Chapter 4 - The first bruise
Six months into their relationship, Hannah wore long sleeves at a barbecue.
July.
Ninety degrees.
I asked:
“Cold?”
She answered:
“Office air-conditioning.”
I knew that was nonsense.
Later, when she reached for a plate, the sleeve moved.
Bruise on her wrist.
I looked at it.
She pulled the sleeve down.
“Gym accident.”
“You don’t train.”
“I was holding pads for Dustin.”
I did not believe her.
But Hannah was thirty-one.
Not sixteen.
I could ask.
I could not interrogate.
So I said:
“If somebody put that there, you can tell me.”
She became angry.
“Dad, not every man is one of your recruits.”
“I know.”
“You can’t inspect everybody.”
“I know.”
She left early.
For weeks I wondered whether I had pushed too hard.
Now, sitting beside her hospital bed, she said:
May you like
“That first bruise was him too.”
I closed my eyes.
