“Whoa, cowboy,” Dr. Bennett exclaims and picks him up. “The office has paper towels. A few clean shirts. Why don’t you check in my office—bottom drawer on the right?”
I dig through her drawer of Salvation Army finds and come up with a faded Grateful Dead T-shirt circa 1973. Cool. I grab it and pull my wet shirt over my head.
Dr. Bennett pokes her head in to see if I’ve found anything. “Jack, how’s it coming—” She stops short and sucks in a lot of air.
I know what she’s looking at. My arm and an ugly tattoo of purplish-red and yellow blotches.
“Wait,” she says.
I hastily pull on the skeleton-adorned top.
“What in the world? What happened to you?” Dr. Bennett looks pissed. And like she might cry. “Let’s go back to the playroom. We can talk there.”
It’s not a question. It’s an order. I clamp my mouth shut while we walk and promise myself I won’t squeal on Dad. He’ll kill me if I tell. Sam wrestles himself to the floor, eager to toss the stuffed animals around. He lets a giraffe fly a few inches off the ground as Dr. Bennett and I do a stare down.
“Um. I fell. The other day.” I smooth the shirt, peer at the wall, at nothing.
“Jack. Come on. Did someone at school do that?”
I shake my head.
“Someone at the apartment complex? A neighbor?”
Another no.
“Jack, did your father do this?” Dr. Bennett tries to look at my face and sinks to her knees. “The shape of the bruises, those are fingermarks.”
Now I’m angry. I want her to stop, so I raise my voice loud. “I told you I fell.” Even Sam stops moving. I swallow and nod, push myself into a chair.
Dr. Bennett watches me. “Say I believe you, Jack. That what you’re telling me is the truth.”
My insides somersault. I can’t look up. “Yeah.”
“Can I ask you something else? If I believe you about falling?” She waits a beat. “It’s not about you.”
I exhale a little and shift my gaze to a spot on the floor. I stare at the piece of carpeting until it looks bleary and fuzzy. “Uh, okay.”
“Did Ava, or your mom, Karen, ever hurt themselves?”
My face twists. I don’t want it to. I try to make it stop. Then squeeze my eyes tight to block out the sound of her voice. I don’t want to remember. But the words push out, almost like I can’t stop them.
“Karen. Sh-she tripped down a flight of stairs. Dad caught her, kind of.”
Dr. Bennett sits back on her heels. She glances at my brother, who’s dragging a stuffed giraffe around by the leg. Its head bounces off the floor. Bump. Bump. Bump.
“Sam, c’mere.” Dr. Bennett beckons him over.
He trots to her, only too happy. His curls stick up on one side, and he pushes the giraffe in her face.
“Well, hello,” she says, grasping at the animal and turning him upright. “Can you find me the rhino, Sam? And we’ll play?”
While my brother trots off, Dr. Bennett pulls a card from her pocket and scribbles something on the back. “Here’s my number and home address. In case you want to talk. Anytime. For any reason.”
“Not really.” I shuffle a foot and pick up the Sprite can, set it on the counter. I slide the card into my front pocket. I grab some paper towels and begin to soak up the mess.
“Do you have a cell phone?” Dr. Bennett asks. “In case you change your mind?”
I press the folded sheets into the carpet. “Used to.” I squint at the liquid spreading across the paper towels. “Ava gave it to me, but my dad dropped it. It’s broken.”
This time Dr. Bennett doesn’t ask for details. “What about your home phone?” she says. “I know your father has one.”
“Not allowed to use it. Except for emergencies.” I ball up the soggy paper towels, toss them in the trash.
Dr. Bennett moves Sam to the dry section of the room, to stack blocks, which he promptly knocks down. The tower of red, blue, and green tumbles into a heap. I sit down next to them.
“So what’s up this weekend?” Dr. Bennett asks. “Any big plans?”
I close my mouth tight and build a tower for Sam, pyramid-like. The top wavers and wobbles but balances with a tap of my finger. Just in time for Sam to swing. Crash.
“Bingo with Isabel?” she suggests. “Now that would be fun. Maybe they call out the numbers in Spanish.”
“We’re going out of town, I guess.” I pick at the hem of the Grateful Dead T-shirt. “Tonight. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Ava because Dad says it might upset her.”
“True.” Dr. Bennett purses her lips. “That might make her sad. Or worried.”
“Right,” I agree.
Gosh. She won’t stop talking. Where is my dad?
Dr. Bennett tries again. “Going anywhere fun? A lake? A state park?”
“I dunno.” I hold up a block, turn it over and over in my hand.
“Well, maybe it’s a big surprise. Something really fun! How long will you be gone? Did your dad say?”
A floorboard creaks.
Sam pipes up. “Dadadada.” He pushes up from the floor and stands.
Dad fills the doorway. He’s holding Dr. Bennett’s pharmacy bag. He’s smiling, though he doesn’t look truly happy.
CHAPTER 55
JACK
FRIDAY, APRIL 30
“Jack, what are you all talking about?” My dad shoots a laser-beam stare at me. I shrink into the beanbag chair.
“Oh, nothing. Thank you so much.” Dr. Bennett jumps up and holds out her hand for the paper bag. “I’ve been waiting for this. Isn’t it fabulous they deliver?” She tears open the package.
“Asthma?” Dad asks and kneels down to hug Sam.
“Since I was a kid.” She flips open the canister, takes a hit.
“How unfortunate,” Dad comments.
“Not unless you run out of this.” She shakes the inhaler and takes a step into her office, slides it onto the desk.
He turns to me and rakes his eyes over my clothes. “How’d your pants get so dirty? And where’d you get that?”
“They’ve been riding bikes. Playing outside,” Dr. Bennett answers for me. “When we came in, we had a small Sprite mishap. He was soaked. I gave him a spare shirt.”
“Thank you.”
“The boys were at the house with Ava and me,” she adds. Dr. Bennett jabs a thumb toward the wall calendar. “Dr. Carson, I guess you haven’t had a free minute to call me back. Would you like to reschedule your home visit now? How about Monday?”
“Gosh, I’m so swamped with work and campus issues. That’s just not going to work. You call my assistant next week. She’ll set it up.” Dad points a finger at Dr. Bennett and chuckles. “And next time give me a little reminder. Card in the mail? You know?”
She doesn’t laugh.
“Why don’t we head over to your place right now?” She checks her watch, gives Dad an innocent gaze. “I’ve got an hour. What do you say? We can even get pizza, since it’s dinnertime.”
Sam runs circles around me, pulls at my pant legs.
“Thank you so very much for the kind offer.” Dad glances back at the door. “No can do, Dr. Bennett. The fellas and I have too much planned for the weekend. Some other time.”
Dr. Bennett bites her lip, disappointed.
“Come on, guys. Time to load up. Gotta get a move on.” Dad pushes me toward the door. “We’ll get you that shirt back, Dr. Bennett.”
“Not worried about that in the least,” she replies and hands me something. It’s that same package Ava tried to give me. I roll my eyes but take it anyway and shove it into my backpack. No way I want to make a big scene with Dad here. He’ll probably rip whatever it is to shreds. Now I am kind of curious to see what’s inside.
“I do have two other issues to discuss with you.” Dr. Bennett raises an eyebrow.
Dad sighs. “Jack, can you get your brother in his car seat? Thanks.”
“Okay,” I say,
but I take my time leaving with Sam so that I can listen to the conversation.
Dr. Bennett watches us, then turns to my dad. “Now where are you off to in such a hurry? Big trip?”
“Ah, that’s a surprise.” Dad says, “Shh!”
“The children are out of the room.” She laughs. “They can’t hear you.”
But Dr. Bennett can see I’m still here. She knows.
Dad straightens his shoulders. “I don’t care for your tone. They’re my children. I have custody—”
“Temporary custody.”
A warning bell sounds in my head. Are they going to fight?
“And if I feel like having some fun, getting away from all of this . . .” Dad waves his hands at the office walls, the posters, the games. “Then I will. We will.” He grits his teeth and forces the corners of his mouth up. “Now if that’s all, we’ll be on our way. We have a lot to do. Thank you very much. I can’t leave them out there sitting in the truck.”
Dad tries to ease past her, but she blocks the door.
“One last thing, okay?” Dr. Bennett asks. “Those bruises on Jack’s arm. What happened?”
Uh-oh.
“He didn’t tell you? He’s a little adventurous, that one.” Dad rubs his jaw. “Fell off his skateboard doing this amazing stunt. We were lucky he didn’t break his arm.”
Dr. Bennett steps out of his way. Gives Dad a thoughtful look. “Lucky,” she echoes. But she doesn’t sound like she’s agreeing. “And I’m so glad that you explained what happened.” She pauses. “Anyone else might jump to conclusions and call child protective services.”
“That would be a monumental mistake,” Dad says. His voice drips with poison.
There’s dead silence. I want to disappear into a wall. Or vanish like the Invisible Kid in DC Comics Universe.
Dr. Bennett and Dad glare at each other.
I pick up Sam and my backpack and we hightail it out to the Range Rover.
CHAPTER 56
MITCHELL
FRIDAY, APRIL 30
My blood smolders as I drive away from Dr. Bennett’s office. I grip the wheel, sweaty-palmed, and squint at the dark road. All I can see is the smug look on her face. The veiled threat echoes in my throbbing head.
I turn sharply, slam on the brakes, and lay on the horn when an oncoming car veers into our lane.
“Idiot,” I mutter.
Accelerating, I weave quickly around the sluggish traffic, urgency burning in my veins. I have to set this straight. Dr. Bennett’s a loose cannon. A crazy feminist determined to advocate for women, no matter if they lie and cheat.
I wonder what Ava has told her, the sob stories spoon-fed to this quack of a psychologist. I should have immediately rejected a female custody evaluator when the court appointed her. Damn my stupid attorney for not thinking of it first.
We bump over a pothole, jarring the boys in the back. Sam starts to cry, and I can hear Jack trying to soothe him. I rub at my temple, trying to quiet the noise in my head.
Dr. Bennett could ruin everything. She’s a stranger. How can she presume to know anything about what’s best for my children? My mind spins like a merry-go-round on fast-forward. I clench my teeth, dizzy.
Her words replay. Over and over. Louder. Faster. Anyone else might jump to conclusions. Call child protective services.
I jerk the Range Rover around a slow-moving pickup truck, silently cursing at the driver, and take the next right, barely braking for the stop sign. As I turn into the apartment complex, rolling over the speed bumps, my pulse surges.
Dr. Bennett’s going to try and win over the kids. She wants Ava to get custody. I have to stop her. My heart clenches and I struggle to take a deep breath. With one hand pressed to my chest, I force myself to exhale, blowing all of the air out of my lungs.
As I park and cut the engine, there’s nothing but the sound of our collective breathing as I stare up at the black sky. Jack’s. Sam’s. Mine. An idea forms in my head. A solution.
This will end once and for all. It has to. Tonight.
CHAPTER 57
AVA
FRIDAY, APRIL 30
A sharp breeze blows through the backyard, and I shiver. The sky darkens as silver clouds roll across the horizon, blocking the sun. I head back inside the house, tamping down the urge to drive back to Moulton to talk to Frank or Birmingham to see Will Harris. Pieces of the puzzle swirl around me like random debris in a dark funnel cloud. Karen’s itinerary, Jack’s fight at school, Mitchell’s escalating antics. Karen’s book tour. Her accident. The epilepsy.
I pull out a blank notebook, use my calendar, and sketch out a timeline. I jot down every single snippet of anything Will Harris told me, then move on to Mitchell’s father. The story about his mother. Her suicide. Mitchell running away to Phoenix, Arizona. How he was never the same. My breath catches and holds in my throat.
What if . . . what if Mitchell runs? With the boys. I grope for my phone, fighting the urge to jump in the Jeep and head for Dr. Bennett’s office. It’s too risky. Mitchell will be there and won’t hesitate to call the police. Quaking with worry, I dial Graham’s cell, but the call goes straight to voice mail. I leave a shaky message. Trying to slow my breathing, I try Will Harris next. This time I’m in luck. His assistant puts me through right away.
“I wanted to say thank you. I met Frank,” I say.
“Good,” Will says, clipped but polite. “Did he help?”
“He was a little shell-shocked at first, but once he found out who I was, he answered a lot of questions. It’s so sad, he hasn’t seen Mitchell or Jack since Karen’s funeral.”
Harris clears his throat. “And, my dear, how do I play in to this?”
“I’m trying to figure out what Mitchell might do next,” I say. “He’s disappeared before. I’m afraid he might do it again with the boys.”
There’s silence on the other end.
I squeeze my eyes tight and keep on talking. “I was wondering if you remembered anything else?” I continue. “Did you see Karen that day? Before she had the accident?”
He waits a beat before answering. “Give me a moment. I want to make sure of something.” From the sound of it, he’s clicking through his office calendar.
I hold my breath.
“Yes, I did see her,” he offers. “We had a brief meeting. About ten minutes. She was about to leave—”
“Leave?” I interrupt.
“For her book tour, dear. We were going over last-minute details,” says Harris. “But Mitchell called and told her to cancel it. She went into my office and shut the door, but the argument was so loud I could hear almost every word.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples, remembering the pain of my last argument with Mitchell. “What was it about?”
“Karen stood up to him, told him she was going. Karen never, ever did that.” He exhales.
“That’s when he threatened her.” Harris takes a breath. “I think he did, anyhow.”
I almost choke. “Why do you say that?”
“Because all of a sudden, Karen got really calm. Collected. Hung up the phone, came out of my office, and said she was going back to the house to work it out, even if it meant postponing the tour. She told me she had to check on Jack. And then she left.”
My palms begin to sweat. “Did you hear from her after that?”
Harris sighs. “Ava dear, that was it. The next time we saw her, it was at her funeral.”
“We?” I ask.
“That would be me and my partner, Paul. He loved Karen, he wasn’t about to miss paying his respects.” Will Harris sounds almost offended.
Instantly, my face blazes. “Of course not,” I rush to say. “That’s very kind.”
“Dear, that’s just what kind of gentlemen we are . . .” His voice trails off.
I swallow. “But were you suspicious? You and Paul? Your staff? Did you think about talking to the police?”
Will Harris doesn’t answer right away.
“Of
course, dear. We thought about it, agonized over it. Paul and I had long since realized Mitchell wasn’t exactly stable. But Karen was gone. It was over. I couldn’t exactly go over and start pointing a finger in his face.”
I rub my lips with my knuckle, thinking. “I understand.”
Harris coughs. “How is Jack? He must be, what? Seven years old?” he asks.
“Eight, if you can believe it.” I shake my head. “He’s hanging in there. We have a court-appointed counselor who meets with him every week. She’s looking out for him.”
“Good.” Will Harris resumes his professional mode. “Dear, I must rush off. May I offer you a piece of advice before I go?”
“Certainly,” I say. “I’d be grateful.”
“Please, get away from Mitchell Carson. As soon as you can.”
CHAPTER 58
JACK
FRIDAY, APRIL 30
The ride back to the apartment is dead quiet. I rest my head against the cool glass of the window and pretend to fall asleep. When the truck stops, I jerk my body to look like I’ve woken up. Before my dad can ask me anything, I jump out the door, head for my room, and shove the package from Ava under my bed.
I think I hear my name but ignore it. I lock myself in the bathroom, fan running, and water on. Sam’s almost asleep, and Dad wants help getting my brother inside and in bed. It makes me feel sort of bad to ignore him, but he’s been kind of a jerk lately.
No, really a jerk. And the last thing I want is another fight. About anything. Especially about the box from Ava. Dad can’t know about that.
What I need is for Dad to forget about the stuff at Dr. Bennett’s office and move on to something else that makes him mad. Someone at the college might do something dumb. Or the guy outside blowing leaves might give him a headache. I can always say I have stomach cramps. Or a fever. Then my dad will get busy calling the pediatrician. And be angry trying to play Mr. Mom.
He’ll also take the credit for dragging me to the doctor or handing me a bottle of medicine. He wants everyone to think he does everything—even though Isabel takes care of us around here. Laundry, dishes, beds, vacuuming. Changing diapers still makes Dad gag-vomit. He just thinks I don’t notice or I’m not looking.
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