Chapter 1 - THE BEAR IN THE FIRE
Veda threw Crosby’s bear into the fireplace before I understood what she was holding.
One second, my son had both arms wrapped around the little brown stuffed animal.
The next, his hands were empty.
The bear hit the burning log.
Synthetic fur curled immediately.
“Bear!”
Crosby screamed and lunged forward.
Veda shoved him.
Hard.
His sneakers slid on the polished floor.
Then his small body hit the rug.
“Crosby!”
I ran from the hallway.
He was already trying to sit up.
His face had crumpled.
Three years old.
Red-cheeked.
Terrified.
“DON’T touch my son again!”
I dropped beside him and checked his head.
No blood.
No obvious swelling.
He grabbed my blouse.
“Mommy!”
“I’ve got you.”
Behind me, Veda moved.
I turned just as she kicked Crosby’s toy box.
It toppled.
Wooden blocks.
Plastic cars.
Puzzle pieces.
A stuffed dinosaur.
Everything scattered across the floor.
“He cries over everything,” she said. “I’m teaching him to toughen up.”
“Toughen up?”
My voice shook.
“You just shoved a three-year-old.”
“He was reaching into a fire.”
“Because you threw his toy into it!”
“It was a ridiculous attachment.”
Crosby buried his face against my shoulder.
The fireplace snapped.
Part of the bear’s fabric blackened.
I could smell it.
“Why?”
Veda folded her arms.
“He threw a tantrum.”
“He’s three.”
“Exactly. If you keep rescuing him every time he cries, he’ll become helpless.”
The front door opened.
Footsteps.
Beckett.
My husband entered the living room and stopped.
His eyes moved over:
The overturned toy box.
The burning stuffed bear.
Crosby clinging to me.
Veda standing beside the fireplace.
I waited.
Beckett exhaled.
Not horror.
Impatience.
“Seriously?”
I stared at him.
“Your mother burned his bear and shoved him onto the floor.”
Veda spoke first.
“He tried to grab it out of the fireplace.”
“Because you put it there.”
Beckett rubbed his forehead.
“Mom.”
I waited for more.
Nothing.
“Beckett.”
He looked at me.
“She was only disciplining him.”
The sentence landed harder than I expected.
“Disciplining?”
“Tamsin, don’t start.”
“Don’t start?”
“He needs boundaries.”
“So setting his possessions on fire is a boundary?”
“Obviously I wouldn’t have done that.”
“But you’re defending her.”
“I’m saying you’re escalating.”
Crosby moved behind me.
Not beside me.
Behind.
His little fingers twisted into the back of my blouse.
That movement changed something inside me.
He was hiding from his father too.
I crouched.
“Baby?”
His lower lip trembled.
“Mommy…”
“Yes.”
“Grandma does worse.”
The entire room went quiet.
Beckett’s expression changed.
Just slightly.
Veda’s changed more.
I looked at her.
“What exactly did you do to my son?”
“He’s upset.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“He invents stories when he’s emotional.”
Crosby shook his head violently.
“No!”
Veda pointed.
“See?”
I stepped between them.
“Do not point at him.”
Beckett came closer.
“Tamsin, lower your voice.”
“Why?”
“You’re frightening him.”
I almost laughed.
“He is already frightened.”
Crosby whispered:
“Blue room.”
I looked down.
“What?”
Veda moved toward us.
“That is enough.”
I raised one hand.
She stopped.
“What blue room?”
Crosby’s eyes went toward the hallway leading to the back stairs.
“Grandma puts me there when I cry.”
Beckett’s face went pale.
Not confused.
Pale.
I saw it.
“Beckett.”
He looked at me.
“What is the blue room?”
“Nothing.”
That answer was too fast.
I picked Crosby up.
He wrapped both arms around my neck.
“I’m taking him to urgent care.”
“He fell on a rug,” Veda snapped.
“He was shoved.”
“You’re making a spectacle.”
“I’m making sure my child is okay.”
Beckett stepped into my path.
For one terrible second, I thought he might stop me.
Then he moved aside.
“Fine.”
Fine.
Not:
I’m coming.
Not:
Mom, what have you done?
Fine.
I carried Crosby outside.
Cold air hit my face.
Behind me, through the still-open door, I heard Veda hiss:
“You should have gotten rid of that room months ago.”
Then Beckett answered quietly:
“I told you not to use it when Tamsin was home.”
I stopped walking.
Crosby tightened his arms around my neck.
May you like
My husband had not just known there was a blue room.
He had known when his mother used it.
