“How’s the little one?”

“She has a concussion, Dad,” I said.

“They’re keeping her in the hospital for observation.”

Harold paused, his heavy breathing filling the line.

“Your mother’s very upset.

She says you let the ambulance haul Emma off over a simple slip in the kitchen.”

“Vanessa threw a heavy cast-iron skillet at her,” I said.

“Olivia saw all of it.