My old pickup truck tore across the Parker estate’s perfect lawn. Curtis, my son-in-law, waited with the bat, trying to look like a king defending his castle.
“Go home, old man,” Curtis yelled, his voice shaking. “This is family business. Emily must learn discipline. She must know her place.”
“Discipline?” I repeated, stepping out of the truck. Curtis sw:u:ng. Slow and sloppy. I slipped past the bat and drove my fist into his stomach. He folded and hit the ground gasping. I stepped over him like he was nothing.
Upstairs, the sound of scissors slicing mixed with my daughter’s sobs. My bl:ood turned to ice. I took the stairs two at a time and kicked open the bedroom door.
Doris, Curtis’s mother, had her knee pressed into Emily’s back. She was cutt:ing away my daughter’s hair with heavy shears.
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