Chapter 2
His brother, Marcus, stood at the far end of the table. “Mom,” he said quietly, “what is that?”
Genesis turned on him with a look so cold that he stopped speaking.
I lowered myself slowly back into my chair because the room had tilted again. Blood trickled along my cheekbone and into the corner of my mouth. It tasted metallic. My hands were shaking now that the first hard wave of adrenaline had begun to fade.
The dispatcher told me to stay on the line.
“I am,” I whispered.
Jackson’s father, Arthur, finally looked up from his plate. He was a thin, gray man with careful manners and the soft, absent voice of someone who had spent years learning not to be noticed.
“Elaine,” he said, barely above a murmur. “You need a towel.”
For some reason, that almost broke me.
Not the plate. Not the demand for my apartment. Not Genesis’s cold entitlement or Jackson’s public rage. But Arthur offering a towel as if the problem were a spilled drink.
I laughed once, a small, broken sound.
Genesis’s eyes narrowed. “There is no need to turn a family disagreement into a criminal matter.”
“A criminal matter?” Marcus said. “Mom, she’s bleeding.”
“It was an accident,” Jackson said quickly.
Every head turned toward him.
The lie landed with a dull thud in the room.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“An accident?” I repeated.
Jackson swallowed. “You moved.”
A cousin near the sideboard made a faint sound of disbelief. His wife touched his sleeve, warning him to stay quiet.
May you like
The silence that followed was different from the first silence. That earlier one had been cowardly, practiced, automatic. This one was uncomfortable. Restless. People were beginning to understand that the story they told themselves about their family was not going to survive the evening intact.
The dispatcher asked me whether the person who hurt me still had access to anything that could be used as a weapon.
