“There’s a three-year-old in my house who has six stitches in his head because of her!”

“I didn’t, I didn’t!” Regina screamed.

“Don’t bother lying—I saw you do it. Now start walking!” She continued to pull in the other direction. “If I have to start pulling you, you’re going to be sorry.”

“Mrs. Mattison, maybe it would be wise to wait until you’ve calmed down.”

“I’m not waiting for anything.” I began to pull Regina the way a cowboy might pull his horse out of mud. Mrs. Lorimer walked alongside us.

“I want Daddy!”

“Maybe she could stay at my place until her father comes home.”

“She’s coming home with me.”

“I want Daddy! My throat hurts!”

After the distance of one block, she realized my strength was greater than hers; she gave up pulling and stumbled along hesitantly. Mrs. Lorimer walked with us as far as our yard. Her cue to stop was my emphatic good night.

As soon as we got into the kitchen, Regina pulled back at the sight of the stick. I let go of her arm and picked it up. “Do you know that that little boy had to have his head sewn up?” My hand tightened around the stick as I looked into her face: there were Frank’s eyes, his high forehead, his long, thin jaw line, but there was none of his softness. That face was a wilderness to me; all my anger gathered in my throat and I had to fight not to cry. “Do you realize how badly you hurt that boy?”

No answer.

“Would you like to see what you did? Would you like me to show you his stitches?”

Gloria came in. “Irene, he doesn’t know what hit him. I don’t think we should even bring it up.”

Regina turned and sneered at her. That was all it took. I snapped the stick in two.

“Upstairs.” My tone changed both their faces. For the first time in the past two years, there was fear in Regina’s eyes and I savored it. “Upstairs. Now.”

“I want Dad—”

“If you say that one more time, it’ll be worse. Now get moving.”

She went ahead of me, looking over her shoulder as we climbed the stairs. I followed her into her room, closed the door and pulled her over my knee. When I raised my hand, I realized I still had the stick in it. I dropped it, yanked down her shorts and panties, and slapped until my hand burned. She fell back on the bed, screaming.

“You have exactly half a minute to get quiet. If you don’t, you’ll get more. With the stick.” To prove it, I picked it up. She turned her head and cried into the pillow. “I’ll tell you right now, if you ever do what you did today, I’ll beat you until you can’t stand up. And don’t think for a minute your father will be able to stop me.”