Chapter 2 - Gigi’s cheek
The first thing I did after leaving was not call a lawyer.
It was drive to urgent care.
Gigi cried for seven minutes in the car.
Then hiccupped.
Then asked for crackers.
Children are merciful that way.
Their bodies sometimes return to ordinary needs before adults have decided what anything means.
I pulled into the pediatric urgent-care clinic at 4:18.
My hands were shaking so badly I dropped my insurance card.
The nurse looked at Gigi’s cheek.
“What happened?”
“My brother slapped her.”
Saying it aloud changed the shape of the afternoon.
The nurse’s expression became neutral in the professional way people become neutral when neutrality is part of their job.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Any loss of consciousness?”
“No.”
“Fall?”
“She stumbled but I caught her almost immediately.”
“Vomiting?”
“No.”
“Behavior different?”
“She’s upset.”
The physician examined her.
Mild swelling.
Redness.
No dental injury.
No ear injury.
No neurological concern.
No need for imaging.
“Cold compress. Acetaminophen if she seems uncomfortable. Watch for anything unusual.”
Then:
“Because this was an intentional strike by an adult, we’re required to make a report.”
“I understand.”
I did.
Mostly.
I had spent the drive imagining police arriving at my parents’ house and dragging Arthur away.
Real life did not work on emotional schedules.
The clinic made the report.
A social worker spoke with me.
Police would follow up.
Gigi ate three crackers and tried to put one in my purse.
Then my phone started vibrating.
Victoria.
Arthur.
Charles.
My aunt.
My cousin.
Victoria again.
Then a text from Arthur:
You assaulted Mom in front of thirty people. Think carefully before turning this into something bigger.
I stared.
Then another.
Gigi is fine. Mom may have a real injury.
My first instinct was to reply:
You hit a baby.
My second:
I hope Mom sues me so everyone hears why I kicked her.
I typed both.
Deleted both.
Instead:
Do not contact me directly again about today.
That was all.
Good decision.
It would not last.
Twenty minutes later, Victoria left voicemail.
“Clara, I understand you were upset, but you attacked me. Arthur reacted instinctively when Gigi nearly pulled down the cake display. There were glass stands everywhere. He was protecting her. You have humiliated this family in front of guests, and I expect you to call before this gets completely out of control.”
Glass stands.
No.
The nearest glass display had been four feet away.
Arthur had not caught Gigi.
He had slapped her.
The rewriting had already started.
I saved the voicemail.
Then called the one person in my family I trusted without qualification.
My cousin Natalie.
She had been at the party.
“Clara.”
“Did you see it?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“Did Gigi reach for glass?”
“No.”
“Did Arthur look like he was trying to keep her safe?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
Natalie exhaled.
“She touched the ribbon. He told her no. Then he hit her.”
My eyes closed.
“Will you tell police that?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
Then:
“Clara, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Your father is telling people you attacked Victoria first.”
I stared at the clinic wall.
“What?”
“He says Arthur stepped in because you were already out of control.”
“That is insane.”
“I know.”
My daughter sat beside me humming to herself while eating another cracker.
Thirty-two years of family history compressed into one thought.
May you like
They were going to protect Arthur.
Again.
