Chapter 3
The sirens hit the county road before I could hear them properly. First the red light swept across the marble, then across the baby's face, then across the chandelier. I didn't move from the base of the stairs. The envelope was against my chest, under my arm, pressed between me and the light blue blanket. My husband stood with his back to the front doors, his hands still half-raised like someone had told him to freeze and he'd obeyed a second too late.
I was on the floor and I hadn't realized I'd slid down further until the deputy came through the front door and had to look down at me.
"Ma'am, we need you to stay right there," he said. He wasn't shouting. A second deputy came in behind him, then two paramedics with a stretcher bag. The cold air from outside cut straight across my bare ankles.
My husband tried to step toward me. The first deputy put a hand out.
"Sir, I need you in the kitchen. Separate statements. You understand me?"
"He didn't —" I started, and my voice cracked. The baby made a small sound against my collarbone and I tightened my hold.
"Ma'am, we'll get to you in just a minute," the deputy said, not unkindly. "Is that blood on your forehead yours?"
I nodded. I couldn't tell if it was.
They guided my husband away. He looked back once over his shoulder. His white shirt was pulled loose at the collar where he'd grabbed at someone else. He didn't say anything. His jaw was tight and his hands were shaking. The deputy kept a hand lightly on his elbow until they turned into the kitchen doorway and I couldn't see them anymore.
A paramedic knelt in front of me, a woman in her forties with her hair pulled back.
"Can I check him real quick, honey? Just while you're holding him. I won't take him from you."
I didn't want to let go. She must have seen that because she didn't reach right away. She kept her hands where I could see them.
"He's been crying," I said. "He hasn't stopped."
"That's okay. Crying is good. Let's just make sure he's breathing okay and his color's good."
She leaned in, listened, counted with her fingers on his back while he stayed wrapped against me. Her partner had moved to the older woman by the staircase. I heard the velcro rip, the oxygen bag, a low calm voice saying "ma'am, can you hear me."
The deputy who'd stayed with me crouched down. He had a body camera blinking red and a notepad already out.
"I'm Deputy Ellis," he said. "Can you tell me what happened here?"
The papers were still scattered in a fan across the marble, a few half under the manila envelope that had split at the corner. One sheet had a photo paper-clipped to it, face down. I had pulled the envelope to me without thinking and now my hand was cramped around it.
Ellis noticed. He didn't grab.
"Ma'am, I need to photograph those and log them as evidence. Can you set the envelope down for me?"
I stared at the papers. My son's blanket was warm against my neck and my hands were cold.
"I haven't read them," I said. "I'm not handing them over without reading them."
He tilted his head. "I understand, but if these are part of what happened tonight —"
"They're about my baby," I said. My voice was lower than I expected. "I was holding him when she tried to take the papers. I'm his mother. I'm not giving someone a stack of papers about my son without knowing what they say."
The paramedic glanced up. Ellis hesitated, then pulled his phone from his chest pocket.
"Okay. Here's what we can do. I photograph everything right here, in your hands, exactly how you have it. We log the originals into evidence. My office makes you copies tonight, or you take photos of every page right now before I bag them. You keep eyes on it the whole time. Fair?"
I swallowed. The other paramedics were lifting. I saw the older woman's hand slip off the stretcher rail, then be gently put back. She was breathing. The oxygen mask fogged.
"She's alive," the paramedic said quietly, like she knew I needed to hear it.
"Is she—" I started, but I didn't finish.
Ellis took the photos. Click after click, flash bouncing off the marble, catching the pearls still in the older woman's ears, the brown loafers by the kitchen doorway, my beige sleeve stained where I'd wiped my forehead. He bagged the envelope and the loose sheets in a clear plastic envelope but he let me hold my phone over each one before he sealed it. My hands shook so badly he had to steady the bag for me.
"Megan, right?" the paramedic said, reading from the dispatch note. "Megan, his temp and breathing look good. He's okay. You're doing good holding him like that."
In the kitchen I could hear my husband's voice, low and even, answering questions. Then quiet again.
Ellis stood and zipped the evidence bag half-closed.
"Ma'am, we're going to have to take your husband to the station to finish his statement about the assault," he said. "It doesn't mean charges this second. It means we have an injured person going to the hospital and we need to do this by the book."
The stretcher wheels squeaked as they rolled the older woman toward the doors. Her floral blouse was pulled crooked and her eyes were closed. One of the paramedics pulled a blanket up to her chest. She didn't wake up as they passed me.
I looked toward the kitchen doorway. My husband was standing now with the other deputy, his wrists empty, not cuffed, but the deputy had a hand at his back guiding him toward the front.
"He'll call you when we're done," Ellis said. "You keep that phone on you. You have someone you can call to stay with you and the baby?"
May you like
I held the baby tighter and felt the envelope's plastic crinkle under my arm where I'd tucked the copies. I nodded, though I wasn't sure.
The front doors stayed open after they left, and the cold kept coming in.
