Lacey’s eye went straight to the built-in bookshelves on either side of the mounted flat-screen television set. In addition to books and DVDs, there were some trinkets. And a lot of photos of Levi.
Scanning the movies, she did indeed notice preschool titles on a higher shelf.
Wondering if the trunk-size wicker basket that served as a side table contained the preschooler’s toys, Lacey said, “I’m not here about your brother.”
“Oh.” The woman blinked and sat down. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “going on about my personal stuff like that. Jem says that I need to watch that. I tell him I will, and then off I go again, not even realizing. So, forgive me.” She stood up. “I was about to have some tea. I’ve just come in from work. Can I get you a glass?”
“I’d like that,” Lacey answered, more because she wanted to be able to follow the woman to the kitchen, to get as much of a look at the house as she could, to see how Levi’s mother lived when she wasn’t expecting company, than because she actually wanted a drink.
Tressa didn’t ask why she was there. Contrary to her previous behavior, she didn’t say anything at all, just pulled a couple of glasses out of the cupboard and filled them with ice. “Sweet or unsweetened?”
“Sweet.” She didn’t allow herself the indulgence often.
“Me, too.” Tressa crinkled her nose and then grinned. “I manage to make myself drink it unsweetened about half the time.”
Lacey was up to about three-quarters of the time. Most weeks.
Maybe not this one.
Walking around to the other side of the breakfast nook off the kitchen, Tressa pulled out one of four white wooden chairs at a block table similar to the one Lacey had seen at Jem’s house. “We might as well sit out here,” she said, indicating the chair directly across from her. Lacey sat.
The table had professionally embroidered, flowered linen placements. Bright and colorful. A matching print on the wall behind Tressa caught Lacey’s eye as she sat down.
“I love this room,” Lacey said, glancing out the sliding glass door to a small walled courtyard lined with flowers and a little birdbath-type above-the-ground fountain.
“Me, too,” Tressa told her. “I work at a bank, and while I love the challenge of making money work for you, some days I can’t wait to get home to my little oasis.”
What about her son? What did she think about not getting home to him every night? And on days when Levi was there, did he disturb the oasis?
Lacey looked from the woman, who was sitting perpendicular to her, to the wall Tressa was facing. She also had a view of the kitchen. For the first time she saw the side of the refrigerator facing the breakfast nook.
All available space was covered. Magnets held up drawings, scribblings, photographs. All done by, or taken of, Levi. It was a shrine to the boy. Which his mother faced every single time she sat down at the table.
Maybe Levi Bridges was just accident prone and was exhibiting changed behavior because of a developmental stage he was going through.
Maybe she had to be looking more closely at the day care.
“I’m afraid to ask why you’re here.” Tressa smiled. A tremulous, timid smile. No hint of defensiveness. Or authority, either.
Lacey smiled back, offering all she could offer at that moment—compassion.
If Tressa was hurting her son, she needed help. It would be Lacey’s job to connect her with resources...
If she was hurting her son.
Lacey liked the woman’s home.
And hated the case.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WHATCHA’ DOIN’?”
Jem glanced down at the little boy staring so solemnly up at him. And swore to himself, then and there, that he’d take the boy and run if need be, to protect him. He knew he wasn’t hurting Levi. And he’d be damned if some stranger thought she could come into his life and proclaim that he was...
“Getting ready to put the veggies on the grill,” he said, picking up the foiled bundle that had been sitting on the counter for far longer than he’d originally intended.
He’d been waiting for Tressa to call him back. He’d wanted to deal with whatever drama was coming his way before he started cooking dinner, because once the food was cooked, he intended to sit outside with his son and enjoy the meal. Sans drama.
“That was before Whyatt.” Levi’s stare was no less piercing for his youth. When he’d headed to the kitchen to start dinner, Jem had told Levi that he could watch one episode of Super Why! Which meant he’d been in the kitchen a full twenty-five minutes. It took ten, at the most, to prepare veggies for the grill.
“Well, sometimes these things take a little longer,” Jem said, off his mark for having to be less than straight up with the boy.
“You was just standing here looking...”
“Were,” he corrected, and with veggies in one hand, he scooped Levi up with the other. “What do you say we go look over the boat while dinner’s cooking?” He swung Levi high and then landed him on his hip.
Parenting books said to distract as a form of behavior management.
“Can I help?” Levi was fascinated with the old schooner that took up most of their garage. Jem couldn’t wait until the day his son would be old enough to really participate.
And hoped that by then he’d still want to.
“I painted this weekend while you were at your mom’s. You can help me sand.” No tools. Nothing dangerous. Just in case they had a surprise visitor. Not because he didn’t trust himself to take perfectly good care of his son.
Purposely leaving his cell phone on the kitchen counter, Jem headed outdoors.
* * *
“I’M HERE TO ask you some questions about your son.” Lacey hated this part of her job, where she tried to instill confidence so she could determine whether or not she had to become the person’s worst nightmare.
In order to help. Always in order to help. Unfortunately, most parents in need of help didn’t see her as someone to turn to.
That night, for whatever reason, she wished she could just be having a glass of wine with the woman across from her, finding out what besides decorating styles, blond hair and a penchant for iced tea they had in common.
“You want to know about Levi? Social services wants to know?” Tressa sat up straight, mouth open and brow furrowed. “Something’s happened to him? That can’t be. I was just talking to Jem. He’d have told me if anything was wrong. As infuriating as that man can be, he’s great with Levi. That’s the only reason I can bear to be without my baby. Because I know that Jem’s such a great dad.”
“And you don’t think you’re a great mom?”
“Of course I do,” Tressa said. And then added, “Well, mostly. I’m not as goofy with Levi as Jem is. I don’t make him laugh as much. Those two, from the very beginning, they had this rapport. Everyone noticed it. I had a baby and it was like I became a third wheel. But I’m a good mom. I’ve been reading to Levi since he was born and I taught him to read. He’s only four, you know.”
Tressa took a sip of tea, as though confident that everything was going to be just fine.
Jeremiah’s energy had been more like that of a caged lion.
“My office received a report that someone’s been abusing him.”
Those big blue eyes opened wide in shock, and alarm. Lacey read no subterfuge there. Noticed no dropped glance or prevarication. Tressa was staring her straight in the eye.
“That’s a lie,” the woman said. “I just had him this weekend and he was perfectly fine. He’s always fine. Every single time I see him. He may not live with me full-time, but I’m his mother. He’s my only child. I’d have noticed if he wasn’t okay.”
Not an atypical response. Either way—if she was an abuser or if she wasn’t.
“So you don’t think your husband could be hurting him?”
“Jem? Are you nuts? He’s the most gentle man I know. Except maybe when people screw up at work, and only then because construction is a dangerous business and people could get hurt. He’s really protective of his crews. It’s not like anyone would think they could walk all over him or anything. But he’d never hurt Levi. Not ever.”
Curious, that an ex-wife defended the man so much.
“And what about you? Has there ever been a time when, not meaning to, you grabbed him too tightly?” Unless Mara Noble had lied, someone had left finger-shaped bruises on that little boy’s body. And someone besides a day care worker would have to have seen them.
“Of course I haven’t.” There was no indignation in Tressa’s voice. Because the woman found the idea so far-fetched it wasn’t even an issue? That was how it seemed to Lacey. But she’d been lied to by the best, and she knew better than to take the interview at face value.
Losing some of her conversational passiveness, she leaned forward. “How did Levi break his arm?”
Tressa’s lips pushed out as she held them together. Her chin dimpled. She blinked away a sudden flood of tears. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Did he tell you I hurt him?”
“No. He won’t tell anyone anything.”
Tressa’s expression didn’t clear—no sign of relief at finding out that she had not been accused of wrongdoing.
“He was climbing on the bookcase,” she said. “He’d asked if he could watch Whyatt, and I said yes, and then the phone rang. It was Amelia, and I was talking to her, and so he decided to help himself to his video. He knows he isn’t allowed to climb on that bookcase. He could...” She stopped. “Well, we all know what could happen, because it did.”
“You’re saying he fell?”
She shook her head. “He probably wouldn’t have if I hadn’t panicked. I rushed over to save him from disaster, but I didn’t have a secure enough grasp on him...” Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. “It’s just like Jem used to say, I overreact.”
“He blamed you, then?”
Tressa blinked. “What? Jem? For Levi’s arm? No.” She shook her head softly. “He said it was an accident. It was an accident. But I still feel horrible about it.”
Lacey believed her. About all of it. The story was the same, with minute differences, like the fact that she’d given her son permission to watch his video and then taken a phone call...
It didn’t sound rehearsed, and it explained Levi’s shame.
She didn’t like that Jem always told Tressa she overreacted. Though if it was true, if Tressa had out-of-control emotions, that could be a concern.
And if it wasn’t true, it pointed to an unhealthy behavior by the ex-husband—demeaning and belittling the mother of his child.
“Have you ever noticed bruising on Levi?” She was back to the bruises Mara had reported on Levi’s torso.
“No. But all little boys get bruises now and then. It’s not like I would have found it unusual or of particular concern. I might not have committed one to memory. Also, Jem has him most of the time. I just have him on weekends. And only every other one.”
“Why is that?”
Tressa shrugged. “I have a tendency to make issues where there are none. My whole family was that way. And probably why my brother got into drinking and drugs at such a young age. We’re drama queens, or king in Kenton’s case. Every one of us. And while it’s something I’m used to, Jem isn’t. I don’t want Levi ending up like my brother. Kenton was really sweet before he started drinking and taking drugs—to be able to survive under one roof with my mom and dad, he said.”
So it was true. Which meant the ex-husband wasn’t belittling the mother of his child. She made note.
“Can you give me an example of what you’re talking about?” Lacey hadn’t touched her tea.
“With Levi and Jem, or with my brother?”
“Let’s start with Levi.”
Nodding, Tressa continued to hold Lacey’s gaze openly. “Levi would get a runny nose and I’d be wanting to keep him home, just in case. I’d be listening to his chest and worrying about pneumonia. I take things to extremes in my mind. Maybe it’s so that I’m always prepared.”
She paused. Lacey nodded and waited.
“So...say someone looks at us in the park. I’m immediately carrying on like he might mug us or shoot us.”
The woman was so genuine Lacey couldn’t help but like her and want to help her. It’s what she did. Attempt to help families live healthy lives together.
“So if you know you have a tendency to do that, are you able to reel yourself in?”
“Yeah, but I’m still emotional, you know? I cry at commercials. Or when I see someone hurting an animal. I still worry about everything even when I know it’s not likely to happen.”
“And you think that was a result of growing up in a turbulent house.”
Tressa nodded. “It wasn’t good for my marriage, I can tell you that. And it’s not good for Levi to live like that all the time, either.”
“Jem told you that?” She used the shortened version of his name on purpose, to keep Tressa at ease.
The other woman shook her head. “No, I saw it. He’s happy, carefree and funny when Jem’s around. When it’s just me and Levi, he gets quiet, reserved.”
Exactly the behavior Mara had described.
“I make him nervous. Like he never knows if something he does is going to make me upset.”
“Did someone tell you that?”
“No. But only because I didn’t bother going back to counseling.”
“Back?”
“I grew up in a dysfunctional family,” Tressa reminded her, as if that explained everything. “And that’s an understatement.” She looked at Lacey. Her shoulders relaxed and she gave a little smile.
“I’m guessing anything I tell you isn’t going to shock someone like you,” she said. “In your job, I mean.”
Lacey sipped tea, having to work harder than normal to keep her professional distance. First the father and now the mother pushing at her boundaries, making her feel...personal. More than a decade on the job, and it had never happened before. Not like this.
And then there was Levi. The little guy was an anomaly. One who had somehow touched her differently—just like Mara had said he’d done with her. There was something special about him with his little-boy lisp, cocky swagger and intelligent, curious, guarded gaze.
“I’ve seen and heard a lot of unimaginable things,” she said now. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your family.”
Half an hour later Lacey was still sitting there, listening to Tressa talk about a mother who’d tell her, on a regular basis, that she wished Tressa had never been born, that Tressa had ruined her life, that she was the devil—and then, in another breath, when Tressa was agreeing with her or taking her side, hug her and call her a princess. A mother who would withhold affection to get what she wanted. Whose love was clearly conditional.
About a father who’d ask her mother if she knew how many times a day he thought about killing her, and then would hold her hand every time they went out. Who would take a typical childhood misbehavior and broadcast it to perfect strangers in an attempt to shame Tressa and Kenton into never doing it again.
And about the brother who’d fly off anytime anyone tried to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. The louder the yelling got, his or anyone else’s, the more he turned to drinking and drugs in order to cope.
The more out of control anyone got, the more everyone in her family hurled horrible insults at each other.
And the more they all clung to one another, as well. Clearly Tressa had loved them.
Her parents had been killed in a car accident shortly after she
’d met Jeremiah Bridges.
“He was my rock,” Tressa said now, an almost dreamy smile on her face. “In some ways he still is.”
“Whose idea was it for the two of you to divorce?”
“Mine. As good as he is to me, Jem just doesn’t get my intensity. I can’t really be myself with him, you know? I had to continuously clamp down on every reaction—from loving a song on the radio to issues on an election ballot. I bring equal passion to everything.” She paused, then grinned. “I’ve done a lot of work on myself. Faced my issues. And...I met someone. Another woman, actually, though our relationship isn’t sexual. We hang out most every night. She gets me. And when I started putting her first, over Jem, I knew that wasn’t fair to him.”
“Did you discuss this other woman with him?”
“Of course. That’s the one thing about me. I don’t keep anything to myself.”
Lacey was beginning to see that. She smiled and then quickly sobered. “So when you get upset, and you’re drama ridden, do you ever lash out like your parents did?”
“Absolutely not. I might say what’s on my mind, but I’m not cruel like they were. I threw a stick once. It flew through the air and hit my friend on the arm. I felt sick about it. She wasn’t hurt, but the look in her eyes, when she looked at her arm and then at me... It’s the last time I ever threw anything.”
“How old were you when that happened?”
“Thirteen. I was on my period and I’m always more dramatic then.”
“And your friend...did you remain in contact after that?”
Sometimes the best way to see the full picture of a person was to see how others treated them. How others judged them.
Not always.
Because victims treated poorly by abusers tended to invite those into their lives who would repeat the treatment. It was the pattern of abuse. Insidious hell.
She knew it well now.
Being treated poorly didn’t mean you were bad. But it could.
Harlequin Superromance May 2016 Box Set Page 58
