PART 2
Vanessa spun around.
Her face drained of color so fast it was almost impressive.
My duffel bag slipped from my shoulder and hit the floor.
For a few seconds, nobody moved.
Not my mother.
Not my wife.
Not me.
I had stood in places where men screamed under smoke and dust.
I had heard helicopters tear across black skies.
But nothing had ever frozen me like seeing my mother on the floor of her own bedroom.
“Ethan,” Vanessa whispered.
I looked at my mother’s bruised wrist.
Then at the red mark forming on her cheek.
Then at my wife.
“What did you just do to my mother?”
Vanessa lifted both hands.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
That sentence almost made me laugh.
Not because it was funny.
Because people only say it when it is exactly what it looks like.
I crossed the room and dropped to one knee beside my mother.
“Mom.”
She tried to sit up too quickly and winced.
“I’m okay,” she said.
She was not okay.
Her wrist was swollen.
There were older bruises under her sleeve.
Faded yellow and purple.
My voice came out low.
“How long?”
May you like
My mother’s eyes filled.
She didn’t answer.
