The sharp raps on the kitchen door startled me enough that I lost my grip on the piping hot cookie sheet. It clattered to a precarious balance on the assortment of pans from dinner left on the stove top. I heard my sister’s footfalls as I picked up the cookie sheet and transferred it to the waiting cooling rack.

Moira sucked in her breath. “It’s Tom.”

“Don’t answer the door!” I whipped around to give her a death stare even though I was in her home.

“I have to.” Moira’s blue eyes stood out in her white face. “He’s got Jimmy.”

“Jimmy’s in his bedroom. I was just in there to tell him the cookies were almost ready.”

“He’s outside with Tom.”

My eyes closed as I exhaled with a long sigh. It was bad enough that my soon to be ex brother in law was outside, but Jimmy being with him was worse. “At least let me answer the door.”

Moira nodded.

I skirted past the island and peered through the blinds. Tom, his hand wrapped around Jimmy’s, stood on the deck. Steeling myself for anything and everything, I opened the door.

Tom squinted when the light from the kitchen hit his face. He shifted his weight to the right so he could see past my shoulder. His smile widened when he caught a glimpse of Moira. He refused to look at me and addressed Moira. “Can we come in?”

“You can’t, but Jimmy can,” I said.

Jimmy, shivering in his pajamas, stepped toward the door, but Tom jerked him back. Jimmy whimpered. His eyes, an exact replica of his mother’s, implored me for help.

“What are you doing here?” Moira’s brittle voice betrayed her battle between anger and panic.

“I wanted to see my son, but it’s getting dark and cold. We’d like to come in and warm up.” Tom sounded reasonable, but I noticed he let go of Jimmy’s hand to clench his fists.

Jimmy darted toward me. Tom grabbed for him, but his hand closed around air. I scooted aside to let my nephew in before blocking the entrance. I heard Moira’s half sob behind me.

I squared my shoulders and faced Tom head on. “You need to leave.”

His eyes narrowed. “I just need to talk to Moira.”

“Go home Tom,” said Moira over my shoulder.

“I am home!” Tom lunged forward.

I slammed the door shut and shot the bolt home. Through the blinds, I watched him kick over the watering can Moira kept by the door. With one last vicious glare at the house he stomped off the deck and crossed the yard to the swing set he and Moira picked during the previous spring.

“What’s he doing?” Moira’s voice quivered.

“He’s watching the house from the swing set.” I let go of the blinds and faced her. “Are the rest of the doors locked?”

Moira’s eyes widened as her hand covered her mouth. “I took out the trash earlier. I can’t remember if I locked the door.”

I peeked out the blind, but Tom was gone.

Without a word I spun around and sprinted through the laundry room to the garage. The outside door swung as a cool breeze blew into the garage. My breaths came in gasps as I rammed into it, forcing it closed. I twisted the deadbolt into position just as the handle turned.

The door shuddered as Tom threw his weight against it.

I didn’t wait to see if he could break it down. I ran back into the laundry room and locked it behind me.

I leaned against the door to catch my breath and calm my pounding heart. I closed my eyes, and immediately pictured Tom and Jimmy standing on the deck. I knew deep in my bones that Jimmy had not exited through the garage because we would have seen him walk through the kitchen. The only other door Jimmy could have used was the front door.

Unpleasant prickles shot up my spine. My eyes popped open. I tore through the house toward the front door. Breathless but propelled by adrenaline, I rounded the corner to the entry hall.

I skidded to a stop at the sight of Moira sobbing into her arms as she huddled in front of the locked door. She was out of the sight lines afforded by the decorative windows on either side of the door, but I could see out.

Moira lifted her head. Tears streaked her face. Her eyes met mine in silent panic.

“Get away from there,” I hissed.

“I called 911. The police are on the way.”

That was the moment I noticed the phone she held to her ear with her left hand. She cradled her right hand in her lap, the hand she confessed Tom broke two years ago instead of the accident she’d claimed at the time.

“Move, Moira!” I beckoned at her.

She started to stand.

Tom suddenly loomed in the window, casting a long shadow across the tile floor. The door handle rattled.

Moira froze. Her wide eyed gaze focused on the dark form outlined against the pale tile.

The door shook in its frame as Tom threw himself against it.

My sister spun on her feet and scrambled backwards as the door shuddered again and again.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Jimmy clutching his stuffed dinosaur. His eyes enormous, he peeked around the corner. I turned to shoo him back to the safety of his room.

At the sound of splintering wood, I whirled.

A wide crack in the paint showed where the door frame was beginning to split. The crack widened with another blow.

Moira stiffened beside me and raised her right hand. Without flinching, she aimed a gun at the door that inched open one shove at a time.  In that split second I saw the determination in her as she stood and refused to be defined any longer by the man who found his worth in stealing hers.