“You did.”
“It was you.”
The boy’s mouth twitched.
“That’s a bad example.”
The father smiled faintly.
“True.”
Then the boy’s face became serious again.
“But if I’m wrong, I can’t put someone in a police car.”
The father’s smile disappeared.
“No.”
“That’s why adults with power have to be more careful.”
The boy looked toward his arm.
The red marks were visible.
The father’s anger returned so quickly it frightened him.
He reached for his phone.
Then stopped.
“What?”
The boy asked.
“I need to take pictures of your arm.”
“Why?”
“Documentation.”
The boy sighed.
“You always say that.”
“I know.”
“Do I have to?”
The father paused.
That mattered.
“No.”
The boy looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I think it’s important.”
“But it’s your arm.”
The boy thought.
Then held it out.
“Okay.”
The father took photographs.
Wide angle.
Both arms.
Then closer.
No artificial contrast.
No filters.
No attempt to make the marks look worse.
When he finished, he put the phone down.
“Thank you.”
The boy looked toward him.
“Are you gonna post those?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
His son relaxed slightly.
The father looked toward the living-room window.
Outside, the sergeant and officer were still talking.
The father could not hear the words.
The officer’s gestures were sharp.
The sergeant’s were not.
The boy followed his gaze.
“Is he gonna come back?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
The father stopped.
He did not know.
The sergeant had said take him inside.
That was not the same as guarantee.
The father corrected himself.
“I don’t think he will.”
The boy stared.
Then nodded.
Better than false certainty.
The father called the boy’s mother.
She answered from work.
“Hey.”
He heard keyboards and voices behind her.
“You somewhere private?”
Immediate silence.
“What happened?”
“He’s okay.”
“Why did you start with that?”
The father closed his eyes.
“Because something happened.”
Twenty minutes later, she was driving toward the house in hospital scrubs.
The father ended the call.
His son looked toward him.
“Mom mad?”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
The father stared.
“No.”
“Why do you keep thinking people are mad at you?”
The boy shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
The father felt something inside him crack.
He moved around the table.
Sat beside him.
“Look at me.”
The boy did.
“You did not cause this.”
“You didn’t cause the officer to stop.”
“You didn’t cause him to grab you.”
“You didn’t cause me to come outside.”