The Good Father

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I just...I miss him. And he misses me, too. He’s so sorry and...”

  “You answered his call.” Jeff had been phoning Chloe for more than a week. Ever since Ella had made the four-hour drive to Palm Desert to pick up her sister-in-law and her nephew and bring them back to stay with her in her apartment.

  The arrangement was temporary. Just until Jeff got help.

  “He’s my husband,” Chloe said, an edge to her voice. Which faded as she said, “I know I shouldn’t have, El, but bills are due, and I’m the one who pays them. I did it online, but I just wanted to let him know. When I picked up, he was choked up and...”

  “You didn’t tell him where you’re staying, did you?”

  “No. But I wanted to.”

  “Next time you want to, you hang up and call me immediately.”

  “But you’re working. Those babies’ lives are in the balance and—”

  “Yours and Cody’s are, too, Chloe. Make no mistake about that.” Since she’d first heard about her brother’s occasional lashing-outs, she’d been reading up on domestic abuse. Researching how best to help both the abuser and the victim. And then she’d ended up with a job offer in Santa Raquel, exactly where she knew she needed to be to get him help.

  “My cell will roll over to my pager if I don’t answer it,” she said now. “As soon as I see it’s you, I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can.”

  “Okay.”

  “You have to stay strong, Chloe. Remember the sound of Cody’s terror. Not his laughter. Remember the ugly words, not the great memories. Just until we can get this all sorted out.”

  Jeff would come through. Ella had faith in him. He had to. Because from what she’d read, if he didn’t get the help he needed, Chloe and Cody were clearly headed for real danger.

  “I know. I can’t go back until he gets help or it will just happen again. I can’t do that to Cody. But Jeff needs me, too, and it’s so hard. I hate that he’s there alone...”

  “Being alone, losing you and Cody, is the only thing that’s going to open his eyes to where he’s headed.”

  “I know.”

  “So, how about we go to the beach as soon as I get off work today? We can grab some dinner at one of the places on the water.”

  “Uncle Bob’s?” They’d been there over the weekend, and Chloe had really enjoyed herself. “Assuming Cody doesn’t relapse.”

  “He should be fine. A reaction to an immunization is generally over as soon as the symptoms disappear.”

  Chloe didn’t need to create worries where there weren’t any. She had enough real demons to fight.

  “You called Jeff because Cody was sick, didn’t you?” Ella asked quietly now. She’d suspected as much.

  “Yeah.”

  “If I hadn’t asked, were you going to tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve got to have complete honesty between us, Chloe, or this isn’t going to work.”

  In the six years since Jeff and Chloe had married, the other woman had quickly become the sister Ella had never had.

  “I know. I was already stressing about it, which is why I hadn’t called you, and I know that honesty between us is crucial to the support system that’s going to see me through this. I’m sorry, El. It won’t happen again.”

  “It might. If this was as easy as making decisions and sticking to them, domestic violence would be much easier to fight. But we’ll get through all of this. I promise you. You aren’t alone, and you aren’t ever going to be alone.”

  Ella knew how being alone felt. After she’d lost the baby and her marriage had fallen apart, she’d been utterly and completely on her own in a world of pain. She’d do whatever it took to make sure Chloe didn’t ever have to experience that particular hell.

  “Have you called Brett yet?” Her sister-in-law’s voice took on a stronger note.

  “No.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do this. You’ve suffered enough. It’s only been in the last couple years that you’ve seemed to come alive again.”

  “And that’s why I know I can see him,” Ella said, glancing at her watch. She had an assessment in ten minutes. “Besides, he’s our best hope where Jeff is concerned. And I do have to do this, Chloe. You and Jeff and Cody—you’re my family. I’d do anything for you.”

  “You know I’m here for you, too, right?” Chloe asked. “More than just helping you find a house, and cooking and doing the laundry.”

  Chloe was pretty much a gourmet cook and selling her current contributions far short, but, having been vulnerable and alone herself, Ella understood that Chloe desperately needed reassurance of her deeper value.

  “Are you kidding? When I finally found out I was pregnant, and Brett started to change...and then losing the baby after all those years of hoping...you’re the one who kept me going. You kept telling me that someday I’d wake up and face the day with anticipation again, and you were right. I love my life. And you’re going to love yours again, too. I promise.”

  “I love you, sis.”

  “I love you, too. Now go hug that boy for both of us and think about what we’re going to order for dinner.”

  They shared meals, she and Chloe, when they went out to eat. Neither one of them ever finished a whole meal. And sharing was a money-saving venture that allowed them to go out more.

  It was all in the plan.

  And life was finally, firmly, on course.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT WASN’T BRETT’S way to put things off. The more unpleasant something was, the sooner he tended to it. A lesson learned from his past. One that defined his present and safeguarded his future.

  Someone from Americans Against Prejudice—and Brett was fairly certain he knew who—was misusing a line item in the annual budget. Filtering monies meant for the general operations and sinking them, instead, into a legitimate investment in beachfront property. Brett was fairly certain the filterer had made the investment with the intention of skimming profits off the top for himself.

  And that wasn’t the worst of it. The beachfront investment was only what had triggered his suspicions. Now he had one hell of a mess on his hands. He was fairly certain that the entire Americans Against Prejudice board, working together, had hired him as a cover for their illegal lining of their own bank accounts with charity funds.

  Which meant they were either overly confident or just plain stupid. Didn’t they know that he’d started one of the first—and still one of the most reputable—public-record-finding dot-coms in existence? He was an investigator. A person who could find anything there was to be found.

  And so, while the ladies and gentleman that he’d been sitting on a board with for three months were enjoying lunch at a nearby French restaurant, Brett, the sole nonvoting board member, was alone in the executive offices rifling through files. Thank God they were mostly computerized, and he could scan them quickly.

  Fortunately he found the information he needed within minutes. Not so fortunate was the fact that his suspicions had just been confirmed.

  Before the members of the board would have had time to order their gourmet sandwiches and have them delivered to their table, paid for by nonprofit monies, Brett had reported every one of them to the local police.

  * * *

  ELLA’S PLANS TO be home early were interrupted by her cell phone ringing just as she was leaving work that afternoon. Lila McDaniels, managing director of The Lemonade Stand, was on the other end.

  “I’d like to meet with you,” Lila said after introducing herself. “I’ve just read the email naming you as the most recent addition to Santa Raquel’s Domestic Violence High Risk team. And while those appointments are made by a committee, the idea for this program originated from our facility, and I make it a point to get to know everyone on the team.”

  Ella had heard about the team in a recent hospital staff meeting and, thinking the opening was a gift from angels, had applied immediately. She’d heard back within the week that she’d received th
e appointment. Committee work was a required and ongoing part of most professional hospital positions. At least if one had an eye on career advancement.

  Ella’s motive for seeking this particular committee position was much more personal, however. And if securing the position meant taking a detour on the way home, then she’d do so. She’d agreed to a four o’clock meeting in the director’s office. And now, following the instructions Ms. McDaniels had given her, she was looking for the small public parking lot in front of the facility. The question was, did she pretend she’d never heard of The Lemonade Stand before? Or did she tell the woman that she knew the man who’d founded the place?

  Had known him intimately?

  And had spent years recovering from the pain he’d caused her?

  * * *

  BRETT WAS BACK in Santa Raquel in time to have an early dinner. He ate his peanut-butter-and-bacon sandwich pacing in front of the sliding glass door that led from his kitchen eating area to the deck and the garden and acre of woods beyond. Still in the navy blue suit he’d worn to attend the morning board meeting, he’d loosened the knot of the red tie a bit. His one concession to relaxation. His wing tips were shined. His watch in place.

  Brett’s life was a mission—and all pieces were accounted for.

  Except one.

  That phone call he’d had that morning.

  His ex-wife was in town. She had to be if she was on the High Risk team.

  Facts listed themselves off in his mind as he paced and chewed in rhythm. Peanut butter and bacon. One of the few good things in his life that came from having known his father.

  The old man would take credit for Brett’s choice of repast. And probably try to draw some major conclusion from the fact that the unhealthy and unrefined meal was still his favorite.

  Turning to pace back in the direction he’d come, Brett admonished his father’s memory for being in his head at all. Let alone right now.

  Ella was in town. No mystery as to why his father was suddenly coming to mind.

  She was in town, and she hadn’t contacted him.

  Not that she had any reason to. They had no connection—nothing in their lives that would necessitate them to be in the same area at the same time. He’d made certain of that. Schmuck that he was.

  Even his own mother, while she’d agreed to act as his business assistant, wouldn’t be in the same room with him. Or even have a real conversation with him.

  She was in his home, in his life, only when he wasn’t there.

  But Ella seemed to be with him wherever he went. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake her.

  Which made getting rid of her presence in his physical space, his town, anywhere he might run into her, paramount.

  * * *

  WITH HER PAST and her present, her current career, Ella didn’t get ruffled by much these days. Her dream of sharing a passionate, all-in relationship with another person was packed firmly away with the rest of her childhood memorabilia.

  And the second she met Lila McDaniels, she felt a bit like a child again. Believing that everything would be okay. Because of the kind look in Lila’s gaze as she introduced herself?

  The unusual reaction was a warning to her. She wasn’t as unaffected by the world around her as she wanted to be. Note taken. To be dealt with as soon as she was alone.

  “We can take a tour of the grounds later,” the older woman said, whisking Ella through an entrance that reminded her of the heavy, pass-key-admittance-only door that led into the NICU. “For now I thought we’d have some tea.”

  No question about whether or not Ella liked tea. But she did, and tea sounded good. Still in her pale peach scrubs with little bears all over them, and wearing the black rubber-soled shoes that tended to squeak a bit when she walked, Ella followed the older woman through a large, nicely appointed office into a smaller living space furnished with an elegant, claw-footed chintz couch, matching claw-footed side tables and two rose silk wing-back armchairs. The room was delightful. And took her breath away.

  “Did you do your own decorating?” she asked, feeling instantly as though she could spend the next ten days in that room, reading books and feeling...safe.

  The thought startled her. She didn’t feel unsafe. She’d lived alone for years and was perfectly secure.

  “Yes, I did. A little at a time.” Lila’s gray pants and white blouse, her short, mostly gray nondescript hair, looked out of place in the colorful room. “Here at The Lemonade Stand, we believe that the strongest healing comes from within. We encourage our residents to look inside themselves for their inner beauty, their inner strengths. Their inner worth. We also believe that if one is told she’s bad or at fault enough times, or if one is forced to live with violence and ugliness, the beauty within becomes locked away. So we try to surround ourselves and our residents with outer beauty, with elegant and peaceful surroundings, and with kindness, in the hopes that we can help them begin to counteract the violence they’ve been exposed to and begin to access their inner bounty.”

  Ella had a feeling she was hearing an oft-given speech. “As soon as I heard that I’d won the committee appointment at the hospital, I read up on all of the other team members,” she said, still standing, facing the older woman. “I’ve got The Lemonade Stand’s pamphlet memorized,” she continued, wanting Lila to make no mistake about her sincerity or value to the team. “I want to be fully prepared and able to help if I find myself with a victim in need.”

  Not just for Chloe and Jeff. But for the mothers of any of her babies. Or any of the other children who came into the hospital with “at risk” symptoms.

  Lila’s gaze changed. Only for a second. The calm, the kindness, covered the subtle glimpse of whatever had been there, but she was fully focused on Ella as she asked, “Have you ever been a victim?”

  “Not in the way you mean.”

  Taking her hand, Lila led Ella to one of the two armchairs and took the other, all the while holding Ella’s gaze. “In what way do I mean?” she asked.

  “I’ve never been abused.”

  “So, in what way have you been a victim?”

  Whoa. Ella sat back. Feeling as though she’d been slam-dunked. And as though she wanted to cry on this woman’s shoulder.

  “I haven’t been,” she assured Lila McDaniels, racking her brain for a way to explain what she’d meant. “My folks were great parents. I was disciplined by having my reading time taken away. Or by being sent to bed without dessert. They never raised a hand to me. Nor has my father ever been even remotely violent with my mother. They were high school sweethearts and are still happily married.”

  “There must have been arguments. No two individuals live in complete harmony forever.”

  “Of course they fought! They still do. I’ve certainly heard raised voices. But nothing that ever crossed the line into emotional battery. Or personal attacks, either, that I can think of.”

  Lila’s gaze was still intent. “And what about since then?”

  “I’m...I’ve never been in an abusive relationship.” Pressure built up beneath Lila’s inquisitive stare—as though the woman was certain, in spite of what Ella was telling her, that Ella was a victim.

  Ella’s gaze didn’t waver. Even for a second. She of all people knew that Brett was not an abusive man. Knew, too, that there were other ways to break a heart.

  Studying Ella for another few seconds, Lila finally said, “We just need to know, up front, because if you’ve been a victim, your perspective might be different,” she said by way of explanation.

  “You’re saying that if I was a victim, I wouldn’t be welcome on the team?”

  “Of course not.” Lila’s frown, her quick gasp, caught at Ella, putting her strangely at ease. “Oh, my word, of course not. I just...I like to know. So I can help if need be... I’ll go get that tea.”

  Lila was clasping her hands together as she left the room. Ella watched her go, curious about the woman, and wishing that the managing director was a member of the Hig
h Risk team so she’d have an opportunity to get to know her better. She wasn’t, though. The Lemonade Stand’s representative was a woman Ella had yet to meet—Sara Havens, a licensed professional clinical counselor.

  And in retrospect, Lila’s not being on the team was just as well. At the moment, Ella didn’t have time to make a new friend outside of work. She had her hands full with settling into a new town, a new job, finding a house and putting her family back together.

  She just had to make a good enough impression to secure the High Risk team position she’d already landed.

  Which was just par for her life—having to fight for what she thought she already had. Like Chloe, fighting to keep them sisters when she’d thought they were family for life. And Brett...no...she’d stop that train of thought right there.

  Lila called from the kitchen, asking Ella if she wanted milk in her tea. Ella declined.

  She wasn’t going to think about Brett.

  Not yet.

  Not until she had to.

  And only then until she could get what she needed from him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BRETT HAD TO be in Chicago for an eleven o’clock meeting Wednesday morning. He’d be spending the few hours he had in his first-class airline seat studying the agenda for Music Muscles, a nonprofit music-therapy organization that was one of his newest clients. One that, so far, gave him no cause for concern. From there he’d head to Detroit, where he was spending the night before an early Thursday-morning meeting, and then it was off to Washington, DC, that afternoon.

  Leaving his black BMW in secured parking, he pulled the carry-on out of the trunk, slung his leather garment bag over one shoulder, his matching briefcase satchel over the other and strode straight to the preferred security line in the terminal at LAX.

  After he’d checked in, with limited time before they’d be calling him to preboard, Brett reached beneath his suit coat to the holster secured to his leather belt and pulled out his cell phone.

  Her number had been on the High Risk team email he’d received the morning before. He’d typed it into contacts only so that her name would come up if she phoned, and he could avoid answering.