“She hurts Suzy, too. In places you won’t see. I saw marks on her stomach one day while I was getting her dressed.” A collective intake of breath.

“You need to report her,” chimes in trail mix mom, salt glistening on her fingertips. There are murmurs of agreement.

“Have you spoken to Mrs. Loomis’s husband yet?” This from Aine, the one who started it all.

Annie shakes her head, feels the words come out before she’s even practiced them in her head. “I can’t. There’s no hard evidence.” She lets her eyes drift downwards again, back toward the wood.

“No hard evidence? She hurts you, too! And she probably hurts the husband. I read about that somewhere. These poor men subjected to their wives’ aggression. Feel too embarrassed to tell anyone because they think the police will laugh in their faces.” Aine shakes her head despondently.

“Next time she hurts you, please come to me. My address is in the school phonebook.” This from a stout graying mom with a snaggletooth that Annie is sure could have been fixed. A rough bob haircut that only accentuates her sagging cheeks and eyelids.

Annie nods dutifully. They’ve all offered at this point. “You know, I think she gets shampoo in Suzy’s eyes just to hurt her? Lets the suds run down her head just so she cries. Suzy always says how much she prefers it when I bathe her.” The women nod in unison, tilting their heads, their eyebrows etched with even more compassion. Annie’s said this before, she realizes, as the reaction to this anecdote dissipates much more quickly than the others. She’s repeating herself and she can’t stop talking.

“I would leave, get another job. But I just love Suzy so much, and I don’t want to leave her with that woman, you know?”

The Jamaican woman pats her on the hand. “It’s a tough situation to be in, sweetie. I had a similar situation with my last family. The dad was an alcoholic. Never felt quite right leaving the kids alone with him when it was his turn to babysit.”

“You’re so brave, hanging in there for Suzy. She’ll have some good influence in her life to look up to,” the snaggletoothed mom says, and Annie smiles sheepishly in response. The air is so taut, so charged, that when someone checks the time and says they’d better go in, she’s startled. The sky looks too blue, the bare trees a striking contrast with the cloudless sky. She is giddy as she follows the other women inside, a frenetic energy that makes her want to run around the schoolyard, throw herself down a hill and feel herself suspended in the air for just one elastic second.