I had heard that voice at seven when he broke a neighbor’s window, at sixteen when he wrecked my station wagon, and at twenty-three when he called because he had lost his first real job.
Thomas had always sounded younger when he wanted me to save him from consequences.
This time, I stayed where I was.
The pediatrician repeated his question in a calm voice.
“Who was alone with Mason before Mrs. Russell took over his care?”
Ellie stared at Thomas.
Thomas stared at the floor.
That was my answer before either of them spoke.
The room smelled faintly of disinfectant, coffee, and the powdery baby lotion still clinging to Mason’s blue blanket.
He had finally stopped screaming.
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