Chapter 2

For one long second, the world had no sound except June's scream — a thin, ragged, furious sound that filled the dining room and bounced off the walls. Her small body arched against my shoulder, her face going red, her mouth a square of distress.

I saw red. Not a color — a feeling, a curtain coming down over my vision. I pulled June tight against me, pressing her face into my neck, my hand covering her arm, the arm where a faint pink mark was already rising on the bare skin below the sleeve.

"She was fussing," Petra said, her voice flat and unconcerned. "It was just a tap, Nora. Relax. It was just a tap."

She was still standing, half-turned toward her chair, one hand reaching for her wineglass. The gold bracelets caught the candlelight.

Everyone else at the table had gone still. My father's fork hung midway to his mouth. Margaret sat like a photograph, her hand still flat on the tablecloth, her face unreadable. Across from me, Eli's chair scraped back.

He stood slowly, and the sound of his chair was the loudest thing in the room next to June's crying. He didn't raise his voice. He walked around the corner of the table, past his own seat, past my father's seat, until he stood at my shoulder.

"Give her to me," he said, and his voice was quiet but the room bent toward it.

I shook my head, tightening my grip. "I've got—"

"Give her to me," he said again, and this time it wasn't a question.

I looked down at June, her face buried in my neck, her sobs shaking her small body. The faint pink mark on her forearm was already fading to a dull rose, but I could still see the shape of Petra's palm.

I handed her over.

Eli took her with the same careful deliberation he used for everything — no hurry, no wasted motion. He held her against his chest, his big hand covering her back in the rose-pink sleeper, and he started walking toward the doorway that led to the hall and the quiet room beyond.

"Where are you going?" Petra's voice cut through the silence. "I said it was just a tap. She was being fussy—"

Eli stopped. He didn't turn around.

"Eli," Petra said, and her voice changed, losing its edge, becoming something closer to placating. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

He turned. June was quieting against his chest, her hiccups slowing, her grip on his shirt going slack. He looked at Petra across the length of the table, his face calm and unreadable.