Chapter 7
The drive to my sister's took eleven minutes. I counted them on the dashboard clock because Ellie counted breaths against my shoulder.
She'd gone quiet in the car seat. That was worse than crying. I kept my hand back there until the light at Route 9 turned green, her small fingers curled around my index finger. The bag from the ER sat on the passenger seat. The discharge papers, the photos on my phone, the report number written on a creased card. I didn't look at any of it. I kept my eyes on the road and the rearview.
Jenna's building was the brick one behind the gas station on Maple, second floor, the stairwell that always smelled like laundry detergent. I parked under the lot light and cut the engine. Ellie blinked awake when I unbuckled her.
"We're at Aunt Jenna's," I said. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to.
She nodded. Her hand went to the edge of the soft cotton hat the nurse had given her. Light pink, too big, it kept slipping. I adjusted it without pulling it off. The nicks near her ear were covered with the little bandages, the ones we were told to keep clean and dry.
I carried her up. My legs felt like they'd been holding the same tension since the hallway.
Jenna opened the door before I knocked. She had her hair up, a dish towel in her hand, and she did that quick scan she always does — my face, then Ellie's, then my face again.
"Lauren?" she said.
Then she saw the hat. Or what was under it.
Ellie turned her face into my neck. The hat slipped again and Jenna's hand went to her mouth.
"Oh honey," she said. It wasn't loud. She stepped back to let us in. "Come here. Come inside."
Her apartment was warm. The kitchen light was on over the sink, a pot lid drying on the rack, the couch made up like she already knew we'd need it. She'd left the lamp on in the living room, the one she always left on when she expected me.
I set Ellie down gently. She stood close to my leg, purple shirt wrinkled, black pants dusty at the knees, brown shoes untied.
Jenna crouched down to Ellie's eye level but didn't reach out right away. "Hi, baby girl," she said softly. "Can Aunt Jenna see your pretty hat?"
Ellie looked at me. I nodded. Jenna lifted the edge just enough to see the bandage, the shaved skin, and then carefully smoothed it back down. Her jaw tightened. She didn't make a sound, but her eyes filled.
She stood and looked at me. "Who did this?"
My throat did that thing where it closed before words came. "Diane," I said. "Mark said she could... Mark told her 'grandma knows best.' She used the clippers."
Jenna's hand found my forearm. The scratches there were still pink. She didn't ask about them. She just held on.
"That is not discipline," she said. Her voice was low and flat, the way she got when she wasn't going to argue. "You know that, right? Lauren, that's not discipline. That's abuse. That's cutting a baby."
I felt my eyes sting and I nodded because if I tried to speak I'd cry in front of Ellie.
"I took her to the ER," I said. "They documented it. Photos. I have a report number with the sheriff. I have the clippers."
"Good," Jenna said immediately. "Good. You did exactly right."
She said it like she was nailing it down for me, so I wouldn't float away from it. She turned and pulled out a kitchen chair.
"Sit," she said. "Both of you."
She brought Ellie apple slices cut small and a cup of water with a straw. Ellie held the cup with both hands and sipped, her hat slightly crooked. Jenna watched her like she was memorizing her.
"You're staying here," Jenna said to me, not as a question. "I've got the couch folded out. Or you take my bed and I'll take the couch. Either way, you're not going back there tonight."
"I didn't know where else to go," I admitted.
"You came to the right place," she said. She kept her voice even, for Ellie. "Listen, I can watch her tomorrow while you handle the calls. CPS, sheriff, whatever they need. You don't need to drag her to all of that. She stays here with me. She watches cartoons and wears the hat if she wants to, or not. Whatever she wants."
Ellie was chewing slowly, listening. I brushed a crumb from her shirt.
"You sure? You have work," I said.
"I called out already," Jenna said. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. "I mean I will. I just decided. Don't worry about that."
Later, after the plates were cleared, Jenna ran a warm bath just shallow, like the nurse said to keep the bandages dry. We did it carefully, Ellie sitting with the hat off for the first time since the ER. I tried not to stare at her scalp. The nicks were so red against how pale she'd shaved. Jenna handed me washcloths without commenting. She talked to Ellie about the dinosaur on her towel to keep her looking at the towel and not at the mirror.
After, Jenna found the softest hat she owned — a gray beanie, too big, but fleece-lined. Ellie liked it better than the pink one. She pulled it down over her ears herself and then crawled onto the couch bed Jenna had made with the extra blankets.
I lay beside her until her breathing slowed. The apartment hummed — the fridge, the heat clicking on, a car passing on Maple.
"You checking those bandages again, Mom?" Ellie mumbled once, eyes half closed.
"Just making sure they stayed put, baby," I whispered. I smoothed the beanie, checked the edges where the bandages met skin. Clean. Dry. I didn't touch them.
May you like
She fell asleep holding my hand.
Jenna sat at the small kitchen table with her phone on speaker, low, so I could hear the quiet while I stayed awake. I checked the bandages every twenty minutes. I checked my phone — no new message from Mark, one missed call from Diane I didn't answer. I stared at the discharge papers again so I'd remember the words if someone asked. I stayed awake long after Ellie's hand went slack in mine, watching the light from the parking lot move across the ceiling.
