I didn’t open it immediately. I placed my hand on the knob, listening.
“I told you not to touch that!” Mark’s voice. Slurred. Angry.
“I’m sorry, Daddy! I’m thirsty!” Leo’s voice. Panicked.
“Thirsty? I’ll give you something to drink.”
I opened the door.
The kitchen was a wreck of catering trays and empty bottles. In the center, by the island sink, Mark had Leo.
He had hoisted the boy up by the back of his shirt, his feet kicking wildly in the air. Mark’s other hand was on the back of Leo’s neck, forcing his face down toward the running faucet.
Steam rose from the water. It was set to scalding.
“Stop crying or I’ll drown you!” Mark roared, his face twisted in a drunken rage. “You ruined my party! You embarrassed me!”
The steam hit Leo’s cheek. He screamed again, a raw, wet sound.
