Chapter 1 - The Sunglasses
The first thing that bothered me was not the sunglasses.
It was Sophie’s hands.
My nine year old daughter was standing beneath a string of gold birthday decorations in Evelyn Carter’s foyer, wearing denim overalls over a cream sweater, oversized sunglasses covering half her face, and both hands pinching the bottom of her sweater so tightly her knuckles had turned pale.
People were laughing in the dining room.
Someone was opening wine.
My husband Daniel was carrying a tray toward the kitchen.
Evelyn stood beside Sophie in her brown plaid blazer looking perfectly composed.
“She’s sensitive to the light today,” she said before I asked.
I looked toward the warm lamps.
“What light?”
Evelyn smiled.
“You know Sophie. Everything becomes a production.”
Sophie did not look at me.
I crouched.
“Sweetheart.”
Her chin trembled.
“Take the glasses off for me.”
Evelyn stepped closer.
“They need to stay on.”
I looked up.
“Why?”
“She bumped herself.”
“Where?”
“Upstairs.”
“On what?”
“A dresser, I think.”
“You think?”
Evelyn’s mouth tightened.
“She’s fine, Emily.”
My daughter whispered:
“Grandma said I have to leave them on until pictures are done.”
Something inside me changed.
Not exploded.
Sharpened.
I held out my hand.
“Sophie.”
She slowly removed the glasses.
Her right eye was swollen beneath the brow.
A small gauze pad had been taped near her hairline.
A rust colored stain had seeped through one corner.
I forgot the party.
The guests.
The cake.
Everything.
“What happened?”
Sophie’s eyes filled.
Evelyn reached for the sunglasses.
“Put them back.”
I caught her wrist before she touched my daughter.
“Don’t.”
Her expression changed.
“You’re frightening her.”
“No. I’m asking what happened.”
“She tripped.”
“You said she bumped a dresser.”
“She did both.”
“Which happened first?”
Evelyn rolled her eyes.
“For God’s sake, Emily. She has a bruise. Children get bruises.”
Daniel finally noticed us.
“What’s going on?”
Evelyn answered instantly.
“Sophie had a minor accident and your wife is turning it into a federal investigation.”
Daniel looked at our daughter.
His face changed.
“Soph?”
Sophie moved behind me.
Not behind him.
That detail hurt him.
Then Ben Foster approached.
Ben had photographed Carter family events for almost ten years.
Birthdays.
Anniversaries.
Christmas portraits.
He carried a DSLR camera against his chest.
His face looked uncomfortable.
“Emily.”
I turned.
“I wasn’t trying to get involved.”
“Then get involved.”
He swallowed.
“I photographed Sophie earlier.”
He opened the camera display.
A picture appeared.
Sophie near the stairs.
Smiling.
No sunglasses.
No gauze.
No swelling.
The timestamp showed 2:38 p.m.
I had found her at 3:21.
Forty three minutes.
“When was the last time you saw her downstairs?”
Ben looked at Evelyn.
“Right before Mrs. Carter took her upstairs.”
Evelyn’s head snapped toward him.
“I did not take her anywhere.”
Ben frowned.
“Yes, ma’am. You did.”
“I asked her to help me find something.”
“That is taking her upstairs.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“Mom.”
Evelyn sighed.
“She wanted to see your father’s old medals.”
Sophie whispered:
“No.”
Nobody heard except me.
I turned.
“What?”
She pressed against my sweater.
“Grandma didn’t show me medals.”
Evelyn’s face hardened.
“Sophie.”
My daughter flinched.
I moved between them.
“Do not use that voice with her.”
Daniel stared at his mother.
“What happened upstairs?”
“She tripped.”
Sophie shook her head.
Tiny.
Once.
Ben was still holding the camera.
He looked at display.
Then at me.
“There are more pictures.”
Evelyn lunged.
Not metaphorically.
She reached for camera.
Ben stepped backward.
I shoved my forearm between them.
“Stop.”
“Give me that camera!”
Daniel caught his mother’s shoulder.
“Mom!”
Evelyn jerked free.
“This is my birthday party. I am not letting some photographer ruin it because a dramatic child can’t watch where she’s walking.”
Sophie made a sound behind me.
A quiet sob.
I turned.
Her face had gone white.
“Sweetheart, what did Grandma do?”
“I’m not supposed to tell.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who said?”
She looked toward Evelyn.
Evelyn stepped forward.
“That’s enough.”
I pulled Sophie behind me.
“No. It isn’t.”
Daniel finally moved between us and his mother.
“Sophie.”
He crouched.
“You are not in trouble.”
She looked at him.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She whispered:
“Grandma took me upstairs.”
Daniel swallowed.
“I know.”
“She locked the door.”
The foyer went silent.
Even the guests near dining room heard.
Evelyn laughed once.
Sharp.
“That is ridiculous.”
Sophie started crying harder.
“She said we had to practice before the lady came.”
“What lady?” I asked.
Sophie looked at me.
“The lady who was going to ask if Mommy hurts me.”
I stopped breathing.
Daniel slowly stood.
Evelyn’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Calculation.
And Ben Foster looked down at his camera again.
“There’s another picture.”
He scrolled.
Then stopped.
His eyes lifted toward me.
“This one has the blue folder she was carrying upstairs.”
I looked at Evelyn.
“What folder?”
May you like
She did not answer.
For the first time that afternoon, my mother in law looked afraid.
