“She didn’t push her,” he said, and I could hear the faint, metallic scrape of him twisting his wedding ring against the kitchen counter. “She was just trying to make her sit up straight. You know how she is about manners.”
“Look, Donald, she is five years old,” I said. “She doesn’t need to sit like she’s in a courtroom.”
“Mom is furious,” Donald said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “She said you’re overreacting. She’s already talking about calling her lawyer.”
“Her lawyer?” I asked. “For what?”
“Just to ask a few questions,” he said, clearing his throat again. “She’s worried about Carolyn’s environment. You have to come back, Claire. It looks bad, you leaving like this.”
“I’m not bringing her back to that house,” I said, and hung up before he could answer.
The kitchen was cold. Marilyn walked in, carrying two ceramic mugs, and set them on the table near the grocery receipt for eighty-two dollars that she had left there earlier.
“He wants you to apologize,” Marilyn said, pouring hot water over two tea bags.
