Her skin was red and wrinkled, covered in thick detergent foam.
She wasn’t crying.
Somehow, that frightened me more.
A guest walked into the kitchen and casually dropped an empty glass beside Jessica.
“Bring me some cold hibiscus iced tea right now, and cut me a fresh bowl of watermelon,” the woman demanded loudly.
Jessica lowered her eyes.
“Yes, I will do that right now,” Jessica whispered.
When she turned, I noticed a damp, dirty bandage around one finger.
Then I saw a raw blister near her wrist.
I dropped my suitcase.
The impact against the marble floor echoed through the apartment.
Every conversation stopped.
My mother turned pale.
But Olivia didn’t run toward me.
She simply gripped the platter harder and whispered,
“Dad, please hurry up, because if I don’t finish washing these right now, Grandma said Mom and I aren’t going to get any dinner tonight,” Olivia said.
