The Good Father (12 page)

They’d come about half a mile, and darkness had fallen. The sidewalk, however, was lighter than it had been due to the old-fashioned lamp poles that lined it. They turned on automatically at seven o’clock every night, and they’d just come on, bathing them in a kind of boardwalk glow.

Ella didn’t argue, though. She and Chloe had a movie to watch. And another day off tomorrow to fill with fun things.

“Our goal, then, is to see Jeff and Chloe in a happy marriage again.”

She wanted to shake him up. To see if he was shakable. But she avoided the temptation. Jeff respected Brett. He’d listen to him.

He was the only person she believed could reach her brother, help him see the truth before it was too late.

Because Chloe was going to go back.

Ella didn’t kid herself on that one. She was married to Jeff for better or worse. In sickness and in health. She adored the man.

She needed him.

Ella just prayed, every day, that she could keep her sister-in-law in Santa Raquel long enough for her brother to get healthy.

“Yes,” she said. Yes, their goal was to see her brother and his wife in a happy, healthy marriage.

“Obviously I’m the Jeff part of the plan, and you are the Chloe side. Seeing that Jeff won’t put you in the middle, and he and I are good. And Chloe’s staying with you.”

“Which Jeff doesn’t know.” She couldn’t have Brett going all solitary man on her and disrespecting Chloe’s choices.

“I’m not going to tell him, Ella. Not without discussing it with you and Chloe first.”

She relaxed. One thing anyone could count on with Brett Ackerman was that he kept his word. The value of the Ackerman watermark on any nonprofit organization spoke to the power of Brett’s word.

He was a good man to the core.

Remembering that was okay.

“I intend to keep in close contact with Jeff.”

To “work” on him, of course. Ella read between the lines of what Brett was saying, because with the Brett of today, that was the only way to understand his true meaning.

“I think it’s also important that you and I stay in regular contact,” he said.

“I agree.” Her answer was instantaneous.

“I also think it would be good if the four of us, you and me and Cody and Chloe, met up another time or two. I stand to gain more with Jeff if I can tell him I know for certain that Chloe is fine, and I can only do that if I know firsthand that what I say is true.”

“How do we tell him that, let him know that you’ve seen her, without him figuring out where she is?”

“She has friends in LA. I’m there on business every week. I travel frequently. For all he knows, I saw her in Palm Desert over the weekend. I could arrange to meet up with her anywhere.”

“What if he asks you where she is?”

“He won’t. Just like he’s not asking her. He’s respecting her wishes. Again, this is your brother we’re talking about. You know him.”

He’d shoved his wife into a doorjamb so hard it left a bruise all the way down her back. “And if he does ask?”

“I’ll tell him the truth. That I agreed not to share that information.”

Brett had an answer for everything.

She would do well to remember that.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

B
RETT HAD ONE
more stop to make before he went home for the night. He called Jeff on his way. Assured himself that Jeff was fine, for now. Jeff had had a good day out on the course and was buzzing about some stock that had just taken a larger upswing than he’d predicted, meaning that he was going to have a busy but good week. He was at his computer, working already, when Brett called.

The conversation was brief. But healthy. Work was the panacea. Brett knew that firsthand. And felt confident that his friend would be perfectly capable of giving his wife some more time to figure out what was going on with her life.

He was at his mother’s gated community moments later, used his access card to get in through the security gate and made quick work of checking over her place, reading the note she’d left for him—telling him that she didn’t need anything.

To satisfy himself, he opened the cupboard under the sink. Her trash was all emptied—she wouldn’t even leave him some garbage to dump—and she had a fresh case of water in the refrigerator. Couldn’t leave it for him to carry in from the garage. Not that she wasn’t perfectly capable of lifting a case of water, but it would be nice to be able to do something for her.

He checked the water-softener salt. The level was good.

Scribbling a note to her, telling her he loved her—as he did every single week—he was back out again.

She wouldn’t come home if his car was out front, and he didn’t want to risk finding out what would happen if he broke their agreement to always park out front when he visited so she’d know he was there.

He’d been tempted, though. He’d actually parked his car on the next block and walked over once, with the intention of waiting inside to confront her, but had turned around and gone back without entering. Her home was a safe place. But it hadn’t always been. His job, as someone who loved her, was to ensure that it remained a place where she felt safe.

Which meant that it was a place where she didn’t have to worry about losing control and beating on her son’s chest a second time.

* * *

W
ORK KEPT HIM
occupied until ten, at which time he stripped down and took a swim in the heated pool in his backyard. Then it was inside to shower.

That was the part he should have skipped. A little chlorine left on his skin, or in the bed, wouldn’t have been as damaging as standing beneath the warm spray, his naked skin invigorated and chilled, basking in the purely physical pleasure until the sensation reminded him of other times. Other showers. Ones he hadn’t taken alone.

A vision of Ella, her long legs naked and wet, came to mind. Waylaying his well-trained thoughts. Steering them off course.

It was as if he could still smell her from earlier that evening. Knew every nuance of her voice. Felt her heat beside him and heard the click of her sandals on the sidewalk. His penis grew, and he closed his eyes, trying to bring himself back under control.

He was going to help her. Help Jeff. He really had no other choice. Ella believed Chloe. Because Chloe was the only one talking to her. Jeff didn’t want to put her in the middle.

Brett had talked to Chloe and to Jeff. He had both sides.

And he believed Jeff. He also agreed with Ella’s assessment that Chloe could probably benefit from time spent at The Lemonade Stand. The counselors there were superb. And since they all ate, it stood to reason that they’d all run into Chloe some time or other.

The immediate plan was to help keep Jeff patient any way he could. To give Chloe time to figure out her emotions.

The success of the plan hinged on three things.

He had to help.

He was going to do so without hurting Ella any more.

And the only way to do that was to make damned certain that they didn’t let this get at all personal.

* * *

N
ORA WAS AT
the hospital shortly after Ella arrived on Tuesday. They’d found a bus route that she could take from outside the Stand straight to the hospital, and she’d been doing so every day since.

The young woman looked rested. She smiled. And if baby Henry remained stable, he’d be released to her care early that week.

There was already a crib waiting for him in Nora’s room at The Lemonade Stand.

Ella made a note on the chart she was keeping on Nora and Henry for her report to the High Risk team when she attended their first meeting on Wednesday. She was keeping a chart on another patient, as well. A twelve-year-old boy had come in over the weekend with what appeared to be a cigarette burn on his arm. He said that he’d been playing at the family bonfire and sent up some ashes, one of which landed on his skin. The doctor on call had been certain the burn came from something pressed against the skin and held there.

Mom and Dad had both been present at the hospital. Police were notified. There’d been a previous domestic disturbance call to the home the year before. Called in by a neighbor.

In separate interviews, both parents verified the boy’s story.

A ten-year-old sister did, as well.

There was nothing anyone could do but keep a watch on the family. Ella’s report to the team would ensure that elementary school and junior high counselors and a social services staff member would keep both kids on their radar. Officers from the Santa Raquel Police Department would make well checks in the neighborhood.

Notes had been made to the boy’s hospital chart, a flag added to the family’s address, so that if anyone came in again, the doctor on call would be alerted to the situation.

When Ella looked at the domestic-violence statistics she’d been given, she was overwhelmed by the size of the demon they were fighting, but on Wednesday afternoon, as she sat at a conference table at the local police precinct, looking around at the other people who sat there—different races and levels of education, different genders and ages—with one common desire to eradicate the disease of domestic destruction, she knew that they’d win. Have an impact, at least.

Having traded her scrubs for black dress pants and a white blouse, she tried to blend in as she sat quietly and took notes. When she was called on, she made her report. And throughout the meeting wrote down three names she’d been given—one from child services, and two from Officer Sanchez—to check against hospital charts for recent injuries.

At the table she finally had the opportunity to meet Sara Havens, a counselor at The Lemonade Stand and the Stand’s representative on the team.

With her shoulder-length dark blond hair and blue eyes, Sara looked like a stereotypical California beach beauty with nothing more on her mind than getting the perfect tan. Until she was asked to give an overview of the team’s core approach, as well as a profile of their victims, as a reminder for the seasoned members and to educate the newcomers. There were two other new members in addition to Ella.

Soft-spoken and unassuming, Sara captured Ella’s full attention and respect as soon as she opened her mouth.

“You can’t just tell people what they have to do and expect them to do it,” she told the table at large. “We’re dealing with individuals who feel pushed into a corner—a lot of them literally as well as figuratively. So while, yes, we’re fighting a dragon and have to be willing to use every effort to slay it, we have to tread softly. To approach with an outstretched hand, not a raised fist. If we threaten, we risk doing more harm than good. We’re trying to prevent crime here. In most cases, the next choice isn’t ours—it’s theirs. We’re just here to try to shape that choice.”

She had more to say. Then, and later in the meeting, as well. Every person around the table had a chance to speak. To give a report or a simple introduction if there was no report to give.

Sara reported on a case she and her fiancé, a bounty hunter, had just worked on with the team. The victim was at The Lemonade Stand; all warrants against her had been expunged. The gunshot wound she had incurred from her husband was healing, and her parents had temporary custody of her infant son until she and child services—Sara gave a nod to Lacey Hamilton, the team’s child services representative—determined that she was mentally and emotionally well enough to give him a stable home.

Ella added baby Toby and his mother, Nicole Harris, the victim Sara had just mentioned, to her watch list. Just in case.

The meeting ended shortly afterward. Feeling overwhelmed, awed and ready to do her part, she put her folder in her bag, slung her satchel over her shoulder and was on her way out the door when she felt a tap on her other shoulder.

Sara Havens stood there, a welcoming light in her eye. “I’m Sara. Lila told me to make sure we meet.”

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Ella told the counselor in return. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You’ll need to meet Lynn Bishop, too. She’s our resident nurse and chief medical officer. Lila told her about you at our last staff meeting.”

Ella had heard about Lynn—she and her husband lived at the Stand along with his brother and sister-in-law, who were both mentally challenged. The number of people she knew in town—and wanted to know—was growing.

In a very short time, Santa Raquel was becoming home.

Sara told Ella about a couple other staff members as they walked together out of the police station to their cars. As Ella said goodbye and turned toward her own vehicle, Sara touched her arm again.

“Can we chat a minute?” She motioned toward a bench on the edge of the sidewalk.

Curious, Ella followed her. Clearly Sara had a favor to ask. Ella hoped it was one she could grant.

“It’s about your sister-in-law,” Sara said as soon as they were seated. “She’s not my client, and I haven’t spoken with her, but Lila told me about her situation and asked that I keep an eye on her for you.”

Ella hadn’t known. But... “I can’t thank you enough for that,” she told Sara. “She’s so vulnerable right now, and I’m holding my breath every day that she doesn’t go back to Jeff before he gets help. He’s never hit her, so she doesn’t think she’s as at-risk as the other women were...”

“I understand that he bruised her pretty badly, though.”

A vision of Chloe’s injuries two weeks ago sprang to mind. “Yes.” Ella swallowed, looked away and then back. “My brother’s not the stereotypical abuser,” she said. “He’s so easygoing...I can hardly remember him ever being angry when we were growing up. I don’t know what’s gotten into him...”

Sara said nothing as Ella paused. But her gaze showed that she was completely focused on Ella and Chloe’s situation. “I think that’s part of what makes it so hard for Chloe. Jeff’s normal demeanor...he’s like that dog that lets you hang off his ear. He’s gentle. Soft-spoken. Kind.”

Sara was nodding, and Ella stopped, worried that she wasn’t painting an accurate picture, that she was protesting too much, or not enough.

“It’s easier to wall your heart off to a mean person” was all Sara said. “Or one who has a hair trigger and keeps you constantly alert to potential danger.”