That day, cold was useful.
Cold kept me from editing the truth to make my son look better.
Cold kept me from adding excuses he had not earned.
A hospital social worker joined us later and asked me to tell the story again from the beginning.
Thomas was interviewed separately.
So was Ellie.
When Ellie returned to the waiting area, her face looked gray.
She sat two chairs away from me.
For several minutes neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, “He told me Mason bumped against the side of the baby tub.”
I turned toward her.
“When?”
“This morning.”
My stomach tightened.
“You saw the bruise?”
“No.”
She rubbed both hands together.
“He said Mason had a little red spot. He told me not to worry because babies mark easily.”
“Did Mason scream during the bath?”
Her eyes filled.
“I heard him.”
That sentence landed harder than anything else she had said.
