The Good Father

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I’m working,” she said, pointing out the obvious. “A phone call wouldn’t do?”

  “I wanted to make certain that Chloe wasn’t around.” Lame. But also true. There was good reason for him to control this situation. To protect everyone involved.

  Leading him over to a deserted conversation pit, Ella sat on the edge of a brown tweed couch with piping that reminded him of his parents’ old sofa. “Is this about Jeff?” she asked. “Is he going to be a problem with the phone calls?”

  He remained standing. But didn’t want to be rushed. “You’re off in half an hour, correct?”

  “Yeah. There about.”

  “You think you’ll be later?”

  “Not much. Most of my charting’s done.”

  “Go ahead, then. I’ll wait. I’ve got some work to do.” He motioned to the satchel he’d carried in with him. It contained his tablet and laptop. The hospital had free Wi-Fi in the lobby.

  Frowning, Ella shook her head. “No, this is fine. I skipped my last break.”

  She hadn’t smiled since she’d seen him. Had lines around her mouth that he recognized. Ella wasn’t having a good day.

  Convincing her of the viability of his plan might take a few minutes.

  “I’ll wait,” he told her. And then had another thought. “Better yet, let’s go to the Bistro and get a glass of wine.” He stopped short of adding You look like you could use one. Or I need you a bit more relaxed than you appear at the moment.

  “We can take my car,” he said.

  Her eyes lit. And then faded. But she said, “I’d rather drive myself. Besides, I’m in the garage, not the lot outside. I’ll meet you at the Bistro in an hour.” And he was satisfied.

  As she stood, Brett turned to go. But spun back long enough to watch his ex-wife’s backside all the way through the door.

  A guy needed a little vicarious pleasure every once in a while. Even a satisfied and determined bachelor like himself.

  * * *

  ELLA DIDN’T GIVE Chloe much of an explanation when she called to say she wasn’t coming right home. Just that she’d be late and to go ahead and eat without her. Chloe had brought home food from the Stand, a casserole they were all having for dinner that night, and could easily warm Ella’s when she got home.

  She’d have liked to have told Brett no, she couldn’t meet him for a glass of wine. But as much as she wanted to take care of her emotional health and avoid any nonessential contact with him, she also wanted to have this glass of wine with him.

  But only to find out what he had to say. To make a solid plan for helping her brother, so that his wife and son could go back to living with him, go back home where they needed to be.

  And then she was going to accept the dinner offer she’d received that afternoon from a doctor on the ward. Jason Everly, a pediatric pulmonary specialist, was gorgeous, a couple years older than she was and single.

  He didn’t want children of his own. Which was a good thing since she had no intention of putting herself and her partner through several more years of fertility efforts only to risk another heartbreak. Her body’s peculiar metabolic imbalance meant that she was at high risk of another miscarriage. Not that she intended to share any of that with Jason. They were just having dinner.

  Brett was seated at a high-top on the patio. The Bistro was close to the hospital, an upscale place in a lovely landscaped strip mall of equally lovely places. The patio looked out toward a row of historical homes that were now bed-and-breakfast establishments.

  Feeling a bit self-conscious about her purple scrubs with pink teddy bears on them, Ella ran a hand through her recently released hair, hoping that the long curls would detract from all the pinkness, as she walked toward him.

  And then she noticed that about half of the clientele was dressed like her. Clearly the place was a popular hangout with hospital staff. And there had just been a shift change.

  Now slightly self-conscious for another reason, Ella glanced around to make sure that Jason wasn’t there, and was relieved when she didn’t see him. Because she didn’t want him to see her with Brett and lose interest?

  Or because she didn’t want another man approaching her while she was in the company of the man she’d promised to love and cherish until death did them part?

  “I ordered,” Brett said as she slid onto her stool and glanced at the bucket with a yet unopened bottle of wine on their table.

  A glance at the label showed her that he hadn’t forgotten what she liked.

  So Brett.

  Other than his inability to open his heart, or share it with anyone, the man was pretty much perfect in every way.

  “Good, I’m parched,” she told him, fiddling with her glass rather than looking at him.

  Parched? Who drank wine when they were parched?

  But to make good on her word, she picked up the ice water in front of her and took down half the glass.

  As if on call, their waiter appeared before she’d set down her water glass and opened the wine.

  Brett ordered a fresh vegetable appetizer for them to share, and the waiter excused himself.

  “To good work,” Brett said, raising his glass to her.

  Don’t lift your glass, a voice warned from inside her. Don’t honor the old tradition. Brett’s glass hung suspended. If she didn’t tap hers to his, she’d be rude.

  And it wasn’t as if he’d toasted to their future, or their love, or even just to them, as he’d done in the past.

  His glass remained in the air.

  Ella lifted hers. Touched his. And felt as if they’d just kissed.

  * * *

  HE’D HAVE PREFERRED to wait until the wine had had time to make his job easier, but as soon as he’d seen Ella cross the restaurant floor, he’d known he had to present his proposal and leave.

  He had some inane response to the woman. Like an allergic reaction. Quite irritating.

  “I stopped in Palm Desert last night and saw Jeff,” he said as soon as the waiter had poured and departed.

  He had his mental agenda prepared.

  “After speaking with him, I believe we need to take action to resolve this issue.”

  Ella gave him her full attention. But the way her fingers were caressing the stem of her wineglass was distracting.

  He should have stuck to iced tea. And taken his chances with her mood.

  “What does that mean, take action? What kind of action? You aren’t suggesting that we turn him over to the authorities, are you? Because that’s not what this is about, Brett. The whole point here is early intervention. To help him before it gets that far.”

  He’d been right about her irascibility. In a past life, at home after a hard day like hers obviously had been, he would have suggested that she drink some more wine, the words accompanied by a grin, and followed up with a kiss, to which she would have responded with all of the tension inside her and they’d have made love hard, followed by a softer, slower coupling.

  They might or might not have made it to the kitchen for dinner...

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  The apology drew him out of his mental fog. And made him aware of his lack of response in what was only a business conversation.

  “No apology necessary,” he said, pushing everything away but that meeting’s agenda. “And no, I’m not suggesting we call in the authorities. Nothing along those lines. On the contrary, I’m not convinced that the root of Jeff and Chloe’s problem is Jeff.”

  Ella blinked. “What?”

  A woman from the next table looked over.

  “How can you not think the problem is Jeff?” She leaned forward, her voice quieter, but no less intense. “He’s been verbally abusive and now has escalated to pushing and shoving and restraining. You know as well as I do what the next step in that progression will be.”

  “Jeff admitted to taking out his work frustration on her,” Brett said. “Much like you’re doing with me now.” He had a talent for gettin
g to the point.

  Sitting back, Ella took a sip of her wine, watching him.

  He withstood her scrutiny with ease. He was a professional at the boardroom table.

  “I asked Chloe about Jeff’s behavior,” he continued. “When you took Cody to play in the sandbox. She said pretty much the same thing he did. That he snapped at her, said things he’d give anything to be able to take back, simply out of frustration. That he apologized. Bad days are a part of life. Husbands and wives fight. People say things they don’t mean. None of that equals abuse.”

  “I had a feeling she downplayed things for you,” Ella said, her tone equally professional now. Equally serious, too. “She wants your help. And she thinks, as I do, that you’re our only real hope in getting Jeff to see that he needs help before things get completely out of control. But she’s also a bit intimidated by the fact that you’re the founder of a women’s shelter. She’s afraid that you’re going to turn Jeff in, and she most definitely doesn’t want that.”

  Should he be straight with her? Let her know that he was working with a different set of facts? That he wasn’t attempting to get Jeff to admit that he had anger issues that needed attention? “Jeff thinks that Chloe is going through some kind of emotional blip. Similar to the postpartum depression she suffered from after Cody was born.”

  “I know what Jeff thinks. We need to change his thinking. He has to be able to see that this is his problem, and if he keeps blaming someone else, he could very well lose his family and maybe even end up in jail.”

  “But what if he isn’t wrong?”

  “You think this is all Chloe? That she’s making up the incidents of verbal abuse? The shoves and pushes? Of slamming Cody into a chair so hard he screamed?”

  “I’m just suggesting that maybe she’s embellished them in the retelling to you because she’s slowly losing parts of herself by always putting Jeff and Cody first and is struggling with a way to understand herself and be happy.”

  He knew when Ella took a long breath that she was considering his words. One of the things he’d loved so much about her was her ability to take a step back and look at both sides of a situation.

  With one exception. She hadn’t been able to see the possibility that he could one day turn violent. Something that had, at least partially, ended their marriage.

  He lost faith in her ability to hear his truth. She knew about his upbringing, of course. Understood and sympathized. And was completely certain he only suffered from abuse-based fear, not from the same latent violent tendencies that had struck his dad.

  Her refusal to see, to believe in the possibility, had made it impossible for him to continue to share those fears with her. She gave them no credence. They fell on deaf ears...

  But as good as she was at putting herself in other people’s shoes, she’d never seemed to figure out, or understand, that if he opened up and gave her all of the emotions he kept in check, all of the passion and the love and the joy, he’d also risk exposing her to the shadowy side of all of that. The anger that had lurked inside his father just waiting for a life challenge that was too big for him to handle to trigger it. And could possibly lurk inside him, too.

  The tension that had built within him during the repeated fertility treatments had been a sign to him. He’d thought, at first, that he was experiencing the normal reactions most couples in their situation experienced. He’d only realized, after Ella finally got pregnant, and he couldn’t share in her joy, that his tension stemmed from something else. He wasn’t prepared to be a father. Wasn’t willing to have a child, as his parents had, knowing that at some point, he could turn from a loving father into a monster...

  Ella wasn’t aware of the danger. But he was.

  “I saw the bruises, Brett.” Ella’s voice was completely different now. Soft. Almost pleading. And a shock to him, following on his thoughts...

  “Chloe told me she was bruised when she came here.” He gentled his voice, as well. Because Jeff and Chloe—they didn’t fit the pattern of abuse. They were just a normal couple. “She said she fell into a doorjamb during the last argument. He’d said something to her about bombarding him with her crap and pushed past her just as she was stepping back away from him...”

  Breaking eye contact, Ella took a sip of her wine. Watched as the couple at the next table, the older woman who’d stared when Ella raised her voice, paid their bill and left.

  “They had a victim at the Stand a while back,” Brett said. “She was young. Fifteen. She claimed that her brother had hit her. More than once. He was older, about our age. The brother had raised her from infancy...”

  He had Ella’s full attention again.

  “He claimed that he’d never touched her. And that he wouldn’t ever do so. There was no indication through medical or school records that there’d ever been an issue with him. Or her, either, for that matter. But it was clear to Sara and Lila and others that the girl was afraid of her brother. And that she’d been abused. Charges were going to be pressed against him, on her behalf. He stood to lose custody of her. And would have, if not for one person, an attorney, who believed him enough to do some checking on her own.”

  “You said would have. I’m guessing that means he wasn’t charged?”

  “He didn’t abuse her. There were other things going on. He’d lied to his siblings about his past. His little sister found out his secret at the same time she witnessed something else that weakened her trust in him. She felt angry. Afraid. And had to get away from him.”

  “But he’d never hurt her?”

  “More like he was father-of-the-year material.”

  “But her distress was valid.”

  She was getting it.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re saying that you think something else could be going on here with Jeff and Chloe.”

  “I’m saying I believe Jeff when he tells me he’s not abusing his wife. I also know he doesn’t fit the profile. He’s never been involved in any sort of violent activity. He’s never shown signs of having a temper or anger issues. He comes from a good, loving family. Your folks were respectful of you both. And still are.”

  Other than being gone more than they were around. Traveling through North America as full-time RVers, working in various parks as they went, going on their eighth year now.

  “He doesn’t have an alcohol problem, has an easygoing disposition and is financially secure. He’s socially adept, confident and is clearly devoted to his family.

  “All of this leads me to believe that something else is going on here.”

  “Like?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe, like Jeff thinks, Chloe is suffering from depression. She went from being a career person, managing a restaurant with the hopes of owning her own someday, to being a stay-at-home mom.”

  “That was her choice. Jeff was happy to support whichever decision she made, to stay at home or keep working.”

  “And maybe it was the choice she wanted to make, the one that she believes is best, but it’s an enormous life change. There could be some residual depression involved. And maybe subconsciously, Jeff is reacting to that. Maybe he’s more irritable with her because of it, which feeds her feeling that his anger with her is escalating...”

  “I know that she loves her work at the Stand,” Ella said. “She’s exhausted, but clearly enjoys what she’s doing.”

  Ella paused and then asked, “Did you ever meet him?”

  He frowned. Wondering what he’d missed.

  “The brother you were talking about. Guardian to the fifteen-year-old resident at the Stand.”

  “Of course not. I have nothing to do with any of that. You know that.”

  “You still get the reports.”

  “Yes.” The place was his responsibility. Others did the work, but ultimately the buck stopped with him. He had to read the reports.

  Ella nodded and sat back as their vegetable tray was delivered with a chrome bowl filled with dip in the middle of it.

 
As soon as her hors d’oeuvres plate was in front of her, she filled it. He watched, knowing before she reached where her fingers were going to land. Carrots, celery, broccoli and cauliflower. No peppers. Ever. The cucumbers weren’t peeled.

  She passed them by just as he’d expected.

  He paid attention. And when his study—of life, of situations, of people—presented choices, he made the one that made the most sense.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BRETT POURED HIMSELF a little more wine and topped off Ella’s glass, too, though neither of them had had much to drink, and looked out over the street of homes below them. Provincial, large and in pristine condition, the old Victorian homes stood tall and proud. And yet, intrinsically vulnerable, as well. To the weather coming in off the ocean. To a modern-day society that wanted everything to be new.

  Homes that were similar to his own.

  The plumbing was a challenge. Electricity had had to be rewired to be up to code and still had hiccups now and then. But there was affection in knowing the home’s eccentricities so well. Security and a kind of beauty that couldn’t be created overnight. Or purchased.

  Like good art, he could enjoy their value.

  And like good art, he could enjoy a moment sipping wine with a woman who, while young, had the wisdom of age and wore her value beautifully.

  “You had a rough day today.” The words came as she was down to her last stick of celery. He’d shied away from personal conversation. But he was confident that they were on the same road where Jeff and Chloe were concerned, which to him meant that getting her to agree to the plan was no more than a formality at this point.

  A presentation and acceptance that would end their meeting.

  Taking a short breather from the business at hand was perfectly acceptable. Maybe even advisable to further the good working relationship they were establishing.

  He wished he’d held his tongue as the shadows came back over her face. Why did he have such a propensity for hurting her? Almost as though it came naturally to him.

  Old feelings of guilt and frustration filled him. Panic would follow. He knew the way it worked. Brett reached for a carrot. Took a sip of wine. Distracted himself long enough for the sensations to pass.