Chapter 12
Martha knocked at exactly four o'clock.
We had agreed on the time that morning. Connor had texted her from the kitchen while I stood at the sink, and I'd watched him type the words we both agreed on. Come at four. Just to talk. Leo is here.
The glass pane in the back door rattled once, twice. Through it I could see her navy coat, her gray hair pulled tight in its bun. She held a small paper bag in both hands, the kind from the grocery bakery. Her face was already arranged, composed and distressed at the same time, lips pressed, eyes down.
Connor opened the door before I could move.
"Mom," he said.
He didn't step aside right away. I noticed that. His hand stayed on the handle and his body blocked half the doorway.
"Connor," Martha said softly. She looked past him to me, then to Leo. "I brought banana bread. For Leo."
Leo was at the kitchen island in his red and white striped shirt, his denim overalls buckled at the shoulders. His curls were still damp from where I'd wiped his face. He had his small hands flat on the white marble, and he didn't run to her.
Martha stepped in and crouched a little, opening her arms. The movement was practiced. Her coat fell open and I saw her black flats on our wood floor.
"There's my love," she said to Leo. "Come give Grandma a hug."
Leo looked at me. That was new. A week ago he would have gone to her automatically. Now he waited. His eyes were teary but calm, and his bottom lip tucked in.
I kept my voice even. "Hi, Martha."
Connor shut the door. The recessed lights hummed faintly above us. The dome camera in the corner caught the light.
Martha's smile tightened when Leo didn't move. She stood slowly and set the bag on the edge of the island. "I thought we could just... be normal for a minute," she said. Her hands smoothed her coat. "I didn't sleep. I kept thinking about yesterday."
"We're not going to do normal first," I said.
I had the phone already on the island. Black smartphone, face up, screen dark. Connor had plugged it in that morning and we'd left it there, like we'd agreed. Not as a weapon. As a house rule. If we talked about what happened, we watched what happened.
Martha glanced at it, then away. "Victoria, honey, I know you're upset—"
"I asked you to come so we could all see the same thing," I said. I didn't raise my voice. My hand was steady when I reached for the phone, though my cheek still throbbed faintly where Connor's hand had landed the day before. "No one needs to shout. We just need to watch."
Connor pulled a stool out for Leo and lifted him onto it, then stood behind him with his hands lightly on the back of the stool. He didn't touch Martha. He didn't touch me. He just nodded at me once. That was our signal.
I tapped the screen. The security app opened. The time stamp in the corner read yesterday, 3:42 p.m. Bright kitchen, white cabinets, marble island, wood floor. All the same.
Martha took a small step closer, her arms now crossed. "Do we have to do this with Leo right here?"
"Yes," I said. "He was here when it happened."
I pressed play and turned the phone so the three of them could see it. I didn't hold it up. I left it flat on the marble and we all leaned in. That way no one could say I was shoving it at anyone.
The clip played without sound at first. Then I tapped the volume icon.
On screen, I was at the island with Leo in front of me. Martha came into frame from the direction of the glass door. She reached for Leo, both hands gripping his overalls, pulling him toward her while I kept hold of his hand. My mouth was open, saying something. Martha's grip tightened on my forearm, her fingers digging in. She pulled. I pulled back. Leo's face crumpled.
Martha made a small noise beside me, in real life. "That looks—"
"Keep watching," Connor said quietly. His voice was flat.
On the screen, Martha yanked harder. Leo started to cry. I reached fully for him with both arms, and Martha's other hand came up and shoved my shoulder. It wasn't a blur. It wasn't an accident. The camera from above caught it clean, the dome lens wide and bright. You could see the force of it, my head turning, my bob swinging.
Martha on the video then stepped back and her face changed. In real time, her shoulders had dropped and she'd put a hand to her chest like she was the one who'd been grabbed.
Real Martha standing at our island went still. Her mouth opened, closed.
The clip kept going. Connor burst through the glass door on screen, olive bomber jacket, mouth open. He went straight to Martha. He didn't look at me first.
In the kitchen now, real Connor's jaw clenched. He was watching himself.
Then the hit. On the phone screen, his hand connected with my cheek. The sound from the phone's microphone was dull and awful. I flinched in real life, even though I knew it was coming. Leo's scream followed — "[screaming] Don't hit mom." — then his smaller voice, "Connor, she hit mom."
The playback ended. The last frame froze on me holding my cheek, eyes wide, Leo with his eyes squeezed shut and tears on his face. The phone dimmed slightly, waiting.
No one spoke. The kitchen was bright and too quiet. The refrigerator hummed. The bakery bag rustled where Martha's hand rested on it, trembling just a little.
Martha stared at the island. Her composed distress had slipped. Her gray bun, her navy coat, all still perfect, but her eyes stayed on the frozen image of her own hands gripping Leo and me.
She didn't deny it. She couldn't. The video was right there on the black phone between us, on the white marble where she'd first grabbed me.
May you like
Leo breathed out, a small shaky breath, and leaned back against Connor's chest on the stool.
We stayed like that, the four of us around the island, with the truth playing no more tricks.
