Chapter 1 - THE SECOND STOMP
Tyler’s bare foot came down on Emily’s right hand before I understood why she was screaming.
The first stomp flattened her fingers against the wet concrete beside the pool.
The second came with a loud, ugly laugh.
My eleven-year-old daughter folded around her injured hand and rolled onto her side.
“Dad, please… help me.”
I crossed the patio so fast my shoulder struck a lounge chair and sent it skidding into the water.
Lisa reached Emily a second before I did. She slid one arm beneath our daughter’s shoulders while I knelt near her knees.
Emily’s fingers were already swelling. Two bent at angles that made my stomach turn.
“Don’t touch them,” she sobbed. “Please don’t touch them.”
“I won’t.”
Tyler stood three feet away, breathing hard and wearing the remains of a grin. At fifteen, he was almost as tall as Lisa. He looked toward his father before he looked at Emily.
Michael Reed stepped out of the covered patio holding a typed incident statement.
Not a towel.
Not ice.
Not his phone to call for help.
A statement.
“Everyone calm down,” he said.
Lisa stared at him.
“Your son just stomped on her hand.”
“Emily grabbed his phone.”
“I didn’t!” Emily cried.
Michael blocked the path toward the house.
“Such a pathetic, useless thing. Are you seriously crying right now?”
The words were aimed at Emily.
Something inside me tore loose.
I stood and struck Michael once across the jaw.
He fell onto the wet concrete, his shoulder hitting the base of a patio table.
The blow was wrong.
Not emotionally satisfying and therefore excusable.
Not righteous because my daughter had been hurt.
Wrong.
I knew it before he landed.
Michael looked up at me with shock that changed almost instantly into triumph.
“You all saw that,” he said.
Several relatives had frozen near the outdoor kitchen. Two were already holding phones.
Tyler’s smile returned.
Lisa looked from Michael to me.
“Daniel, take Emily. I’m calling an ambulance.”
Michael lifted the statement.
“You’re not taking her anywhere until we document what she did to Tyler.”
I stepped between him and my daughter.
“Move.”
“She attacked my son and you assaulted me.”
“Your son broke her hand.”
“Prove it.”
A small voice came from behind the row of lounge chairs.
“Uncle Daniel.”
Mason stood barefoot in the grass, shaking so hard the phone in his hands rattled.
Michael’s eight-year-old son looked directly at me.
“Tyler recorded everything.”
Tyler lunged.
“Give me that!”
Mason ran toward me.
I caught the phone with one hand while Lisa shielded Emily with her body.
Tyler stopped when he saw the screen unlock.
The camera application was open.
The most recent video had been recorded from a chair facing the pool.
I pressed play.
Michael’s voice came first.
“When Emily reaches for it, bring your heel down. Not enough for the ambulance unless Daniel sees.”
Tyler laughed on the recording.
“What if she cries?”
“She will. Keep the camera pointed at Daniel after he comes over.”
Michael handed him the same incident statement he now held beside the pool.
“Make Daniel hit me after you hurt the girl. Once we have that, Lisa loses Tuesday’s hearing.”
My pulse seemed to stop.
On-screen, Tyler placed the phone against a water bottle and aimed it at the exact section of concrete where Emily had fallen.
Then someone moved behind Michael.
A woman sat beneath the patio umbrella in a wheelchair, her head hanging forward.
Lisa’s mother, Helen Reed.
She was supposed to be in a rehabilitation center across town.
Michael crouched beside her and lifted her chin.
“Mom, tell the camera who frightens you.”
Helen’s eyes struggled to open.
“Lisa,” she whispered.
Michael smiled.
“That’s right.”
The video ended.
May you like
Behind me, Lisa made a broken sound.
Michael’s incident statement slipped from his fingers.
