Chapter 3 - Five Minutes on the Mat
Our front porch was enclosed with waist-high brick and heavy mesh screens.
In the mid-afternoon sun, with no breeze, it was an oven.
I grabbed Leo by his wrist and dragged him toward the entryway.
He didn't fight me, his shoulders slumping awkwardly.
I threw open the heavy oak front door, and a wall of scalding air hit my face.
"Five minutes," I commanded, pointing at the fiber welcome mat.
"You sit there and think about your behavior. Do not knock until the timer goes off."
"Mommy, no," he wheezed softly. "It's hot. Please."
"Sit," I ordered, pushing him onto the mat and slamming the door shut.
The heavy deadbolt clicked into place with absolute finality.
I walked back to the sofa, my heart racing, hands trembling with anger and guilt.
I pulled out my phone, set a timer for five minutes, and snatched the TV remote.
A minute passed in silence.
Then, a metallic snap echoed from the front door.
The brass flap of the mail slot flipped open.
"Mommy," a faint, muffled voice called out.
"Mommy, please."
I closed my eyes and pressed my temples, hardening my heart.
He's trying to manipulate you, I told myself. Don't break.
I aimed the remote at the screen and turned the volume up.
A daytime sitcom blared into the room, fake laughter filling the air.
The brass mail slot snapped again.
Through the laugh track, I heard a high-pitched, strange whistling noise.
May you like
Like air being squeezed out of a tiny balloon.
He's faking it, I thought, staring rigidly at the TV screen.
