Startled, she turned from the swing and saw Lexi running toward her, face full of tears. Grace marched behind her, lips drawn in a taut line.

“Mommy, she pushed me!” Lexi cried, and flung her arms around Monica’s legs, nearly knocking Monica off balance.

“Who pushed you?” Monica asked. “What happened?”

“That big girl . . .” Lexi leveled a shaky finger toward the playset from which she had fled.

Monica looked, but she couldn’t distinguish the guilty child from the gaggle of children flitting back and forth.

“A big ox of a girl—who seems to have been dumped off here by her parents—shoved Lexi down the slide, and caused her to lose her balance,” Grace said, fists bunched on her waist. “Lexi may have slightly abraded her knee on the slide when she fell, but she’ll be fine.” Grace patted Lexi’s head. “Don’t worry, dearest—Nana knows exactly which child is responsible. It’s the hellion wearing the pink My Little Pony jacket.”

Monica spotted the kid: a husky, red-headed girl holding court near the top of the slide. She was yelling at the other, smaller children as if she were the playground queen.

Monica noticed that a joyless smile had settled on Grace’s face. Something deep in Monica shifted, and she thought, Okay, I don’t think I ever want to make my mother angry, because she looks primed to dish out some serious punishment.

“It’s all right now.” Monica wiped away Lexi’s tears. “Let’s all go play on something else, okay, honey?”

“Okay.” Lexi nodded, sniffled.

Monica told Junior to stop swinging, and he reluctantly hopped off. They ambled to another, less crowded section of the playground, but Grace hung a few paces behind them, periodically casting glances over her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Monica asked.

“I’m keeping my attention focused on that little bitch,” Grace said with a hot, slitted gaze. “She’s a horrible child, a bad seed, and I’ve yet to see her parents or a nanny watching her. She needs to be disciplined.”

Little bitch? Monica thought. Wasn’t that strong language to use to describe a kid?

“She’s a typical schoolyard bully,” Monica said. “We’ll avoid her. We’re here for only a short while, no need to make a big deal about it.”

“That’s one difference between you and me, child. You avoid conflict. But embracing conflict strengthens character.”

Monica paused, unsure how to respond. But Grace had whirled around. Walking with long, swift strides, like a woman on a mission, she made a beeline to the restrooms on the edge of the park.

“Grace?” Monica said, but her mother ignored her.

Perhaps her mother merely had an urgent need to go to the ladies’ room. If so, why was Monica’s stomach wound tight with apprehension?