't text Mom. He stood by the sink where the Christmas tree lights were still reflecting in the window and called the nurse line for my pediatrician. He'd saved it in his contacts when I was a baby. I could hear his voice faintly through my bedroom door, low and trying to stay even.
"Hi, this is Daniel Mercer, I'm calling about my niece... No, she's five... I just saw bruising on her forearm and lower leg... No, the mother said it was a fall at school but the child said something else just now... What am I required to do?"
He listened for a long time. The nurse must have been talking slow, telling him what counted as reasonable suspicion and that he shouldn't try to investigate or confront. He kept saying "Okay" and "Yes" and "I understand." At one point he said, "I took photos of where we were, not of the injuries. Should I?" And then he was quiet again.
In my room, Mom zipped my red dress into the garment bag and hung it way in the back of the closet. She clapped her hands together lightly like we were done.
"See? All better," she said. "Now you remember. You fell at the swings. That's our story, okay? Our true story."
May you like
I nodded because she was waiting for it. My bunny's ear was still poking out from under the pillow and I kept my hand on it. She finally let her eyes flick to my forearm, just for a second, and then she looked away fast like it hurt her to see it.
When she opened the door to go back out, Daniel was still on the phone in the kitchen, his back to the hall. Mom looked at him and then down at me, and I didn't know which truth I was supposed to keep — the one that hurt or the one that made her stay.
