Quinn sauntered over to the bookshelf seemingly engrossed in finding a book. She thumbed through several until she stopped and pulled one off the shelf.
Sarah stood and bent over Quinn. “Did you find one?”
“I think so.” Quinn held up a book. “Is this it?”
“Yep, that’s Black Beauty.” Sarah smiled. “Is it okay if we sit on the sofa while I read it to you?”
Quinn nodded.
Together they sat, side by side, as Sarah read the story and pointed to the pictures. Quinn seemed immersed in the photos and the story, her facial expression showing concern at Beauty’s plight.
When Sarah got to the part where the wicked man whipped Beauty, Quinn stopped her. “Why did that man have to be so mean to Beauty? Why didn’t he feed him?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes people are cruel. It’s wrong, isn’t it?
Quinn nodded.
“Has anyone ever been mean to you?”
Quinn shook her head and stared out the window at the lake.
“I’m sorry this part of the story is sad. Beauty didn’t deserve to be treated like that, did he?”
Tears filled Quinn’s eyes.
“You don’t deserve to be treated with cruelty either.”
Quinn shook her head, closed her eyes, and put her thumb in her mouth, while rubbing her fingers along her shirt.
“Let me finish the story. It gets better.”
Quinn listened and followed along with the pictures. Her thumb fell out of her mouth, and she leaned in closer to Sarah, seemingly more relaxed.
When Sarah read the part where Don came back into Beauty’s life, Quinn sighed. “Daddy says sometime we’ll all be together in heaven—even if he dies first, or Mommy does.”
“What else does your daddy say?”
“That he loves me more.”
“Has he ever made you feel uncomfortable?”
Quinn looked at the ceiling, putting her index finger on her temple, a grown-up thinking pose. “No, he always makes me more comfortable … like he covers me with a blanket when I’m cold, and he makes chocolate chip cookies on Fridays.”
“Has he ever gotten angry at you?”
“Not at me. Just Mom.” Quinn rolled her eyes.
“What does he do when he’s angry?”
Quinn giggled. “Sometimes he throws things. Like one time he threw a coffee cup, and it broke into pieces all over the floor.”
“Has he ever touched you in a place you didn’t want him to touch you?”
“Sometimes when my pee-pee …” She stopped and whispered, pointing to her bottom. “… gets sore, he puts Vaseline on it and it tickles. But he doesn’t laugh. He says”—she changed her voice to a low, deep one—“‘keep your underwear off so your bottom can breathe tonight.’ He doesn’t know that bottoms don’t breathe, do they?”
Sarah laughed. “I think all skin needs air, but it doesn’t breathe the way you’re thinking.” Sarah cleared her throat and reached into a basket. She pulled out two cloth dolls. A girl and a boy. She handed them to Quinn. “Go ahead. You can play with them.”
Quinn took them and danced them in her lap. “Is he the daddy and she the little girl?”
“They can be anyone you want them to be.”
“Then I’ll make the girl my mommy and this man, uh, my dad.” She danced the puppets in front of her, resting them on her legs. She laid the girl down on her back and snorted. “She’s snoring.”
“Do you think you can show me what happened today using the dolls?”
Quinn moved the boy doll over to the girl, and changed her voice to reflect a man’s. “It’s time to get up for work. You can’t be late again.” She rolled the girl onto her stomach, grunting as she turned her. She danced the boy along her other side and became so absorbed in her playing, she seemed to forget Sarah. The boy doll paced back and forth, put his hand on his head, went back to talk to the girl, but the girl never moved.
When it looked like Quinn was finished playing, Sarah spoke. “It looked like you were having fun. Can you tell me the story?”
Quinn explained how the mom wanted to sleep and the dad wanted her to wake up, but she couldn’t.
Sarah said, “Has that ever happened to your mom?”
Quinn nodded.
“How did that make you feel?”
Quinn shrugged and looked out at the lake.
Sarah changed tactics. “Let’s play a game. Do you like games?”
Quinn smiled and nodded.
“Tell me something that makes you laugh.”
Quinn placed a finger on her chin and looked up at the ceiling. “Max, my dog, when he chases his tail. He looks goofy.”
Sarah laughed but stopped when she noticed Quinn’s frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Max is gone.”
“Where did he go?”
“He followed Uncle Mark out of the house and down the street. I watched him from my window until he disappeared.”
“Who’s Uncle Mark?”
Quinn shrugged. “I think he’s Mommy’s brother.”
“I’m sorry. You love Max a lot, don’t you?”
Quinn nodded.
“What about your uncle? Is he nice to you?”
Quinn’s lower lip quivered, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “He makes Mommy angry.”
“How?”
“He makes Mommy yell.”
“Did he make her yell today?”
Quinn nodded again, tears filling her eyes. She brushed them with the backs of her hands. “That’s when she locked me in my room.”
“I’m sorry.” Sarah reached for her hand. “Were you scared?”
Quinn’s shoulders shook. “I peeked under the door, and Max was there, scratching. I heard him breathe like this: hmph. And I cried, ‘Mommy, Mommy, let me out.’ But Max barked and Uncle Mark left. I said, ‘Max, come here.’ But he didn’t sniff under the door anymore. That’s when I went to my window.”
“What did you do then?”
“I opened it like Daddy showed me. Like when we practice fire drills.” Tears trickled down her face.
Sarah handed Quinn a tissue and patted her hand. “I’m sorry. I would cry, too, if someone locked me in a room.”
Quinn wiped her eyes.
Sarah danced the girl doll on the sofa next to Quinn. “Do you want to pretend this doll is you?”
She nodded.
“Show me what happened next.” Sarah gave her the other girl doll.
Quinn took the momma doll. “You have to go to your room. You’re making too much noise.” Then she changed her voice. “No, Mommy. I’ll be quiet. I promise.” She moved the doll and disguised her voice again but made the words slow and slurred, acting sleepy. “Go now. Just for a little while. Play in your room.”
Quinn looked up at Sarah and said, “I didn’t want to go. I didn’t do anything wrong. Why did she make me go to my room when Uncle Mark came over? I heard them talking, and I banged on the door, but Mommy wouldn’t open it. I cried really, really hard. But no one came. That’s when I opened my window.”
“Then what happened?”
“I saw Uncle Mark’s car driving away and Max chasing it down the street. I jumped out my window and chased after him, calling his name, but I couldn’t catch him.” She cuddled up next to Sarah, clasping Sarah’s sleeve tightly in her fist. Then she put her thumb in her mouth.
“I’m sorry you felt sad and you miss Max. I bet he’ll find his way home soon, because dogs don’t forget where they live, and he loves you. I can tell.”
Quinn smiled so big her thumb fell out of her mouth.
Sarah said, “What’s your favorite thing you like to do?”
Quinn shrugged.
“Do you like ice cream?”
Quinn nodded.
Sarah put her hand out to high-five Quinn. “I happen to have some in my freezer—Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Want some?”
Quinn high-fived Sarah and scrambled off the sofa. “Yes!”
#
When Peggy arrived to take Quinn to the sheriff’s office, Quinn climbed into Sarah’s lap, knocking her ice cream bowl to the floor. Sarah felt Quinn’s legs tremble against hers.
She held her and explained, “Peggy’s going to take you to the sheriff’s office. There’s a room there where you can wait until they find a safe place for you to go to—just for a while. The room has a TV and tables and chairs. There’s a DVD player there too, so you’ll get to watch a movie. You’ll only be there a few hours.”
“Will Daddy be there?”
Sarah turned to Peggy. “Probably not today, but maybe you could see him tomorrow.”
Peggy nodded. “We might be able to arrange that. I know he wants to see you too.”
With tears in her eyes, Quinn said, “Can’t I stay here with you?” She slid her hand into Sarah’s and held it tight.
Sarah looked at Peggy, overcome with emotion. She couldn’t let the child stay, but Quinn had moved her in a way she’d never been moved before. Why did parents neglect their children? Sarah fumbled for words and stroked Quinn’s arm. “Not today, but I’ll see you again soon.” She was supposed to stay unbiased, but she hoped Quinn’s mother’s rights would be terminated until she could start acting like a mother.
“What if I let you take the Beauty and the Beast book with you until the next time I see you?”
Quinn nodded.
Sarah reached for a tissue and blotted the tears on Quinn’s face. As they stood, Sarah reached for the book and followed Peggy to the door.
Peggy turned to Sarah, glanced at her watch, and took a paper out of her briefcase. “Would you be able to meet me at this address to do an assessment in an hour?” She handed the paper to Sarah.
Ali Reed’s address was at the top of the form. “Sure. I can be there.”
#
Reading Beauty had reminded Sarah of when her mother had read the same book to her: the way her slender, graceful hands had held the book; the way she smelled of lilac bath oil; her soft, soothing voice; and the way she’d sung the words. Usually when Sarah thought of her mother, memories of her father followed—ruining everything good. His anger spilled over and shadowed each poignant thought.
Except today. For a brief moment, while she read to Quinn, memories of her mother weren’t interrupted with visions of him. She smiled. For the first time, having children didn’t seem so bad. Was it true that some women had mommy genes and some didn’t? Did she?
What did it matter? Men screwed up marriages and lives—both in her practice and her life. She didn’t want to be a part of that. The perfect man didn’t exist. She wanted something simpler, uncomplicated. But with that came loneliness. Was that what she felt when she’d read to Quinn? She wasn’t sure.
Now that Quinn had gone, dark memories of her own father flooded back. She tried to repress them and think of Quinn instead, but the room’s lonely eyes stared back at her. It was as if an invisible cloud hung over it, making it heavy and dark. Even though the sun reflected off the lake and threw light into the room, Sarah’s mood had changed. Emptiness filled her chest. She couldn’t stop thinking about Quinn, especially after she’d clung to her when Peggy had arrived.
Chapter Seven
Before Brett left the precinct he approached Officer Katie Williams and asked her to send a patrol out to search for Max. Then he punched the number for the animal shelter and gave them his phone number and Max’s description. Clay had already called them, but Brett felt better doing it himself. The shelter said they’d call if someone brought a golden in that matched Max’s description, but no one had yet.
He drove to the Child Protective Services office located downtown, a few streets away in the business district of Hursey Lake, next to the Historical Society building.
He parallel-parked in the front at the curb and entered the old building. It smelled like an antique store filled with old furniture that people had left behind in dank, moldy houses. The air felt cold and damp—as if the air conditioner couldn’t keep up with the humidity. A receptionist sat at a wooden desk in the lobby.
“Can I help you?”
Brett said, “I hope so. I’m Officer Brett Reed.” He reached across her desk and shook her hand. “CPS took custody of my daughter, Quinn Reed, this morning, and I’d like to talk to someone about getting her back. Who would that be?”
“You need to talk to Mrs. Turnball. She’s handling your daughter’s case, but she’s not here right now.” She reached into a dish on her desk and pulled out a business card. “You can reach her at this number. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you.”
“There’s been a mix-up. I’m perfectly capable of caring—”
She held up her hand. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. You’ll have to talk to Mrs. Turnball.”
Brett nodded and took the card from her as she answered a phone call. He moved to a wooden chair across from the girl and sat near the window, then took out his cell phone and punched in the numbers. He recognized Mrs. Turnball’s name because of other child protective cases he’d handled, but he couldn’t picture her. She answered on the second ring.
“Mrs. Turnball, this is Officer Reed, Quinn’s father.”
“Yes, I haven’t had a chance to call you, but we’re in the process of investigating your case right now.”
“Look, I’m perfectly capable of caring for Quinn. Where can I meet you to discuss this?”
“We need to talk to her mother too. Can we meet at her house in a half hour?”
Brett nodded. If he told her about the protective order it might delay things further. Besides, with Quinn gone now he didn’t care. It changed everything. “Hopefully she’ll still be there, but I don’t know what condition she’ll be in.”
“We like to keep the child in her home environment as much as possible. We’d need the judge’s permission for her to be placed with you, and that could take time. Quinn is being evaluated right now by one of our counselors. If everything checks out, we’ll have to assess your living arrangements too, and then make a decision.”
“How long is all that going to take?”
“Realistically, it could take a few days. Is there a family member you’d like Quinn to stay with in the meantime?”
He thought of Ali’s psycho mother, who was married to an alcoholic. No way did he want her going there. He couldn’t ask his parents either. His mother would love it, but his father would object. No way. “No, there’s no one. I’m perfectly capable. Why is it going to take so long?”
“It’s paperwork. Things have to be recorded. An investigation takes time, Mr. Reed.”
He turned and pounded his fist against the wall. The receptionist glanced his way. Shoot. He lifted his hand to her and mouthed, “Sorry.”
Mrs. Turnball added, “Isn’t your father an attorney in town? We could arrange for her to stay with him.”
Great. She already knew more about him than he wanted. “No, that’s not going to work.”
Brett’s call-waiting beeped. He glanced at the number. His mother. Should he answer it and ask her to take Quinn? No, he couldn’t. That would mean he’d have to talk to his father, and he couldn’t bear hearing him say he didn’t want to take care of Ali’s brat.
#
A hot breeze blew through Brett’s hair on the way to his car. The summer heat reflected off his windshield, blinding him. He climbed in his car and threw on his sunglasses, catching a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and noticing the wrinkled worry lines creasing his brows. His heart lurched at the thought of not being able to comfort Quinn. He hated thinking about how frightened she must feel.
He drove to Ali’s house, his jaw clenched, holding in the anger that wanted to boil over. He stormed up the porch steps with his computer under his arm and pounded on the front door. When she didn’t answer, he turned the knob and found it unlocked. He let himself in. “Ali?”
The smell of the garbage still cluttered in the hallway made him gag. Wha
t a pigsty. Should he throw the bags in the garage? No, it was better if CPS saw the way Ali lived.
He took three long strides into the kitchen. Ali was sitting at the table still surrounded by dirty dishes. Nothing had moved since he was there last. She gave him her back and moved to the sink.
He went to the table, pushed dishes out of his way, and put his computer down, firing questions at her. “Did you let someone in here?”
She wouldn’t look at him. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
“Are you into drugs? Owe someone money?”
She turned around and wiped the tears off her swollen red face. “No.”
“They’re going to put Quinn in a foster home. This is your fault. We’re going to go through hell to get her back. And if I have my way, you won’t ever get her back.”
She crossed her arms and set her jaw, looking past him.
Brett banged his fist on the table. Dishes fell, clattering to the floor, and one shattered into pieces.
Ali flinched and shrieked.
“You’re not going to tell me what happened, are you? You’re just going to stand there and cry?”
Ali crumpled to the floor like a deflated balloon.
“Damn.” Brett went to her, plopped down on the floor beside her, and gathered her in his arms, holding her and rocking her as she sobbed into his chest.
He kept his voice low. “I’m sorry. I know you’re upset, but please, tell me why you locked her in her room and who was here. I want to understand. All that matters is getting Quinn back. Doesn’t that matter to you?”
She beat his chest. “Of course it matters to me. She’s my flesh and blood. She’s a part of me. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her.”
“What’s going to happen to her? What do you know? Tell me. Tell someone.” He took her wrists and tried to force her to meet his eyes, but she balled her hands into fists, shutting her eyes and turning her head from his gaze.
He let go of her arms and broke away from their embrace, leaving her alone in a heap on the floor.
The gates to his composure opened, and pent-up rage marched out. “I think the reason you want her back is she’s the only one who can make you feel good about yourself. How pathetic. She’s the parent half the time—always making you feel good, telling you how pretty you are. She tells you what you want to hear because she knows if she does, she’ll get your attention. You need her. Don’t you see how wrong that is? You’re supposed to be the parent. You were supposed to be watching her!”
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