During Family Breakfast, My Sister Hurled a Hot Frying Pan at My Daughter

“The judge has signed the protective order,” I said.

“Vanessa’s going on formal probation,” my mother said, her sharp, commanding voice wavering into a high, shaky pitch.

“She has to do community service like some common criminal.”

She climbed two of the wooden porch steps and stopped at the top.

“I brought a box of new toys for Emma,” my mother said.

“They’re in my trunk.

Fancy wooden puzzles and expensive stuffed animals from that boutique downtown.”

“Emma’s inside with her sitter,” I said.