Page 27 of Worth the Fall

“That’s what I thought. That definitely looks like a ten-year-old painted it.”

She laughs, but there is no sound. “I’m not ten, though.”

“How old are you then?”

“I’m five.”

“No. Way. I thought for sure you were already driving. Are you sure the car in the driveway isn’t yours?”

Another crack of a smile is followed by an adamant shake of her head.

“And that rock there . . . is that one of your teddy bear?” I ask, pointing to the rock and then her ratty bear.

She nods. “His name is Nemo.”

“Nemo?” I smile. “I thought Nemo was a fish.”

“Nemo can be whatever he wants to be.”

“You are very right.” Schooled by a five-year-old. “Do you know why my friend, Officer Nate, and I are here, Keely?”

She shakes her head, but her quick glance over my shoulder to her dad tells me she knows exactly why we are here.

“We’re here to make sure you and your mom are okay.”

“What about my dad?” Her brow furrows, and she wraps a finger in the hem of her shirt.

“Your dad, too. We’re the police. It’s our job to make sure everyone is safe at all times.”

“Hmm.” She twists her lips as if she’s getting antsy, and I know I need to get to the point. It’s only a matter of time before Mr. Davis gets smart and tells me I can’t speak to Keely without a parent present.

“If you weren’t safe, you could tell me, you know? Like if your mommy and daddy got into a fight, and it scared you, it’s okay to tell a police officer like me. They’re not going to get into trouble for it, but it would help me understand why you seem so upset.” Her eyes widen. “Were they fighting earlier?”

“Mm-hmm.” There is so much shame in her little expression that this hard-ass wants to pull her into my arms and give her a hug.

“When you get in trouble, does your mommy or daddy ever spank you?”

“Only when I’ve been really bad,” she whispers, eyes downcast to watch her fingers, which are still twisting in the hem of her shirt.

“What’s really bad?” Her eyes flash up, and then she shakes her head and bends over to pick up one of the painted rocks. She turns it over in her hand as she finds the words her innocent mind wants to use.

“When I come out of my room when they’re fighting. Or if I spill my milk.” She shrugs as if it’s not a big deal but everything else about her posture says it is. “Or if I tell anyone about how they fight.”

Fucking Christ.

“Well, I won’t tell them that you told me anything if you don’t. Okay?”

She stares at me with tears welling in her big blue eyes as she tries to figure out whether to trust what I’m saying or not. I slowly nod to reinforce what I’ve said. “Okay,” she finally whispers, her eyes looking back to where her mom is speaking to Nate with her dad lingering close by.

“Does your mom ever get in trouble with your dad?” I ask, clocking her quick intake of breath.

“My mom doesn’t spill her glass of milk.” She breaks our eye contact and looks at the rock in her hand to avoid telling me more.

“Okay. Maybe she gets in trouble for other things though, huh?”

She nods subtly and then lifts her chin in pride as if she refuses to admit her mom is weak. She has no clue that her mom putting up with this might be a sign of weakness, but it is also a sign of strength to protect her daughter from the brunt of her dad’s anger.

“Did anything happen earlier that you want to tell me about?”