by Wendy Byrne
“Not by blood, but they’re brothers just the same.” She smiled and pointed to the pictures on the wall. “Last time I counted I had about one hundred boys who’ve been through this house. Sam was the only one who made it to the NFL, but I have high hopes for a couple of the boys I have now.”
“You’re a foster mother?” The sense of family was so strong, Jillian felt that she could see it wafting in the air.
“Not officially anymore. I’m getting a little too old to be chasing after teenagers all the time, but I can’t part with the ones I have now, and of course, the ones that keep coming back.”
“Amazing.” Jillian shook her head. “I can’t seem to be able to raise one boy right, let alone a hundred.” She shoved another forkful into her mouth.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Travis is a real good kid. Sometimes they make a mistake. Doesn’t mean they’re bad.” She covered Jillian’s hand with hers. “Now let me show you some old pictures of Sam. Nothing I like better than to embarrass my boy.”
She brought an old photo album to the counter and set it down in front of Jillian. Curious, Jillian put down her fork and turned the pages. “This is all of Sam?”
“Yep. I keep one on each of my boys. Some books are thicker than others, depending on how long they stay.” She harrumphed. “Most of the kids have no pictures of themselves when they were younger so I have to make up for lost time.” She pointed to a photo. “This is a picture of Sam with his recruitment letters from colleges. He was so excited I think he was about to burst. But of course, being a teenager, he tried to keep it on the down low, but you can see that sparkle in his eyes, can’t you?”
“Definitely.” Jillian couldn’t help but smile as she examined the photo.
“This one here is him on NFL draft day. He was so nervous I thought he might jump out of his skin waiting from them to call his name. Thank God, he got rid of that no count pseudo girlfriend of his, Ariel, before this or she would have been in the picture and ruined it.” Mama chuckled. “I try not to say anything nasty, but that girl was trash.”
A photo of Sam holding up a football jersey was center-stage of the article titled, ‘Home Town Boys Goes First Round.’ Jillian scanned the article briefly as it chronicled Sam’s rise to fame. “It’s wonderful that you keep these scrapbooks.”
“I figure it’s the least I can do.”
Before Jillian had a chance to ask any further questions, Sam sauntered inside. He tried to look annoyed, but it wasn’t working because of the huge grin on his face.
“Enough babysitting for me, I’m starving.” He sat on the stool next to Jillian. “Looks like you got a head start.”
“I might even have seconds, so you’d better hurry before it’s all gone.” An ease in the tension that had seemed to plague her for years shifted off her shoulders as she allowed the normalcy of the moment to slip inside and take hold. Surrounded by the smells and sounds of this house, it would be difficult not to feel peaceful.
“I see Mama’s been boring you with these old scrapbooks of mine.”
“I didn’t know you were such a stud.” She smiled and took another bite of lasagna.
Before he had a chance to respond, the boys tumbled inside. “We’re ready for dinner, Mama.”
“Go wash up and I’ll have your plates ready.”
The group of ten or twelve boys hustled upstairs without another word. Mama mumbled, “Those boys sound like a herd of elephants. Must be those big feet of theirs.” She shook her head and smiled. “What’s going on with the team, Sam?”
“It’s coming together. We should be more than ready for our first game on Friday.” His gaze slid to Jillian as a hint of guilt played across his features. “Of course, if Travis was there, we’d be in better shape.”
“Mark my words,” Mama Iris covered Jillian’s hands, “that boy of yours is going to be home before the season is over.”
The soothing words washed over her and emotion clogged within her chest. A kind of peace settled deep as if Mama had bottled up all the hope inside her and transferred it to Jillian.
“How’s Aaron doing? He fitting in okay? He giving you any trouble?” Sam asked between mouthfuls of lasagna.
“Nothing I can’t handle. Besides, he’ll come around, they always do. You keep him good and tired from football and I’ll do the rest.” She brushed her hands on her apron as she proceeded to cut up two huge trays of lasagna and plunked them onto plates.
“Let me help you with that.” Jillian started to push up from stool, when Mama stopped her with an outstretched hand.
“Today you’re a guest in this house. Next time you come, I’ll put you to work.”
“Why you asking about Aaron?” Mama distributed the plates around the large wooden table.
“Jillian has a picture of some kids. Since he’s new here and from the city, I’m wondering if he knows who any of them are.”
“Let me see that picture. I see a lot of kids and remember every last one of them.” She examined the photo and pointed. “That girl looks scared.”
Improving the quality of the photo had only intensified the terrified expression on Lexie’s face. Every time Jillian looked at it, a chill raced up and down her spine.
“And she’s still missing.” Every time she remembered, she felt that she’d let Travis down.
Mama tsked and shook her head. “That poor girl. I don’t know those boys, but they look like punks. I wouldn’t let them through my door. No siree.” As the boys bounded down the stairs, she called. “Aaron, come here, son, I’d like to show you something.”
“What’d I do now?” A boy who looked to be more swagger than brawn, shuffled over.
She smiled and grasped his arm. “I’d like you to look at a picture for Coach Sam and his friend Ms. Jillian and tell them if you know anybody.”
The boy’s eyes went wide before he responded. “That’s Jeremy.” He shrugged. “He’s a punk wannabe.” He pointed. “That looks like Carlos. And that’s his as—” He looked at Mama, then Sam and stopped. “His idiot friend. Don’t know his name. But they’re both bad dudes. I see them on the street, I go over to the other side. They’d just as soon knife you if you look at them the wrong way.”
“Do you know anything about the house in this picture? It was taken at a party near Beverly Hills, I think.” Jillian had to ask, even though the idea he knew something seemed pretty remote.
Aaron shook his head. “There’s this dude. He’s a pool guy or something and he knows all about people being out of town. It could have been at one of those houses, cause these guys don’t live in the Hills.” He chuckled for a second until he caught Sam’s expression.
“What’s the dude’s name?” Sam’s jaw locked tight.
“I swear I don’t know.” He huffed out a breath. “I never went to one of those parties.”
“Never?”
“Okay, maybe once.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t my scene, you know. It was a room full of rich kids looking for trouble. Nine times out of ten, cops bust it up, I’m the dude that gets stuck in juvie, the rich kids get sent home to mommy and daddy.”
“Have you ever seen my son?” She pulled out a picture of Travis she’d taken after they’d first moved. The last thing she wanted to know was that her son was part of a group of kids that broke into vacant homes and threw parties.
Aaron examined the photo for a few moments before he spoke. “He looks kind of familiar, but I’m not sure.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but if he hung with Jeremy and Carlos, that can’t be good.”
Terror snaked up Jillian’s spine until she thought for sure she might fall off the chair. Travis had been in the company of these boys/men and lived. While she was thankful, she had to wonder why and if Lexie had been as lucky.
Chapter Eleven
Visiting time was the highlight of Travis’ day. For a short period of time, he could forget about the bars and fences beyond the doors and actually have a good time.
When he’d
spotted his mom and Coach Sam walking in together yesterday, he had been even more pumped. Except when they left, he felt even more dejected. Sure, Coach had brought him a couple of books, playbooks to study and Sports Illustrated to read, and his mom had brought him the latest Sookie Stackhouse book, but he should have been honest with her. He should have told her what was bothering him. He owed her that much. Then again, what were the chances she’d ever find out what he’d said? What he’d done?
Still, he had a hard time sleeping. It seemed his dreams were about something bad happening to his mom. One time a guy was chasing her with a knife; in the next dream it was gun. And so it went all night long until he gave up trying to sleep at all. As twisted as it felt, he’d feel a whole lot better if he thought Coach was spending the night with his mom. At least then, he’d be around if she got scared or if somebody came to hurt her.
Maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. Maybe his memory was starting to come back. His mom was in danger. Somehow he knew that with a certainty he couldn’t explain.
But what could he do about it from in here? If he could talk to Coach about it without sounding crazy, maybe he could help. But his mom was stubborn. It would take a lot of persuading to convince her she shouldn’t be alone so much.
Travis blew out a breath and tried to dispel the fears chasing around his head. He needed to think. He needed to remember. And, most of all, he needed to get the hell out of here.
But for right now, he needed some distraction. Sunlight began to filter through the small window at the top of the wall, allowing enough light for him to read. He opened one of the books Coach had brought one about Vince Lombardi. He’d barely read through the first paragraph when his eyes slid closed.
“You have a visitor.” The guard clanged open the door, rousing Travis from sleep moments later.
“Who is it?” Travis rubbed at his eyes and tried to focus.
“Your lawyer.” The guard stood outside the door and motioned for Travis to get up.
Feeling like crap and having to listen to Reggie’s bullshit wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t feel good. I’m not up to seeing Reggie this morning.”
“Not that you have a choice, but it’s not Reggie.”
Travis couldn’t help smiling. Coach’s friend. He’d nearly forgotten.
He hauled himself out of bed and followed the guard down the hall to the private rooms. For the first time in more than a day he felt a little hopeful.
***
Sun scattered along the treetops as Jillian moved through yoga positions on the back deck. Unkinking muscles that had been tense for the last several days gave her a much needed boost.
While she didn’t sleep great last night, at least she’d been able to snooze for a couple of hours in a row. Maybe getting out and putting aside her worries had been the respite she needed. And Mama Iris’ positive energy had been infectious. If that could be bottled and sold, the woman would make a fortune.
Just as she bent down to complete her sun salutation, she heard the doorbell ring. She sucked in a breath, brought down her arms and walked to the front and looked out the window.
Her surprise quickly turned to apprehension as she opened the front door. “Dr. Stern. I wasn’t expecting you.” Since she knew darn well the man didn’t make casual house calls, words clogged her throat as emotion rose from her chest. “Is Travis—”
“He’s fine.” Without invitation, he walked inside and took a spot at the kitchen counter. “I’d love a cup of coffee if you have some made.”
“Sure.” The dismissiveness of his tone caught her somewhat off guard. Still, the drive to be accommodating led to her to pull a cup from the cupboard and fill it to the rim.
He took a sip and motioned for her to sit next to him. “I came because I’m concerned about Travis’ lack of progress. He’s been incarcerated a little over a week now and is not responding to treatment. He’s still claiming he doesn’t remember anything.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” His words pinged through her body.
“He’s not being honest with me. I can tell he’s holding something back.” He shook his head, but the slight smile softened the impact. “Travis has been one of my better patients. He’s always been open during our sessions together as well as in group, but currently we seem to have hit a roadblock.”
“Because of the circumstances, it makes sense.” Jillian sensed there was more Dr. Stern wasn’t saying.
He rubbed his hand against his chin. “Last time he got into trouble, we had a breakthrough early on in our therapy. I was expecting the same kind of results.”
“The stakes are higher now. Getting accused of murder is a whole lot different than getting caught with drugs.”
“True. True. But I was wondering if he’d mentioned anything to you. I feel that our therapy has stalled over this memory issue. He says he doesn’t know where Lexie is. Is he telling you the same thing?”
She nodded. “As far as I know Travis can’t remember anything from that night.”
“Are you sure?”
Jillian nodded slowly. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“As I said, I feel that he’s holding something back from me. I was wondering if you were getting the same vibe.”
“He’s understandably scared, but still knows I’m supporting him.” She didn’t know where he was headed with this but suspected she wouldn’t like it.
“Even if he might be a murderer?” The words were spoken without even a hint of emotion; his expression remained impassive as if he were naming things to put on a grocery list instead of making vile insinuations.
At that second she felt she was the only person on the face of the earth who believed in Travis’ innocence. “But he’s not.” Fury chafed below the surface of her skin.
How could he be so blind? Then again, maybe she was the one who needed a reality check.
“Can you be one hundred percent sure?” He asked. “I’ve known a lot of parents who support their children, which is admirable, but sometimes they’re blind to their faults.” His salt and pepper hair and wire rimmed glasses gave off an intellectual vibe, and the soft cadence of his speech came off as if every word were gospel.
She fought against the urge to cave in to his rhetoric. “What are you trying to say, Dr. Stern?” As the mother lion came out in her, an inkling of something sinister rose inside. Memories of Archie saying things and looking exactly like Dr. Stern and accusing Jillian of being blind to both her son’s and her parents’ faults brought about a crushing sensation to her chest.
“I think Travis is very fortunate you have such a commitment to him, but I want you to also be aware he’s not perfect.”
“Meaning?” She wanted to convey the strength of her conviction, but suspected it sounded much weaker than intended.
“Did he tell you about the time he held a drug party at your neighbors’ house while they were on vacation? If I recall, it was an older couple, and they’d given him their alarm code because he helped walk their dog. He used their confidence in him to access their house. When they came home they reported they’d had a break-in. As I understand it, they never knew Travis was involved. In other words, he got away with it.”
A bout of dizziness whooshed through like a train speeding past her on a platform. The Fitzgeralds. For the most part, she’d remained distant from her neighbors, but they were the exceptions. A couple of years back, they’d paid Travis to take their dog out for daily walks after Mr. Fitzgerald had hip replacement surgery. Why would he abuse their trust like that?
“No, I wasn’t aware.” Her fingers trembled so much she clenched them on her lap to keep them still. Something in her wanted to blurt out a litany of excuses, but she bit her tongue. She knew how quickly her own words could be turned against her.
“It doesn’t really matter now. Besides, insurance covered all the damage I’m sure.”
After dropping a bomb like that he was dismissing it as if it were a pesky gnat flitting around his arm. Once ag
ain she’d been led down the path of ignorance by her own son. To say it was a pattern of hers would only be a regurgitation of every vile diatribe Archie had thrown her way.
Could she have misjudged Travis so disastrously that she had no clue as to the true nature of her son? Betrayal and anger roared in her blood. Impulsively, she glanced at her watch and counted the minutes until she could see Travis and confront him.
While she had no use for most of her Orange County neighbors, the Fitzeralds were a wonderful older couple. They’d been in their home for a very long time and enjoyed the finer things in life. She hadn’t had much contact with them except through pleasantries, but still felt the shame of her son’s actions.
“Your point is that if I didn’t know about that, I could also be in denial about the fact that my son is a potential murderer?” Her voice sounded much steadier than she felt inside. “Is that why you diagnosed him with Conduct Disorder?”
“I only wanted to draw attention to the fact that parents don’t always see what’s in front of them sometimes.” He nodded. “And yes, the pattern and escalation of behaviors was the reasoning behind my diagnosis.”
“Thank you for the words of wisdom. Now if you don’t mind, I need to talk to Travis.” Each time she drew in a breath, her chest constricted. Only through measured breathing did she keep herself from hyperventilating. She refused to give in to the panic looming at the perimeter.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” He touched her arm as they walked toward the door. “You’re a survivor, after all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about. I understand your parents were alcoholics. It’s perfectly understandable that you might have some co-dependency issues.”
“How—” She did not want to go there with him or anyone else. It had been her secret, damn it. No one had the right to know about the skeletons in her closet unless she gave them permission.
