Five Days in Summer

level. He was sitting next to her on the floor. Sitting on something. A towel? Protecting his white pants? Bastard. She tried to twist her body away from him but his thick, clammy hand fell onto her waist and stopped her.
    Sarah kept a studio downtown so she could paint, so she could leave Emily alone while Daddy was at the firm building his partnership and maintaining it so she could eat and have clothes and toys and so they could afford a babysitter.
    “Justine will give you dinner, Emily. Don’t complain.”
    “I hate Justine. I want you to stay home with me.”
    “I’m going to my studio. I’ll be back later. Never forget that I love you.”
    “If you loved me, you wouldn’t leave me.”
    “Nonsense. I love you more than anything.”
    Sarah’s hands cupped Emily’s face, soft lips planted a kiss on her forehead. Emily believed her.
    His hand moved slowly across her abdomen. He put a finger into her belly button and swished it around. He flattened his hand and ran it down to her crotch, skimming the hair.
    The painting showed a little girl running naked in a field of buttercups. You only saw her back. Running. In front of her, you sensed laughter.
    The air in Emily’s lungs turned wet and congealed. The fingers bent, but failed to probe. The hand moved down her legs.
    The little girl turned around. Wrong. Not laughter.
    The fingers grazed her kneecap then continued down her shin, along her instep, to her toes. He took the baby toe in two fingers and squeezed hard. Moved to the next toe, and the next, until he had systematically squeezed every one. She waited for him to repeat the bizarre exercise on her other foot but he didn’t. His hand moved back up her leg, hovered over her pubic hair, then traveled up along her ribs.
    “Daddy will be home in time to read to you tonight, Em, honey.”
    “Get into bed, Sammie, and David will read to you. I have to bathe Maxi. I’ll be in to kiss you in a little while.”
    The palms of his hands circled her breasts like helicopters observing a forest fire. When they landed, two fingers twisted her nipple.
    “Ignore him, and he won’t bother you anymore.”
    “But it isn’t fair, Mommy!”
    “No, it isn’t fair.”
    He moved on to her other nipple, pinching and twisting hard.
    The recipe had been in their family for years, it wasn’t written down. Heat some oil and sauté diced onions until they’re clear. Cook the curry powder with the onions. Put in a chicken and dump a whole quart of plain yogurt on top. A splash of vinegar. Crush the shells of ten cardamom seeds and put the seeds into the pot. Throw in some sliced carrots and if you want, potatoes. Later add frozen peas and raisins. It was very easy. Once you learned it you could alter it over time to suit your taste.

Chapter 19
    “Daddy, I want to be a police officer when I grow up!”
    Sammie was still wearing the police hat, but not the badge, when they left the station house and headed down the front path toward the parking lot. David had returned his hat to Suellen, embarrassed, Will thought, at having worn it at all. He was at that age of slippage, still tugged by the delights of childhood, yet peering around the bend at his preadolescence. He still liked to play, but didn’t like to admit it.
    Will checked his watch: it was just past noon. They would have time to check in on Maxi at the hospital, then get back to the house to meet Charlie and Val.
    “Excuse me!”
    Will stopped short at the sudden voice, yanking Sam back from crossing the parking lot alone. David, two steps ahead, stopped walking and turned around to look at the man who seemed to have come out of nowhere, jogging quickly in their direction. He was in his thirties, with wavy blond hair and pale, freckled skin. He wore white pants, creased sharply down the fronts, and a tangerine Lacrosse shirt with the collar up in a style that went out with the eighties. A camera hung from a strap around his neck and he clutched ahalf-size spiral notebook with a pen trapped in the coil.
    “Mr. Parker!”
    The voice sounded familiar to Will. “Who are you?”
    A smile bloomed on the pallid face as the man stopped right in front of them. “Eric Smith, Cape Cod Times .” He presented his hand in greeting, but Will remembered the phone call too well and declined the handshake.
    “Come on, boys.” Will pulled Sam forward, and with David next to them started across the parking lot.
    “Mr. Parker!”
    Smith trotted up behind them. A car