Chapter 8 - NOT THE FIRST TIME“No.”
The hallway seemed to become quieter.
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not an acceptable answer.”
“Claire.”
“How many?”
“Three. Maybe four.”
My chest hurt.
“What kind of grabbing?”
“Arms. Shoulders.”
“Bruises?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“February.”
Five months earlier.
“What happened?”
“She threw a toy at him.”
“And?”
“He caught her arm.”
“Hard enough to bruise?”
“Yes.”
“Did Evan see?”
“No.”
“Doctor?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing?”
Sarah started crying.
“I talked to Grant.”
I nearly shouted.
Then remembered we were in a hospital hallway.
“What did he say?”
“He said he didn’t realize how hard he grabbed her.”
“And after?”
“He stopped for a while.”
For a while.
The phrase parents use when they already know a behavior returned.
I stared at my sister.
Then:
“Mom knows?”
Sarah froze.
Our mother.
Diane Bennett.
Sixty-seven.
Retired school secretary.
“Sarah.”
“She knows about February.”
“What did she say?”
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“Grant needed to be more careful.”
That was when this stopped being one household problem.
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