The Good Father

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “You need help.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can get through this, Jeff. You and Chloe.”

  He shook his head. “She’s never going to stick with me now. Not after what I did tonight. I don’t deserve her.”

  Maybe not. And maybe Chloe would file for a divorce. Maybe she needed to.

  “Ella told me once that all Chloe wanted was for you to see that you were having problems and get help. Just like she got help after Cody was born. You stuck by her then...”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you didn’t hit her, man. You’ve never hit your wife. Have you?”

  Brett forced his fingers to loosen.

  “No.”

  Brett breathed.

  “But I’ve shoved her,” Jeff said. “Pretty hard that last time. I didn’t mean to. She stepped up just as I was passing through the doorway, but when she got in my way, I reached out with both hands and shoved her into the doorjamb.”

  Ella had been right.

  “Have you ever hurt Cody?”

  Jeff turned, meeting Brett’s stern look. “I’ve never left a bruise on my kid, Brett. I swear to God.”

  “I believe you.” He did. No reason why he should. But he did.

  “I was a little rougher than I should have been, once or twice,” he said. “I made him cry, and I swore to myself that I’d never do that again. That if I did, I’d hang myself. I’m not doing to my kid what your dad did to you.”

  “Don’t do to your wife what my dad did to my mom,” Brett said.

  “You think I should let her go?”

  Brett couldn’t give advice on this one. This was Jeff’s row to hoe.

  But he could empathize. He could be a friend.

  “That’s for you to figure out, man,” he said. “Not every abuser or abuse situation is the same. And you have the advantage of growing up in a loving home. You aren’t starting out from behind, having to fight the pattern of abuse.”

  He could guide Jeff to the help he needed. They had resources—people he trusted who could find a support group for Jeff to join in Palm Desert in addition to individual counseling.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes,” Jeff said. But the man looked beaten.

  Because nothing—no amount of counseling or time—would ever change what had happened there that night. Nothing would erase, in Chloe’s mind, the memory of her husband raising his hand to her.

  And suddenly, as he looked at Jeff, Brett knew that there, but by the grace of God, went he.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ELLA SAT WITH Chloe until she finally fell asleep. When Chloe had called from Brett’s, as soon as she’d determined that Brett was with Jeff and that no one had been physically harmed, she’d told her to stay put while she took a cab over.

  They’d gone straight from there to The Lemonade Stand. Sara had been at home with her fiancé and his daughter, but she’d come in. Lynn Bishop and her sister-in-law Maddie, both of whom had small children and lived on the premises, came up to the main house, too. Lynn, in case Chloe needed any medical treatment, and Maddie, to help watch Cody.

  It had been nearly eleven by the time they arrived back at Ella’s apartment. Thankfully, Cody fell asleep in the car on the way home, and Chloe had been able to get him from the car seat to his bed without waking him.

  Lila McDaniels had not notified the police, for which Ella was thankful. The only thing that could have made the night worse was to see her brother arrested.

  But there’d been no reason to make an arrest. Thanks to Brett. The timing of his intervention had been seemingly divine.

  And Chloe wouldn’t have pressed charges anyway. Although she’d been understandably shaken, she was holding up well, thanks to Sara’s counseling over the past weeks.

  She’d handled the situation with Jeff just as she’d been coached.

  And could have been physically hurt, regardless.

  The whole situation left Ella feeling sick. Confused.

  And out of hope.

  * * *

  JEFF WENT HOME. Put himself in anger-management counseling. Joined an anger-management support group. And went back to church. He talked to his pastor, asking him to keep an eye on him and to pray for his family.

  And every night he wrote to his wife—letters that stayed with him since he had no address for Chloe.

  A couple weeks after the incident at his house, Brett called Ella to ask if Chloe would be open to a supervised conversation with Jeff.

  Thanksgiving had come and gone. Ella had called Jeff, who’d just come back from spending the day with a family he’d met through his support group. A middle-aged couple with three children. The husband had hit all of them at one time or another.

  And hadn’t lifted a hand to them for more than eight years. Jeff told Ella that he’d never seen such a close, caring family.

  She’d heard the hope in his words. But hadn’t relayed either the words or her interpretation of them to Chloe as the three of them drove to The Lemonade Stand to share with the rest of the residents the full turkey dinner Chloe had planned.

  Jeff hadn’t asked about Chloe, and Ella hadn’t mentioned her, either.

  According to Brett, when he’d called to relay Jeff’s request to speak to Chloe, Jeff had been making good progress and was at a point where there were some questions only Chloe could answer for him. Like when did she first notice the change in him? How long did the progression take from irritability to verbal abuse? He didn’t remember many instances, but had been told to expect her to remember many more. He needed her perspective. But only if she could give it without causing undue stress to herself.

  Ella talked to Chloe, who asked if Ella would go with her when she talked to Sara about Jeff’s request. Chloe said she wanted Ella’s full support if she decided to speak with Jeff and figured Sara could help Ella understand what Chloe couldn’t always put into words. Sara advised that Chloe was certainly, in her opinion, healthy enough to speak with her husband, but strongly believed that the session should be supervised.

  Sara seemed to think that Chloe had an interest in saving her marriage.

  Ella hadn’t asked. She still didn’t.

  But when she called Brett that night—the first Wednesday in December—she told him that she thought Chloe was leaning in that direction.

  She’d waited for Chloe to go to bed and was in her own suite on the other side of the apartment, in her bathroom, with the fan blowing.

  Speaking as softly as she could.

  “You sound as if you don’t think them getting back together is a good idea,” he replied, as though they had all night to chat. He’d picked up on the first ring. His voice sounded good to her. Too good.

  She didn’t think it was a good idea for Chloe to speak to Jeff yet. Just as she didn’t think it was a good idea for her and Brett to talk. It was too soon. For both of them. She’d been dating Jason for seven weeks. He’d made it clear he wanted to take things to the next level. And anytime he tried to get intimate with her, she pictured Brett and pulled back.

  “I think it’s too soon for them to be together,” she told Brett, referring to Jeff and Chloe, wondering where Brett was. And not wanting to know. Not wanting to be able to picture him in real time.

  “I mean, Jeff’s my brother, and I love him and want him happy. I don’t want him to lose his family. I don’t want to lose Chloe as a sister-in-law, either. But more, I don’t want Chloe hurt and my brother in jail. Just the thought of how close he came...”

  “He’s in a twenty-four-month program,” Brett reminded her. “And he’s already making progress. He’s been able to take an honest look at himself. He’s taking moral accountability, and has a strong support system set up already and an even stronger desire to change.”

  “I was reading...” Ella stopped. Swallowed. Started again. “Only three to eleven percent of abusers actually recover...”

  “Jeff’s issues haven’t escalated as far as many of those accounted for in those
statistics, El. He was heading there, but he didn’t live the life of having to cover his actions over and over. He doesn’t carry around the memory of actually hitting his wife. And his lashing out wasn’t out of a need to control Chloe, or some lacking in his own self-concept. The only manipulation he’s guilty of is trying to get her to believe, as he believed, that he wasn’t heading down a wrong path. He has no drug or alcohol problems to fight...”

  “You believe he can do this. That he can be one of the three percent.”

  “Three to eleven percent. And I guess I do.”

  With her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her shins and cradled herself. She’d missed a period and was feeling cranky. While she’d had unpredictable and difficult periods, it had been a long time since her body had acted up on her. Not since she’d lost the baby.

  “A key factor to recovery is that there be separation,” Brett added. “At least a year is recommended, but because Chloe acted before Jeff’s behavior escalated into full-on physical abuse, their time apart could be shorter.”

  “I told Chloe she could stay with me until she and Jeff get things figured out. We’re doing fine here now that we’ve settled into a routine, and that way I can help with Cody.

  “Anyway, Chloe said she was fine with a meeting. She wants to help. And if all goes well, she’d like to set up regular meetings with Jeff, one every couple weeks to start, so that he can continue to be a part of Cody’s life.”

  She heard a squeak in the background. “Where are you?” The question slipped out before she could remember she didn’t want to know.

  “Home. I just got in from LA, and I’m heading into my room to get comfortable.”

  He was going to be undressing, he meant. Too much information.

  “I heard a squeak.” The explanation sounded lame.

  “The doorknob on my bedroom door sticks. I was going to get it fixed, but I’ve decided not to. If not for the squeak, I’d never have heard Chloe trying to get out of the room that night, wouldn’t have been outside the door...”

  “I wondered how you happened to burst in at just the right moment...” So much rested on his having been there. Jeff’s whole life. His marriage. Chloe and Cody’s lives, too. “Your instincts are well honed to prevent abuse,” she said, thinking out loud.

  But the words were true. Growing up as he had, Brett was always on alert.

  She heard his belt buckle clink. And realized what was supposed to have been a two-minute call had already gone on too long.

  Without an extra word getting in anywhere, she made plans with Brett to arrange an afternoon meeting with Jeff a week from that Friday—nine days away. She’d take time off work to drive Chloe to Palm Desert. Brett would let Jeff know to alert his counselor to the plan.

  Brett would be in Texas at the end of next week so couldn’t be present himself, Ella was glad to hear.

  And disappointed, too.

  * * *

  ELLA DIDN’T EVEN consider that something other than food poisoning could be wrong with her when she threw up suddenly at work Thursday afternoon—the day after she’d spoken to Brett.

  Jason happened to be on the unit at the time. Told her to take the rest of the day off. She couldn’t figure out what she’d eaten that didn’t agree with her. With Chloe serving dinner at the Stand all week while she honed the menu, Ella had eaten out with Jason two of the past three nights. And had what the rest of the residents at the Stand had the other night. No one else had taken ill.

  Jason checked in with her again the next morning, though he didn’t generally do Friday morning rounds, and she was glad to tell him she was fine.

  Until that afternoon when she experienced another violent bout of nausea that caused her to run out of the room while she and Jason were in with a patient.

  Jason found her half an hour later, in her office, going over notes for a staff meeting she was holding the next morning. He walked in, put a hand on her neck and then picked up her wrist, as though taking her pulse.

  “Anything wrong, doc?” she asked, a twist to her mouth. She wasn’t worried. She knew her body. And nothing was seriously wrong.

  She might have a minor bug.

  Or a case of the nerves. Worrying about Jeff’s emotional state. His marriage.

  Torn between Brett and moving on.

  Dating a man she liked but knew she didn’t love. Wanting Chloe to be happy...

  “Are you prone to nausea?” Jason asked, sounding all doctor-like as he looked at her.

  “No. I don’t think I’ve thrown up since I was a kid.” Back when she’d first started her period, her cramps were so bad they sometimes made her sick to her stomach. She later found out that her system basically told itself to ovulate and menstruate at the same time. Which was why she couldn’t conceive without help.

  “Food poisoning doesn’t last more than twenty-four hours and doesn’t just come in once-a-day bouts.”

  “You think I have the flu?” She’d been concerned about it herself, after this afternoon’s illness. She obviously had a bit of a bug that her body was mostly fighting off. With a bit of nausea as the only symptom. Which was why she was in her office, away from the patients. Since the initial Ebola scare in the United States, she’d been more aware of the viruses that could catch you unawares. More aware of her chance of catching something, working in a hospital. And more aware of her ability to spread, them, too.

  “You don’t have the flu,” he said. “You aren’t the least bit flushed, have no fever and, by your account, aren’t feeling lethargic or achy.”

  The way he was looking at her, eyebrow raised, he seemed to have something else on his mind.

  Not that she knew him that well yet. He’d agreed to take things slow. She’d told him a bit about Chloe and Cody staying with her. About Jeff. As reasons why she couldn’t jump into anything with both feet at the moment.

  They had dinner a couple times a week. Saw each other at work.

  And he still made her laugh.

  “I hate to ask this, especially in light of my hope that we’re on our way to being exclusive, but have you... Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

  “No!” Her response was immediate. And followed by another severe bout of nausea. She made it to her private bathroom. But just barely. And was embarrassed as hell when she took the moistened towel he handed her when she was done.

  He was a doctor. He dealt with bodily functions every day.

  But not hers.

  Ella wiped her face, sitting on the floor of the bathroom, leaning back against the wall. She didn’t trust herself to stray far from the commode. And the cold tile felt good.

  Jason stood along the opposite wall, his lab coat giving him a sense of authority that she didn’t need right then.

  “I can’t be pregnant, Jason.”

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”

  He didn’t want kids. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him in the first place.

  She told him about her medical condition. About the years of treatments that had been necessary to help her conceive. About losing her baby. Leaving out the part about Brett not wanting the baby and retaining a divorce attorney.

  “Have you had normal periods since you lost the baby?” He was frowning. And sounded so doctor like.

  Her stomach felt sick again. “Up until recently, yes.”

  “As you know, metabolic irregularities cover such a broad range, you don’t always hear or understand everything about them,” he said, looking more serious than ever. “But you should have been told...sometimes—not always of course, but sometimes—pregnancy corrects the irregularity in certain hormonal imbalances, allowing a woman who couldn’t conceive on her own prior to the pregnancy to conceive quite naturally afterward. Regular periods could indicate such a correction.”

  Oh, God. She might have been told. She couldn’t remember a lot about the time immediately following her miscarriage. She’d been too busy grieving.
And divorcing. Paralyzed, Ella sat on the floor, staring up at Jason as he said, “Doctors don’t always mention the possibility, depending on the circumstances, because there’s not enough known about why it does or does not happen, but, there are enough marked instances that we know that it can. Anyway...I find it interesting that you tell me you can’t get pregnant, not that you haven’t been with anyone recently.”

  She knew the exact second that realization dawned on him. Knew, too, that he’d probably read the truth in her expression.

  The timing had been right when she’d been on the boat with Brett. If she were a woman who ovulated normally, she could have conceived...

  Afraid she might be sick again, she leaned her head back against the wall and said, “It’s not what you think.”

  She wouldn’t have blamed him if he walked out on her. She’d been free to sleep with Brett. But when Jason had asked her if she’d been in a relationship recently, she’d told him the truth. That she hadn’t.

  “I’m assuming this is why you’ve wanted to go slowly with us? Because there’s someone else?”

  She didn’t hear any recrimination in his voice.

  “There is no one else.” But yes, the fact that she’d slept with her ex-husband seven weeks and six days ago did probably sway her decision to take things slowly with Jason. Mostly, it had been the fact that she was still in love with Brett that had done it, though. And sitting there on the bathroom floor, Ella told Jason about Brett. The divorce. And his recent advent into her life. When Jason reached out a hand to her, suggesting with more kindness than she felt she deserved, that they go do a blood test, Ella had a feeling, as she knew he did, that they weren’t going to get the answer they wanted.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  OH, GOD. SHE was pregnant. For the second day in a row, Ella took half a day’s leave and left work before she was scheduled. She didn’t go anywhere in particular. Just drove around.

  Alone.

  Jason had asked if she wanted company. He’d offered to spend the evening with her. But she had a feeling he was going to be distancing himself from her life fairly quickly.