“Regina hit him with a stick.” She looked at me incredulously. “I saw her. We’d better get him to the hospital. I think he’s going to need stitches.”

Gloria held him on her lap while I drove. His sobbing slipped into faint whimpering and he closed his eyes.

“Don’t let him go to sleep,” I said.

“You don’t think . . .”

“I don’t think anything. Just don’t let him go to sleep.”

The cut required six stitches, but the doctor assured us he would be all right. However, just to be safe, he told Gloria to be alert for any signs of dizziness or wavering in his walk.

When we drove into the driveway, the whole place looked disturbingly peaceful, as if nothing had happened. There was a thin line of smoke coming up from the charcoal grill; the three huge oaks blotted out the descending sun and colored the air a soft blue-gray. There was no sign of Regina. Gloria sat with Brian in the living room, cutting up an apple for him, while I searched the house. I looked under beds, opened closets and checked the basement and garage. As I was deciding my next move, the phone rang. It was Mrs. Lorimer.

“Mrs. Mattison, Regina wants to spend the night here.”

“I’m sure she does. I’ll be over to get her right now.”

“She says she’s afraid to come home.”

“Just keep her inside until I get there.”

I went out the back door and picked up the stick she had used on Brian and brought it into the kitchen. Then I started for Mrs. Lorimer’s. When I reached the edge of her yard, Regina came barreling out the front door and went running in the other direction. I started after her, kicking off my thongs as I ran. As I rounded the corner onto the next street, my foot came down on something sharp. It was just enough to throw off my gait, and the big toe of my other foot slammed into the edge of the sidewalk. Strangely enough, the pain was more of an inspiration than a deterrent; I sped up and caught her in the next block. She had been screaming all the while I was chasing her, so there was quite an audience on hand, on lawns and porches and at windows. I got hold of the collar on her red shirt and yanked her backward so I could get a grip on her arm. Immediately, she began to pull.

“Stop pulling or so help me I’ll break it!”

Mrs. Lorimer, who had been following me, arrived in time to hear this. She scowled and took a step toward me.

“That’s no way to talk to a child.”

“This is none of your business,” I snapped.

“It’s my business when I see a child being threatened.”

“Would you like to know what this child did?”

“I don’t care what she did. It doesn’t excuse—”