Richard’s birthday party was supposed to start at noon.
His brothers were coming.
His sons.
A few friends from work.
Mom had been cooking for days.
At two, Officer Miller called.
Twenty minutes later, another officer arrived at the grocery store to pick me up.
That scared me even more.
I sat in the back of a police car, asking questions he wouldn’t answer.
When we turned onto my street, I saw three patrol cars.
An ambulance.
Crime scene tape across our front walkway.
My chest went cold.
I tried to open the door before the officer had fully stopped.
“Wait.”
“My mom is in there.”
“She’s not in the house.”
“Where is she?”
“Hospital.”
“What happened?”
Officer Miller came toward us.
He was older. Gray hair. Tired face.
He said, “Your mother has injuries, but doctors believe she’ll recover.”
I started crying.
“What did Richard do?”
He looked at me carefully.
