Chapter 1 - Green paint on the kitchen floor
The first thing I remember is the green paint.
Not the belt.
Not the broken drinking glass.
Not even Gary’s face.
Green paint.
It had spilled across the tile near Ethan’s crayons.
My brother had been making a cardboard model for school.
Something about Ohio wetlands.
There were little paper frogs.
A blue strip for a river.
Green paint for grass.
Then Gary came home angry.
Twenty minutes later, Ethan was curled beside the kitchen counter while Gary stood over him with a leather belt.
My name is Brooke.
I was seventeen.
Ethan was nine.
I screamed:
“Let him go, you bastard!”
Gary looked at me.
Ethan cried:
“I’m scared! Stop it!”
Mom stood in the doorway.
Motionless.
Gary raised the belt.
“I’m going to teach this brat a lesson!”
When he moved toward Ethan again, I got between them.
He reached for me.
I kicked him.
Hard.
Gary fell backward onto our kitchen table.
The table did not dramatically explode.
It shifted.
One leg cracked.
Crayons rolled everywhere.
Then Gary stood again.
He grabbed my shirt collar.
May you like
Pulled me close.
And the phone rang.
