The Good Father

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  He found the name. Hit call. And then waited. Airline staff had opened the Jetway door. He only had a minute or two.

  One ring. Two. And then three. He glanced at his watch. It was before seven in the morning. Her shift at the hospital didn’t start until eight, and her apartment was a twenty-minute drive away. He was, after all, the king of online investigating. He’d sold the dot-com. Not his abilities.

  He still sat on the board of the company he founded—with his percentage of the take being donated to The Lemonade Stand every month.

  On the sixth ring a flight employee announced that it was time for him to board. And he was sent to voice mail.

  Brett didn’t leave a message.

  * * *

  ELLA GOT A new patient on Wednesday. A three-pound, nine-week-old girl who came to them from the Santa Raquel hospital with a peripherally inserted central catheter and a ventilator. The tiny thing was only now at thirty-four weeks gestational age. But if all went well, she’d be running and playing with her siblings soon enough, with no memory of how rough her life had been at the start. She was a lucky one. Her heart was good. Her lungs appeared to be developing normally. And as soon as her organs were mature enough to function on their own, she could hopefully go home.

  In the meantime, she’d need a diaper change every three hours, a daily assessment and very careful monitoring.

  Ella felt as if she needed monitoring that day, too. She must have checked her voice mail half a dozen times. And looked for text messages twice as often. Maybe she should have picked up Brett’s call. But if she was going to do this, she had to be the one in charge.

  But she’d wanted him to leave a message so she’d know how much of a problem he was going to be.

  She hadn’t thought for a second that he’d be glad to hear from her—or to know that she’d invaded his home territory. Maybe she’d even taken a tiny bit of pleasure in having done so—in having a legitimate reason to rock his boat.

  A reason he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

  Because one of the things she was certain of in her life was that she knew Brett Ackerman. He wouldn’t turn his back on a friend in need if he felt he could help. Ever.

  And most particularly, he wouldn’t turn his back on Jeff.

  Jeff, Ella’s brother, had been Brett’s college roommate. They’d met in their freshman year. Right after Brett’s little sister had died. And his mother had had a breakdown resulting from the loss and from having withstood years of domestic violence at the hands of Brett’s father. She’d lashed out at Brett. And then put herself in self-imposed isolation for having done so. Leaving Brett alone to cope.

  Alone except for Jeff. Who’d been a solid rock in Brett’s life, refusing to let him suffer in solitude. Brett had credited Jeff with saving his life.

  Now it was time for Brett to save theirs.

  * * *

  ELLA WAITED ALL DAY Wednesday for him to call back. To leave a message. Clearly he’d heard that she was there. He had her new cell phone number. And Brett was definitely one who faced his battles head-on.

  There’d been a time when she’d admired that about him.

  She wanted to be the one to initiate their first conversation. But a hint as to his mind-set first would be good. Was he angry? Curious? Was it possible he’d actually missed her?

  She would give him until her last break on Thursday before calling him. She didn’t want to speak to him for the first time in four years in front of Chloe. While she knew she was over Brett, she wasn’t positive that there wasn’t any residual pain lurking inside her. Chloe didn’t need more guilt added to her already overflowing plate.

  At five minutes after two on Thursday afternoon, just as she was leaving the floor, she got a page. She was needed on Pod B stat. A baby had just been admitted. He was nine months old, had spent the first four months of his life at a NICU in LA, and was being readmitted due to an infection around the area of his G-tube.

  “I wanted you to see this,” Dr. Claire Worthington said as soon as Ella approached the crib where the baby lay completely still. She saw the finger-shaped marks on the little guy’s thighs immediately.

  “These look too big to be female,” Ella said. It was the first thought that sprang to mind.

  “His grandmother brought him in. Said his mother’s under the weather.”

  “His paternal grandmother?” Ella asked, assisting a nurse from the PICU as she taped a newly placed line.

  The baby was more than five pounds underweight. “According to his medical records he’s lost four pounds since his check two weeks ago,” Dr. Worthington said. “The grandmother claims that the mother refused to let anyone use his G-tube. He was being bottle and spoon fed through his mouth.” The area around the feeding tube looked as though it hadn’t been touched in a couple days, at least. Which could easily have caused the infection.

  “Has social services been called?” If not, they’d be the first call on Ella’s list when the doctor finished giving her orders and the little guy was settled.

  “Not yet,” Dr. Worthington said, a grim look on her face. “I’ll be filling out a suspected abuse report and know that you’re the go-to person.”

  “You suspect the mother?” But the bruises on the baby’s thigh...

  “I think if Mom had done this, she’d be here, claiming that something was physically wrong with him. She’d be defending herself. It doesn’t fit that she’d let Grandma bring him in. Grandma didn’t stay—she just dropped him off and said she had to get back. She appeared nervous. Besides, these bruises, while clearly thumb-shaped, are too big.”

  “I’ll give my High Risk Team contacts a call and get someone out to the house ASAP,” Ella said. She should have thought of it first, even before social services. For now, little Henry was in good hands. But his mother...

  Filled with adrenaline, Ella forgot all about her break, about her ex-husband, and made her first call as a member of the Santa Raquel High Risk team.

  She was needed.

  And that was all that mattered.

  * * *

  BRETT WAS IN a hotel room in Washington late Thursday night, sitting at the desk with his laptop, going through the day’s email, when he saw the notice about Henry Burbank and his mother, Nora. He wasn’t a member of the High Risk team, but due to his relationship with The Lemonade Stand and his seat on the board, he received all emails pertaining to their work.

  According to the police report from the day’s home visit, Nora showed no visible signs of bruising. The woman exhibited fear as she refused a physical examination. Her husband stood over her the entire time the officer was there and, though a female officer tried to coax her away, she refused to leave his side. The report stated that there were no signs of affection between the two, and Nora spent most of her time looking at the ground. The grandmother had alarming bruises on an arm that she claimed came from the banister when she started to slip going down the stairs. She also adamantly refused a physical examination.

  There’d been one previous call to the police regarding the couple, from a neighbor claiming to have heard a loud male voice and something crashing, but when the officers had gone out, they hadn’t seen anything amiss, and all three adults in the home insisted that everything was fine. They’d all appeared to be in good health.

  Mom, Dad and Grandma, all three, gave the exact same story regarding the bruises on baby Henry’s thighs. He’d moved suddenly while being changed, and his father had saved him from a fall off the changing table.

  The mom, Nora, was being blamed by Dad and Grandma for the baby’s ill health, with claims that she’d force-fed him through his mouth, but the young mother had told police that she’d only ever used the G-tube to feed her son and had kept it cared for exactly as she’d been taught at the hospital. But when they’d asked how often the mother had fed her baby herself, as opposed to someone else feeding him, she’d clammed up.

  Child Protective Services would be investigating further before the baby woul
d be released back to his parents’ care.

  They had nothing concrete at the moment to keep Ted Burbank away from his family. Which meant that the possibly abusive man had visitation rights at the hospital with his son, Henry.

  Charge nurse Ella Ackerman, the ex–Mrs. Brett Ackerman, was on full alert.

  Brett needed a drink.

  * * *

  ELLA WENT INTO work early Friday morning. She’d had a text from Rhonda, a four-to-twelve charge nurse, telling her that Henry’s mom had just called to say she was on her way in and would like them to hold off doing Henry’s early morning assessment so that she could be present. Rhonda’s text came because of the note Ella had left on Henry’s chart, telling everyone to let her know anytime Mom or Dad were present, or expected to be present.

  Because there wasn’t enough evidence, or a family member willing to testify, the police couldn’t do anything for Henry or Nora yet. But Ella could. That was what the High Risk team was all about. Everyone working together to devise individual plans for the safety of high-risk victims, or potential victims. Henry coming to them with a life-threatening infection, signs of poor G-tube care and bruises made the case high risk.

  And the team hoped that if Ella could get Nora alone, maybe the mother would speak more openly. At least Ella hoped so. She’d only spoken to one member of the team, an Officer Sanchez, from the Santa Raquel police department. Her first regular monthly High Risk team meeting, where she’d officially be introduced and meet everyone else, wouldn’t be until the following week.

  She was being inducted by fire, the middle-aged officer had told her when he’d stopped by her apartment the night before. Thankfully Chloe had been giving Cody a bath, so Ella had had a few minutes to speak privately.

  Ella was on the floor with a welcoming smile when Nora Burbank showed up at the exact time Rhonda had said to expect her. The twenty-year-old was in jeans with fancy stitching and jeweled pockets, and a T-shirt, both clean and newer-looking. Her dark, waist-length hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She had rhinestoned flip-flops on her feet. No tattoos. No makeup.

  And no visible signs of physical abuse. Just as Juan Sanchez had relayed.

  “You’re here alone?” she asked after she introduced herself as Henry’s nurse and walked the woman through the secure door to Pod B. Sanchez had warned her that Nora wasn’t likely to show up alone.

  The young woman looked at the floor as she nodded. And otherwise kept her gaze trained in front of them. On the stations they were passing. Not on people. Not on the nurses and orderlies bustling about in the hall, nor on the young patients in cribs and those in need of an Isolette, who were situated in the open unit.

  “Ted got called into work. He thinks I’m at home,” Nora said softly, chin almost to her chest. Ella had the impression that the soft tone was more the woman’s usual demeanor than a reaction to the very sick children around them. “His mom’s supposed to be watching me, but I went out the back door when she went to the restroom.”

  Watching her?

  “You drove yourself here?” They were nearing Henry’s crib.

  “I don’t have a car,” Nora said. “I took the bus...” Nora’s words broke off as she caught sight of her son and hurried forward, tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips. The young woman was obviously comfortable around the various tubes connected to her son. And mindful of every single thing that happened over the next two hours. Nora assisted with bathing and changing the baby. She handled his feeding completely on her own. With the ease of a professional.

  She spoke to him. Sang to him. Distracted him when he got a poke. And played age-appropriate games with him, from peekaboo, to track-the-tiger—having him follow a stuffed animal with his eyes, bringing the toy close enough for him to reach for and eventually letting him grab it.

  Ella had no proof that Ted Burbank was anything other than, in her opinion, overly protective and too controlling of his family, but she was certain of two things. First, there was no way Henry’s mother would ever have willingly fed her son by mouth, willingly allowed anyone else to do so, or allowed any improper handling of the G-tube. Nora watched every member of the medical staff with an educated eye.

  And second, little Henry meant the world to her.

  Nora began watching the clock shortly before eleven. Ella had purposely been on the pod all morning, but seeing patients other than just Henry. She’d kept an eye on Nora, though, and noticed when the woman started to become more agitated. As soon as she finished administering TPN, intravenous nourishment, to a baby whose stomach couldn’t digest food, Ella made her way over to Nora.

  “You ready for a break?” she asked the young woman who’d been holding her son for the past hour.

  “I have to leave,” Nora said with another glance at the clock. “Ted comes home for lunch at twelve-thirty.”

  And his mother couldn’t make his lunch for him?

  “Surely he’d understand if you missed lunch just once.”

  “He can’t know I’ve been away.”

  “His mother knows.”

  “She won’t say anything to him.”

  “She’s your advocate, then?” There’d been bruises on Grandma’s arms. But the older woman had blamed Nora for the baby’s ill health. Because her son had been right there?

  “No, she thinks I’m the whore who trapped him. But he’ll be pissed at her for losing sight of me, so she won’t tell.”

  “Will he hurt her?”

  Nora’s chin fell to her baby’s forehead. “No, of course not.”

  “You don’t have to go back, you know.” She wasn’t a counselor or experienced with victims of domestic violence. But she knew some things. “You don’t have to stay with him.”

  Nora looked down at her son. Swallowed, and then, with a peculiar strength in her gaze, met Ella’s eyes. “I know Ted’s a bit aggressive at times, but he takes care of us,” she said with utter conviction. “He means well. He tries hard. He works long hours to support us...”

  Were these Nora’s words? Or Ted’s? Repeated over and over to the point that Nora believed the thoughts were her own? Were they true, or had Ted manipulated his young wife to the point that she didn’t have a mind of her own? Ella had done a lot of reading.

  She knew how these things often worked.

  But...

  “Aggression isn’t okay.” She said the only thing she knew to say. “And—”

  “I have no one else.” Nora’s words were a statement. “My family disowned me when I got pregnant.” She nodded toward the sleeping baby she still cuddled, in spite of her announcement that she had a bus to catch. “I’d just graduated from high school. I’ve never even had a job. But even if I had, it’s not like I can just leave Henry with a sitter or at a day care and go off to work. He needs full-time trained care...”

  Sounded as though Nora felt trapped...

  Not once had Nora said she loved her husband. It was something Chloe said all the time about Jeff.

  Pulling up a chair, she sat in front of the other woman, sending up a quick mental prayer that she was doing the right thing, and said, “I know of a place you can stay while Henry’s here,” she said. “It’s not far. And someone would see that you got back and forth to the hospital. For that matter, I could pick you up in the morning on my way in and take you back each afternoon after my shift. I go right by there.”

  Or close enough. She went by the exit.

  Nora didn’t immediately shake her head. The negative reaction took a good minute to come. “I’d have no way to care for him when he’s released.”

  “You could bring him to this place with you,” she said, warming to her subject as she thought of the conversation she’d had with Lila the other night. The things the woman had told her about The Lemonade Stand. The things she’d seen when Lila had taken her on a tour.

  “I’m serious, Nora. One phone call and you can have a new home. A new life. This place...there’s a nurse on staff so if Henry had a problem, he’d b
e safer there than he’d be at home.”

  And if she was overreacting? If she was interfering in a family life that was none of her business? Causing problems where there weren’t any?

  Nora wasn’t telling her no.

  If there weren’t any problems, if Ted was a good, loving husband, he’d understand if his wife needed a little time away to get herself emotionally stable, wouldn’t he? That was all this would be, then. Nora getting help.

  Having a preemie was difficult for anyone, let alone for a child barely out of high school. But being disowned by those who should have been looking out for her?

  Whatever the reason, Nora looked like a woman who was running out of hope.

  “You can stay at the...place...until you have a job. A home. They help women in your position find jobs. There are full-time counselors on staff. Means to get training. Toys for Henry. Other women for you to be friends with. You’d have your own suite with Henry. A crib. Clothes. The cottages all have self-contained kitchens...”

  “I...” Nora was crying now. Looking from Henry back to Ella.

  “There’s a pool. And a day care. It’s a very unique shelter for battered women, Nora, and you’re one of them, aren’t you?”

  A sob escaped Nora, though Ella mostly noticed it from the way the other woman’s chest shook. They were in a busy pod with patients and hospital professionals moving around them—and they were all alone, too. Emotional scenes with parents in the NICU were, unfortunately, not uncommon.

  “Ted... He wouldn’t let me... He said his boy has a mouth and he could learn to eat...”

  Henry had had so many tubes in his mouth during the first weeks of his life that he’d developed an oral aversion. The hope was that as he got a little older, and with proper care and developmental therapy, he’d be able to chew and swallow without activating his gag reflex.

  “He’d force food down his throat and then when Henry threw it back up, he’d refuse to give him more until the next mealtime. He said when he got hungry enough, he’d eat.”