Chapter 1 - The gold ribbon
My name is Clara.
I was thirty-two years old when my brother slapped my two-year-old daughter at our father’s birthday party.
It was held at my parents’ house outside Cincinnati.
Not a mansion in the movie sense.
But large enough that people sometimes mistook money for warmth.
Stone front.
Circular driveway.
Professionally landscaped backyard.
Formal dining room nobody used unless photographs were being taken.
My father Charles was turning sixty-four.
My mother Victoria had spent three weeks planning what she repeatedly called:
“An intimate family gathering.”
Thirty-eight people attended.
Yellow balloons.
White cake with gold detailing.
Catered lunch.
Two bartenders.
A photographer Victoria had hired even though everyone owned a phone.
My mother wore a wine-red dress and pearls.
My father wore a pale button-down shirt and dark trousers.
My brother Arthur arrived twenty minutes late.
Of course.
Thirty-six.
White shirt with the sleeves rolled once.
Dark trousers.
Expensive watch.
He kissed our mother.
Shook Charles’s hand.
Barely acknowledged me.
Arthur and I had always been different.
He was decisive.
I was difficult.
That was how Victoria described us.
The difference was that Arthur’s decisiveness usually required somebody else to give way.
My daughter Gigi was two years and three months old.
White birthday-party dress.
Little bow in her blonde hair.
White shoes she hated.
By noon she had removed one shoe twice.
Tried to feed frosting to my father’s Labrador.
Asked approximately seventeen times whether the balloons were:
“Mine?”
Normal two-year-old chaos.
I carried a beige baby bag over one shoulder and spent most of the party intercepting small disasters before Victoria could notice them.
At 1:18, everyone gathered around the cake.
Charles stood behind it.
Guests circled the table.
Someone handed him a knife.
Gigi saw the decorative ribbon tied around one of the cake stands.
Shimmering gold.
She reached.
Not for the cake.
Not for a candle.
The ribbon.
I was two steps away.
“Gigi, leave that, sweetheart.”
She looked at me.
Her fingers were already around the loose end.
Then Arthur moved.
Fast.
He lunged.
His hand struck the side of her face.
One sharp slap.
Gigi froze.
For half a second, no sound.
Then she screamed.
Arthur pointed toward her as though she had committed an offense.
“A naughty child needs to be taught a lesson!”
I did not remember crossing the distance between us.
Suddenly Gigi was in my arms.
Both of hers locked around my neck.
Her small body shaking.
“She’s only two years old! What is wrong with you?!”
Arthur rolled his eyes.
“Oh, stop.”
“You hit her.”
“I tapped her.”
“You slapped her face!”
“She was grabbing things after being told no.”
“She is two!”
“And this is why she acts like she owns every room.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Then Victoria appeared.
My first irrational thought:
Good.
Mom saw.
Then she stepped between Arthur and me.
Facing me.
Shielding him.
“That’s enough, Clara. You’re ruining the party.”
I could hear Gigi crying against my shoulder.
I looked over Victoria toward my father.
Charles stood behind her with both arms crossed.
His expression was not horrified.
It was irritated.
“Children need boundaries.”
I actually laughed.
One sound.
Not humor.
“You watched him hit her.”
Charles said:
“I saw him correct a child who wasn’t listening.”
The room became unbearably still.
Guests.
Cousins.
Aunts.
Neighbors.
Arthur’s friends.
Nobody spoke.
I looked down at Gigi.
A pink mark developing across one cheek.
Tears caught beneath her eyelashes.
Then at the adults who had watched.
My anger stopped being hot.
It became cold.
Victoria reached toward my arm.
“Give her to me and calm down.”
I moved back.
“Don’t touch her.”
“Clara.”
“Don’t.”
“You are hysterical.”
Arthur laughed.
That sound did it.
I moved forward.
Victoria stepped directly into my path.
I kicked.
Not Arthur.
My mother.
My heel caught her upper thigh and hip.
Victoria stumbled backward.
Crashed into Arthur.
He caught her awkwardly.
Several guests screamed.
Charles shouted:
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I held Gigi tighter.
“Don’t you dare bully my child.”
I turned.
Walked toward the foyer.
My mother shouted behind me.
“You’re going to apologize for this!”
I stopped at the door.
Turned around.
She had one hand on Arthur’s arm.
My father beside them.
The white cake still perfect behind everyone.
May you like
Yellow balloons floating above the room.
“No. This time, you’re all going to pay.”
