“No.”
“Why? We were fine this morning.” She looked at the card, then at me, then at the card again, and I watched her do the math.
I watched her land on the wrong answer.
“Oh, I see. That little brat. She went running to Daddy the second someone told her something she didn’t like to hear.”
“I don’t understand. Is this a joke?”
“Liz didn’t tell me anything. I heard you,” I said.
I want to describe her face for you, but I’m not sure I can. It wasn’t guilt, not exactly. It was more like someone who’d been walking in the dark and just realized the floor wasn’t there.
“I was in the hallway,” I said. “I heard you call her Piggy. I heard you tell her she was ungrateful for complaining. I heard what you said about boys. And I saw you with that tape around my crying daughter’s hips.”
Jenna’s eyes darted around.
“Liz didn’t tell me anything. I heard you,”
“That’s not what it looked like.”
“What did it look like?”
“It was a conversation! A mother-daughter conversation. You don’t understand because you’re a man.”
“Jenna.” I kept my voice even, which cost me. “Liz didn’t complain. I came to you last night because I noticed. I saw her reach for a cookie and look at you first. She was asking permission to eat. That’s why I talked to you, and she had nothing to do with it.”
