Chapter 2 - The Sound of the Palm
Her sneakers skid against the wood.
She scoops the infant straight out of the plastic seat.
Cold, sour milk drenches her chest instantly as she presses the trembling body against her neck.
"What are you doing?!" the mother screams.
The grandmother doesn't step back.
She cap-screws the blue bottle with a sharp twist of her wrist.
"He spit out his formula," the older woman says, resting a hand on her hip.
"If he doesn't learn the value of things now, he’ll grow up spoiled like you."
The mother’s breath catches in her throat.
Her chest heaves against the wet bundle in her arms.
Her right arm swings on instinct, wild and heavy.
PALM.
The slap rings through the vaulted ceiling of the sunlit room.
The grandmother’s head snaps to the side.
May you like
Her blue button-down collar twists tightly against her throat.
A red handprint blooms instantly across her pale cheek.
