Chapter 1 - The Birthday Party That Ended in the Bathroom
I found my four-year-old daughter hiding behind a locked bathroom door while my family ate cake downstairs.
At first, I thought Rosie was overwhelmed.
My parents’ house in Naperville was packed with relatives for my father’s sixty-seventh birthday. Twenty-three people had been talking over one another since noon. Balloons covered the dining room. Children ran between the kitchen and basement. Somebody had put music on too loudly.
Rosie hated loud rooms.
So when I realized I hadn’t seen her for ten minutes, I went looking without panicking.
“Rosie?”
No answer.
I tried the upstairs bathroom.
Locked.
“Sweetheart, it’s Dad.”
A tiny sound came through the door.
“Daddy?”
My stomach tightened.
“Open the door.”
“I don’t want Aunt Bethany.”
I stopped breathing.
“Bethany isn’t here. Open it for me.”
The lock clicked.
Rosie stood behind the door in her pale-blue hoodie with silver stars.
Her face was blotchy from crying.
One cheek was discolored.
Small round marks were visible along her forearms.
I dropped to my knees.
“What happened?”
Rosie immediately pulled down her sleeves.
“Nothing.”
Four-year-olds are terrible liars.
They are even worse when somebody has frightened them into trying.
“Did somebody hurt you?”
She stared at the floor.
“It was a game.”
“What game?”
Her mouth trembled.
“Aunt Bethany said I had to get tougher.”
My whole body went cold.
“Where is she?”
Rosie shook her head violently.
“Don’t.”
I picked her up.
“You’re staying with me.”
She wrapped herself around my neck so tightly I could feel her heartbeat.
When we reached the dining room, nobody stopped eating.
That detail stayed with me.
Cake plates.
Coffee.
My father pouring bourbon.
My mother stacking napkins.
Bethany sitting near the table as if nothing had happened.
I looked directly at my sister.
“What did you do to Rosie?”
Bethany glanced at my daughter.
Then laughed.
“Oh, please.”
“What happened to her arms?”
“Relax. It was a joke. She needed toughening up.”
I crossed the room before I consciously decided to move.
My open hand connected with Bethany’s cheek.
Once.
Hard.
The room erupted.
Bethany stumbled sideways into a chair.
Rosie screamed against my shoulder.
I immediately hated that my daughter had seen me lose control.
I also knew I was done standing there.
“Don’t ever touch my daughter again.”
Bethany grabbed her cheek.
“You psycho!”
I turned toward the door.
My father moved in front of me.
Frank Dawson had spent sixty-seven years believing physical size was an argument.
“You hit your sister, you don’t leave my house.”
“Move.”
“Put Rosie down.”
My daughter tightened her arms around my neck.
“No.”
“Ryan.”
“Move.”
Behind him, my mother finally spoke.
“Rosie probably got frightened. Bethany didn’t mean anything.”
I stared at Linda.
“Look at her.”
Mom’s eyes moved to Rosie’s face.
For one second, horror appeared.
Then Dad snapped:
“We handle family problems inside the family.”
“Not this one.”
I stepped around him.
He caught my shoulder.
I twisted away without dropping Rosie.
Bethany came toward us.
She reached for Rosie.
I knocked her hand away.
“Don’t ever touch my daughter again.”
Frank grabbed a drinking glass from the table.
“You arrogant bastard.”
He threw it.
I turned my body.
The glass missed my head and exploded against the wall.
Rosie screamed again.
That ended whatever relationship I thought I still had with my father.
I moved toward the front door.
Then Rosie lifted her head.
“Daddy.”
She pointed toward Bethany’s handbag.
Something small lay beside it on the table.
Rosie’s birthday bracelet.
I recognized it because she had worn it every day since turning four.
Beside it were six identical round plastic party clips.
Rosie whispered:
“Those.”
My mother looked where she pointed.
Her face changed.
Completely.
“Bethany,” Linda said.
My sister froze.
Mom stared at the clips.
“Why are those in your bag?”
Frank turned toward his wife.
For the first time that afternoon, he looked confused.
Bethany stopped looking angry.
She looked afraid.
I did not stay for the explanation.
I carried Rosie outside.
But as I buckled her into the car seat, she whispered something that made me stop.
“Grandma knows those.”
“Knows what?”
Rosie looked toward the house.
“She told Aunt Bethany she wasn’t supposed to use them anymore.”
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The birthday party was not the first time my family had seen those clips.
It was only the first time I had.
