\u201cHold her other leg, Marilyn,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
Marilyn jiggled her car keys in her apron pocket before setting them on the end table, then reached out to steady Carolyn\u2019s ankle. The green corduroy couch, which Marilyn had bought second-hand for four hundred dollars, smelled of dried lavender and old newspapers.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe didn\u2019t mean to fall,\u201d Carolyn whispered, her small fingers curling tightly around the ears of Barnaby, her grey stuffed bunny.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know, baby,\u201d I said, dabbing the skin. \u201cIt was just an accident.\u201d<\/p>\n
My hand rose to touch my collarbone, feeling the edge of my collar. I looked up at Marilyn, whose face was tight under the floor lamp.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, Marilyn, I cannot go back there tonight,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Marilyn handed me the small square box of plastic bandages. \u201cYou aren\u2019t going back there at all if I have anything to say about it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I pulled the paper backing off a bandage, my mind running through the single suitcase I had managed to pack and throw into the trunk.<\/p>\n
\u201cDonald is still at the apartment,\u201d I said. \u201cOr he was when I left.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe won\u2019t stand up to her, Claire,\u201d Marilyn said, her voice dropping as Carolyn\u2019s eyes began to flutter shut. \u201cHe never has.\u201d<\/p>\n
By twenty past eleven, Carolyn was asleep on the couch, the stuffed bunny tucked under her chin. I walked into Marilyn\u2019s small kitchen and dialed Donald\u2019s number.<\/p>\n
He answered on the first ring, the background silent except for the low hum of our old refrigerator.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you?\u201d I asked, keeping my voice low.<\/p>\n
Donald cleared his throat. \u201cI\u2019m in the kitchen, Claire. Please tell me you\u2019re coming back tonight. We can talk about this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m at Marilyn\u2019s,\u201d I said, leaning against the counter. \u201cCarolyn\u2019s leg is cut up because your mother pushed her off the stool.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe didn\u2019t push her,\u201d he said, and I could hear the faint, metallic scrape of him twisting his wedding ring against the kitchen counter. \u201cShe was just trying to make her sit up straight. You know how she is about manners.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, Donald, she is five years old,\u201d I said. \u201cShe doesn\u2019t need to sit like she\u2019s in a courtroom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom is furious,\u201d Donald said, his voice dropping to a whisper. \u201cShe said you\u2019re overreacting. She\u2019s already talking about calling her lawyer.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHer lawyer?\u201d I asked. \u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust to ask a few questions,\u201d he said, clearing his throat again. \u201cShe\u2019s worried about Carolyn\u2019s environment. You have to come back, Claire. It looks bad, you leaving like this.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/span> \u201cI\u2019m not bringing her back to that house,\u201d I said, and hung up before he could answer.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n \u201cHe wants you to apologize,\u201d Marilyn said, pouring hot water over two tea bags.<\/p>\n \u201cHe thinks it\u2019s just an argument,\u201d I said. \u201cHe thinks his mother just has strong opinions.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNancy doesn\u2019t have opinions, Claire, she has files,\u201d Marilyn said. She sat down, her keys clinking against her mug. \u201cWhen she was still VP at the bank, she kept a ledger on every teller who took an extra five minutes at lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe can\u2019t do anything to us legally,\u201d I said, though my fingers went back to my collarbone. \u201cWe\u2019re her parents.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAs a rule, Nancy gets what she wants,\u201d Marilyn said, mimicking Nancy\u2019s formal tone. \u201cShe\u2019s been running Donald\u2019s life since he was ten, and she won\u2019t let you take her granddaughter away without a fight.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/span> \u201cWe aren\u2019t leaving the state,\u201d I said. \u201cI just need a few days to find a place.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou need more than a few days,\u201d Marilyn said. \u201cYou need to know what she\u2019s telling the school.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe school?\u201d I asked. \u201cWhat does the kindergarten have to do with this?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNancy\u2019s on the school board advisory committee,\u201d Marilyn said, staring into her tea. \u201cShe has lunch with the principal twice a month.\u201d<\/p>\n I stood up and went back into the living room, where the clock on the mantel showed five minutes to one. Carolyn was sleeping deeply now, her small chest rising and falling beneath Marilyn\u2019s patchwork quilt.<\/p>\n I sat on the edge of the corduroy cushion and smoothed Carolyn\u2019s hair away from her forehead.<\/p>\n \u201cMommy?\u201d she whispered, her eyes opening slightly.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m right here, sweetheart,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cDo we have to go back to Grandma\u2019s?\u201d she asked, her small fingers tightening on Barnaby\u2019s worn grey ear.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cWe\u2019re staying here tonight. You\u2019re completely safe.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGrandma said if I don\u2019t listen, she has a special folder for bad girls,\u201d Carolyn whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat kind of folder?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cWith my name on it,\u201d she said, her eyes closing again as she drifted back to sleep.<\/p>\n I sat in the dark for a long time, listening to her quiet breathing, trying to make sense of what a five-year-old could mean by a folder.<\/p>\n My phone vibrated in my lap, the sudden buzz making me jump.<\/p>\n The bright light of my phone screen illuminated the dark room as Donald\u2019s name appeared with an image attachment.<\/p>\n I tapped the screen, opening the photo Donald had sent.<\/p>\n It was a blurry picture of a white document with a blue circular crest at the top, taken on the laminate countertop of our apartment kitchen.<\/p>\n <\/span> Marilyn leaned over my shoulder, the faint scent of her lavender soap cutting through the cool, still air of her living room.<\/p>\n \u201cThat is the Oak Ridge Elementary emblem,\u201d Marilyn said, her voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you sure?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI know that acorn logo anywhere,\u201d she said, her fingers jiggling her car keys inside her bathrobe pocket. \u201cI saw it on fifty permission slips when my boys were small. What is Donald doing with school records at midnight?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe says he found it in the filing cabinet in the basement,\u201d I said, scrolling down to read the faint handwriting at the bottom of the page.<\/p>\n The photo was slightly cut off at the margins, but the printed text was clear enough to read under the single bulb of the floor lamp.<\/p>\n <\/span> It was a safety report form, dated September fourteenth, with Carolyn\u2019s name typed in the student information block.<\/p>\n \u201cLook, Marilyn, why would Nancy have this in her possession?\u201d I asked, pointing to the screen.<\/p>\n \u201cBecause she does not trust the school to keep quiet,\u201d Marilyn said, her words coming in a fast, clipped rhythm. \u201cOr because she wanted to make sure nobody else saw it first. She probably told the principal she was handling it internally.\u201d<\/p>\n I zoomed in on the signature line at the bottom, but the image was too grainy to make out the cursive letters.<\/p>\n My thumb hovered over the keyboard as I started typing a reply to Donald, my screen casting a pale blue light across Marilyn\u2019s worn green corduroy couch.<\/p>\n The couch had cost me four hundred dollars at a yard sale three years ago, and the fabric was still stiff and smelled faintly of someone else\u2019s cedar chest.<\/p>\n \u201cAsk him where the original is,\u201d Marilyn said, her keys clicking against each other as she sat on the edge of the cushion.<\/p>\n <\/span> \u201cI am typing that now,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n The phone buzzed in my hand before I could finish the sentence, another message from Donald popping up at the top of the screen.<\/p>\n \u201cClaire, please,\u201d the text read. \u201cDo not tell her I sent this.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho is she?\u201d I typed back, my fingers moving quickly over the virtual keyboard.<\/p>\n \u201cMom,\u201d the reply came a second later. \u201cShe has been looking for the folder since Tuesday.\u201d<\/p>\n I leaned back against the cushions, the scratchy corduroy pressing through my thin cotton shirt.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy would your mother be looking for Carolyn\u2019s school folder, Donald?\u201d I typed, holding the phone with both hands to keep them steady.<\/p>\n \u201cShe says the school is trying to interfere,\u201d he sent. \u201cShe wants to keep all the correspondence in one place.\u201d<\/p>\n![\"Ezoic\"](\"https:\/\/go.ezodn.com\/utilcave_com\/ezoic.png\" "\\"ezoic\\"")
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