“I was just going for a swim. You want to join me?”
The question was uncharacteristic. As was the fact that he’d uttered it without forethought. Uncharacteristic to the man he’d become.
Not uncharacteristic to the much younger man who’d once been married to this woman. She’d always had a strong effect on him. And instead of dissipating, it had only grown stronger the longer they were together. Most particularly as he watched her put herself through procedure after procedure because she’d so badly wanted to bring their child into the world, and then try to comfort him after every disappointment. He’d been strangely detached himself, to the news of no baby, but each time, he’d grown more and more invested in her disappointment. He couldn’t make her happy. The conception challenges were hers. They’d had tests. She suffered from a hormonal imbalance that rid her body of fertilized eggs before they could implant. He didn’t have to feel guilty about not being able to give her a child. No, his unease was much more selfish, much more like something his father would have felt. He’d hated that she’d had to have a baby to be happy.
He’d hated the fact that he wasn’t enough for her.
He’d fought the intensity. Keeping himself in check as he’d learned to do. Preventing any chance that he’d do something unforgivable.
And he’d seen the hurt in her eyes. Day after day after day. Because of the baby they couldn’t conceive, he’d told himself. But he’d known that his distance was hurting her, too. He just hadn’t been able to do anything about it.
“I don’t have a suit.”
She hadn’t said no. She’d made an excuse. Wasn’t going to swim with him. But she hadn’t said no.
The distinction counted.
It shouldn’t.
“Although a swim sounds good.” The words came slowly. Hesitantly. As though she reserved the right to take each one back as she uttered it.
She was looking at him now. At his chest. He could almost feel her reaching out to him, running her fingers through his chest hair, pausing to tease his nipples, as she’d done so many times in the past.
“I need to speak with you, Brett.” Her frown held a question as she watched him. And for a second he wondered if he’d imagined her words. About swimming with him.
Or maybe it had just been the intonation he’d mistaken. She’d been making a casual comment, and he’d heard innuendo.
“It’s important.” Arms crossed now, she stood on his front porch, slender and tall with her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, looking sexy and serious. Professional. Turning him on...
He spun around abruptly, before his body betrayed him. “I’ll just go get dressed,” he said. “Come on in.” Leaving the door wide, he strode back to his master suite, concerned about where this project was leading him.
* * *
ELLA WASN’T GOING to be affected by him. Or by his home. She’d never seen the inside before, of course. They’d only visited Santa Raquel during their marriage, not lived there. They hadn’t owned a home there. And he wasn’t hers anymore. Not her lover. Not her husband or partner or spouse.
But he had been once.
There was something in that.
As much as she told herself there wasn’t. As much as she tried for there not to be, there was.
So. Fine.
She knew. She was on top of it.
The danger was in not knowing what was behind you, catching up to you, preparing to take you unaware.
Meaning to stay in the foyer by the front door, her gaze focused off in space, Ella caught a glimpse of something in the room off to her right. A sunken room with lush beige carpet. And brocade furniture. An antique armoire.
The frame she’d seen drew her closer, and she saw that she’d been right. He had the photo they’d always kept in their living room on the mantel above the fireplace. It was a landscape, a small patch of beach with the ocean in the distance. Not anything that would stand out to anyone. Except the two people who’d made love for the first time there and then taken a cell phone photo of the beach as a promise to each other to never forget their first time.
She’d given him the framed photo on their wedding night.
And had wondered, after the divorce, what had happened to it.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and Ella turned, intending to say something to him about the photo—about the fact that he’d kept it, but all she saw was his back. As though he’d seen her standing there and had turned away.
“Come on out, and I’ll get us some tea,” he called from several feet down the hall, as though she knew her way around his home.
She followed the sound, wishing she could have just stayed in the foyer by the front door. Years of work, of healing, suddenly felt at risk.
She couldn’t help looking around her as she came into the large kitchen with the bay window alcove that held a butcher-block table with fall leaf quilted placemats. A gourd acting as a bowl to smaller gourds painted like fruit sat in the middle of the table.
And beyond the window was the loveliest backyard she’d ever seen. Bougainvillea climbed six-foot stucco walls off in the distance, cornering a rock waterfall. Behind the wall were some woods. She could see the tops of the trees. The pool took up half the yard and was flanked by a built-in fireplace and grill.
“Are those orange trees?” They were off to the side of the pool.
“One navel, and one ruby-red grapefruit. There’s a lemon tree on the side of the house.”
Lost in the beauty of his home, she didn’t think about the past. Or the future. She wanted to sit down. And stay a while.
“Here’s your tea,” he said, handing her a glass.
She took a sip to soothe her newly parched throat—unsweetened, with just a hint of lemon, exactly as she liked it.
He’d remembered. “These are lovely,” she said, pointing to the place mats. Their home had been nice, too, but they’d both been students when they’d first married, living paycheck to paycheck. “My mother’s doing,” he said, standing there with his tea, watching her.
She wanted to see the rest of the place.
And knew she didn’t dare. She was strong. Happy. And intended to remain that way.
She’d lost too much of herself to this man the first time around. Giving him everything, trusting that he was as invested in her as she was in him, only to find that he’d seen a divorce lawyer without even telling her that he wanted out.
Trusting that he wanted a baby as badly as she did only to find that he didn’t want one at all.
She wasn’t going to be drawn in again. Even if that meant they stood there, awkwardly holding glasses of tea while they talked.
Opening the sliding glass door off to one side of the alcove, Brett stepped outside. “Let’s sit out here,” he said and because she needed to get out of his house, she followed him.
He’d put on black pants and a striped business shirt.
“You have a meeting tonight?” Setting her glass on the table, she sat in one of the four padded chairs around it.
“A plane to catch. I have an eight o’clock board meeting in Oregon in the morning.”
A busy man. An important one. But he evidently had time for a glass of tea. In lieu of the swim he’d been about to take?
The pool was kidney shaped. Had a basketball hoop at one end, a hot tub off to the side and was surrounded by landscaped flower beds.
If they hadn’t divorced, this could have been her home...
“Did you talk to Jeff?” The question was a little more baldly stated than she’d intended.
“Of course. I said I would.” Sitting across from her, he raised an ankle to his knee and gazed out toward his yard.
“You told him you’d seen Chloe and that she was fine?” She glanced at him and then away.
“Yes.”
“How did he react?”
Brett’s gaze landed on her, and Ella lost her breath. “He was grateful that I’d checked up on her for him.”
“Did
he ask how you found her?”
“I didn’t give him a chance. Before I told him I saw her, I told him I contacted you and asked you to arrange a meeting for me. After all, he knew I showed up because you contacted me saying you were worried about him.”
It had happened exactly as he said.
“And?”
“He was glad to hear that she agreed to see me. He sees that as a good sign.”
“Good sign?”
“Jeff wants his wife home. He wants to save his marriage. But he’s unsure of Chloe right now.”
That was what they needed. For Jeff to understand that if he didn’t get help, he risked losing his family forever, not just for now.
“Did he say anything about how he thought to go about saving the marriage? Like getting help for his anger issues?”
“He already told Chloe he’d go to counseling with her.”
“He needs to go to counseling himself, Brett. To figure out how to handle himself in stressful situations. Then he can talk about possible marriage counseling.”
“Is that what Chloe wants? For him to go to counseling? Is that what she’s waiting for?”
“He needs to figure out why he’s suddenly getting physically aggressive with his family when he’s angry. And do something about it. She’s waiting for him to realize he has to take accountability and make changes before she can safely return home.”
“There’s no way she’s afraid of Jeff. I talked to her. She didn’t exhibit any sign of fear. On the contrary, she misses him.”
“She’s not afraid of him. She’s afraid of what might happen in the future if he doesn’t get help.” Ella hadn’t forced Chloe to leave. Chloe had asked for help.
And not because of one incident, but because of two years of escalating ones.
Brett didn’t say anything. Ella let the subject of counseling go for the moment, afraid that he’d have to leave before they talked about her most prominent concern.
“Did you know that he’s calling her?”
Brett didn’t respond well to drama. To sensationalism. The most efficient way to deal with him was to take all the alarm out of her tone. She knew that. And tried her best.
But damn, sitting there with him in his backyard, such a romantic setting...or maybe it was the caffeine in the tea...she could feel her heart racing.
“They agreed that he wouldn’t look for her as long as she answered her cell when he called, or at least called him right back. Just so that he knows she’s okay.”
“He called her three times in an hour today. And all day yesterday, too.”
His pause gave her a moment’s comfort. He was taking her seriously.
“Perhaps she didn’t answer. He must have been worried.”
“The only way I know he called is because she did answer. These are just the calls that happened at the Stand and were witnessed. There could be more. Sara Havens is concerned, Brett. She’s the one who told me about them.”
Brett might not have met Sara personally, but she knew he’d be fully aware of every member of the staff at The Lemonade Stand.
“Did Sara witness them?”
“Today she did. Some residents overheard her conversations yesterday and were worried enough that they told Sara about them. Sara purposely made herself busy in the kitchen today to get to know Chloe and get a feel for what was going on.”
“And after she witnessed the calls she was concerned.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll talk to him again.”
He looked sad now, as he gazed out at his yard. She knew how much this had to be hurting him. As far as Brett was concerned, Jeff had saved his life.
He used to say twice. The first time when he’d pulled Brett from the hell of having lost his family—his little sister to leukemia and his relationship with his parents due to the domestic violence in their home.
And the second when Jeff had introduced Brett to Ella.
“If we figure out what’s going on, what’s brought about the change in him, we can stop this, help him, before it’s too late.” For Jeff, of all people, to be suddenly aggressive at home—to be physically harming his family—it had to be heartbreaking for Brett, too. “He’s my brother, Brett. You know how much I love him...”
Her voice broke, and Brett’s glance landed on her. He nodded. Looked like he was going to say more and then stood.
“I’ve got to get going if I’m going to catch that plane,” he said, gathering up their glasses. Neither of them had been emptied.
She stood, too. Told him she’d let herself out, and when he turned to the kitchen sink, she moved in the opposite direction. At the front door, she paused—hoping that he’d come after her?—and said, “Have a safe trip” very softly before exiting his home alone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BOTHERED MORE THAN he wanted to acknowledge by Jeff’s frequent calls to Chloe, Brett changed his flight plan for Thursday, stopping off for a layover at the Palm Springs International Airport before heading on to LA. He had an eight-thirty meeting in LA Friday morning with the district attorney regarding Americans Against Prejudice. He was a key witness in the charges being brought against board members, and this meeting could turn out to be the first of many informal depositions before the case really got off the ground.
He’d been planning to get home for the night first, but would now be staying over at an airport hotel he frequented in LA when he had early-morning flights out. He’d made a habit of always having an extra shirt and tie packed in case he was away longer than he’d planned.
He was relieved to see Jeff waiting for him at the Celebrity Bistro, a bar and eatery adjacent to the security checkpoint and accessible to all airport visitors, just as he’d requested.
Better yet, his friend had already ordered their beers. Still in business clothes, with his tie loosened, Jeff stood as Brett came in.
“What’s up, man?” Jeff asked, his face lined with concern. “Your message sounded serious.”
He’d tried to keep things casual, but he’d only had a short break that day, and Jeff hadn’t picked up when he called. He’d left a message meant to get his friend to the airport without causing alarm. Apparently he’d put too much emphasis on the getting-him-to-the-airport part, and not enough on the no-cause-for-alarm part.
Not like him at all.
“Ella stopped by last night,” he said, sliding onto a bar stool as Jeff took his seat again and passed over a beer. Brett sipped slowly. Drinking was a double-edged sword with him. One of which he was always aware.
It helped him relax. Was a social tool that put others at ease. And he was absolutely not going to become his father—getting lost in the blessed fog of painlessness.
He wanted to talk about the phone calls. To let Jeff know that he had to be careful as people were watching his moves, judging him, based on Chloe’s interpretation of their latest argument. Chloe could very well be making a big deal out of a marital spat that wasn’t anything extraordinary, but if Jeff wasn’t careful, he could find himself under real scrutiny.
Sara Havens’s involvement took this out of the family.
But he couldn’t tell Jeff any of that or he’d be breaking his word to Ella. And Chloe, too.
“No kidding,” Jeff said, leaning back to assess Brett, a grin forming on his face. “So that’s what this is about? My sister? How’d it go?”
“How’d what go?”
“You and Ella. Last night.”
Brett shook his head. “There is no me and Ella,” he said, taking a long swig from the mug of beer. He was definitely going to want another one.
“You want me to talk to her?” Jeff asked, drinking much more slowly than Brett was. “I know she was pretty broken up by your divorce, but I’d also bet my life on the fact that she still loves you. You take it slow and you’ll have her back...”
“Stop,” Brett said. How in the hell had this become about him and Ella?
“I’m serious, man. She hasn’t dated anyone seriou
sly since you. That’s pretty telling, if you know what I mean.”
Ella hadn’t had a single relationship in four years? What a waste.
And the selfish part of him, the part he’d inherited from his father, was secretly glad. He’d mattered to her. As she’d mattered to him.
Even though it didn’t change anything—to the contrary, it confirmed his choice to set her free before their relationship deteriorated as his parents’ had—there was comfort in knowing that he’d mattered.
“I’m serious, Jeff,” he said, pulling his mind back from the other space. “There is nothing between Ella and me, and I don’t want there to be. Period. That’s why I divorced her.”
“And seeing her again hasn’t changed your mind?”
“No.” He didn’t waver on that one. Not even in the darkest recesses of his mind. Seeing his ex-wife again had only made his path more difficult. Which was why he had to get this thing with Jeff and Chloe resolved and get out of their lives again.
Back where he belonged.
Alone.
He sipped.
He wasn’t one of them anymore.
“So what’s this about, then? You want me to tell her to leave you alone? I’d hate to do that. She’s been hurt enough, you know.”
Brett had never told Jeff why he and Ella had divorced. He’d never even attempted to justify his actions. Nor had he ever tried to get Jeff to take his side against Ella. There was no side to take.
Ella had been a great wife. The best. She’d deserved the best husband in return.
Ironic, really, that Ella had never put any stock in the potential for violence within him—thinking his fears groundless to the point that he’d ceased speaking to her about them long before their marriage ended. And yet here she was thinking that her brother, who was the least likely candidate for domestic violence, posed a threat to his wife and son.
“Chloe said something yesterday about you two,” Jeff said. “That’s what got me thinking in that direction.”
“Chloe did? What would she know about me and Ella?”
“Just what you know. That Ella called you about checking up on me. And then she put you in touch with Chloe so you could go see her. I guess Chloe was hoping that once you two saw each other again...I don’t know. You know how women are.”
The Good Father Page 11