Brett hesitated, glancing at the office door as if was contemplating whether he wanted to see Quinn now or sit on the couch. He took another deep breath and finally sat, wiping his hands on his shorts. His eyes followed Dean, who stood outside the office on the ladder.
“That’s my brother. He helps me out around here. He won’t be here for long.” She sat in the chair across from Brett. He met her eyes. “You and Ali are the most important people in Quinn’s life. Seeing you is one of her basic needs. Stop and think a minute what you’re going to say. Don’t discuss when she’s going to come home—not yet. Because you don’t know. You don’t want to confuse her or get her hopes up.”
“I’m not stupid. I know how to be sensitive to my child’s needs.”
Sarah’s face heated at his rudeness. She wanted to say, do you know how many parents don’t know what their children need? She calmed herself. Obviously Brett was anxious to see Quinn. “There are books, games, and puzzles over there that you can take into the room.” She pointed to the same alcove in the corner of the room that Quinn had visited for Black Beauty. “I’ll need to ask you a few questions after you visit with her, for my report.” She glanced at her watch. “Maybe Ali will show up.”
“Don’t count on that happening.”
Sarah began to rise.
Brett placed his hand on her arm. “Wait.”
Sarah withdrew her arm from his reach, not because it repulsed her but because a strange tingling sensation shot through her.
Brett said, “Oh, I’m sorry, but you don’t know Ali. I don’t trust her. I think she’s going to try to take Quinn. What’s the procedure for getting a custody hearing, and what can I do to speed that up?”
Trying to keep her composure, Sarah settled back in her seat. “You have the right to request the immediate return of Quinn to your care. You’ll have a hearing in front of the judge within three days of your request. But you might want to consult an attorney first. Sometimes there are reasons to postpone this hearing.” She reached across the table to a manila file and took out the form for the request and handed it to him.
“I don’t understand. Why would I want to wait?” He studied the form.
“To make sure you render her mother incompetent. It might take a little while for the investigative report to prove that Ali is an unfit parent—if in fact she is. By waiting for the complete report, you could benefit from a more thorough investigation. If you go to the hearing now, you run the risk of Quinn ending up in Ali’s care again.”
Brett stroked his chin, looking anxious. “I don’t have the money for an attorney.” He paused. “I want a hearing in three days. I don’t want to wait. I’ll take my chances.”
Sarah nodded.
“Are you certain that Quinn is safe where she is? She’s in a good home?”
“Positive. Foster parents have to have completed home studies, and they’re monitored. The woman she’s staying with is a retired teacher.”
Sarah watched as he seemed to relax, sinking into his chair.
He sighed and his shoulders fell, and his bloodshot eyes stared at the door. A long, deep breath escaped his lips, “Can I see her?” His voice dropped two notches, as if all the energy he’d had when he walked in had disappeared.
Sarah hesitated. Was he okay? He seemed emotional, but that was understandable. Maybe he was acting the way most loving fathers would. She felt sorry for him.
She stood and led him to the office. He followed.
Immediately after opening the door, Quinn turned and saw her father. She bounced off the chair and ran into his arms. “Daddy!”
Brett knelt on the floor and held her to his chest, kissing the top of her head, her forehead, and her cheeks. Tears brimmed his red eyes. “Hi, baby.”
Sarah tried to look away to keep her own tears from spilling, but she couldn’t. She was drawn to the way his hand naturally and tenderly caressed Quinn’s cheek and how the child was his only focus. He seemed to examine her from top to bottom as if looking for any sign of neglect. He spun her around and danced the stuffed lamb in front of her.
Disguising his voice, he pretended to speak for the lamb. “I’ve missed you so much. Where have you been?” He rubbed the lamb into Quinn’s neck, tickling her. She giggled and reached possessively for her toy, hugging it to her chest. “You brought Lambie. Thanks, Daddy!”
There was something about the way his dark curls fell onto the top of his ears and his eyes sparkled for his daughter that gave him almost a playful baby-boy look. But his thick muscled legs and broad shoulders seemed steady enough to hold the weight of five children.
“I didn’t know when I was going to see you again.” She looked around him at the door. “Where’s Mommy?”
Brett, who still stooped on the floor with Quinn, looked up at Sarah. She shrugged.
“She’s sick, honey. I’m sorry. She wanted to come, but she wasn’t feeling well. She loves you.”
“What about Max? Did you find him yet?”
“No, but we’re looking. We’re not giving up.” Brett pulled away from the embrace, still eyeing Quinn up and down as if inspecting her for bruises or broken bones.
“Can I come home now?” Quinn pouted, which had probably won many battles before.
“Not yet.” He smoothed the hair off her forehead and bent to kiss it again. “Is the family nice to you where you’re staying?”
“Yes, Sadie is there too. She’s my age and my best friend. We swing together and play hide-and-seek, and they have a kitty, Daddy! A little white kitty, and I get to hold her and sleep with her.”
Brett stood and took Quinn’s hand. “How exciting. I know how much you’ve wanted a kitty.”
Quinn bounced on her toes. “The lady is a music teacher too. She’s going to teach me how to play the piano.”
Brett gave her a high five. “Wow, that’s awesome! Are you eating well?”
“Yes.” She giggled. “She doesn’t make my eggs dippy like you do, but I ate them anyway.” She whispered, “I did what you told me. I didn’t tell her they were yucky.” She wrapped her arms around Brett’s legs. “I miss you.”
As Sarah witnessed the exchange, she found it more and more difficult to swallow the lump of tears in her throat. It was obvious that Brett was a strong part in the child’s life, but Sarah knew the courts, and typically the mothers came out way ahead of the fathers. Unless they could prove Ali was unfit, Brett didn’t stand much of a chance.
Sarah couldn’t believe that, for the first time in a long time, she was attracted to a man. She wanted to do everything she could do to help Brett get custody of Quinn.
Her skin prickled. She’d better keep her guard up.
Chapter Fourteen
Brett played two games of Memory with Quinn and read Black Beauty to her. She told him how Sarah had a horse that looked just like Beauty, and how Sarah had said she’d let Quinn ride him someday. When it was time for their visit to end, Brett swallowed the knot in his throat. He coughed and scooted his chair next to Quinn. “You have to go now, but I’ll see you again soon. It’s going to take a little while to sort this out, but I’m working at making sure you can come home with me forever, okay?”
Quinn looked away and nodded, tears filling her eyes. “You have to find the bad guys, right?”
“Yes.” Brett kissed the top of her head. “Pretend you’re on a camping trip with your new best friend, Sadie. Have fun, and soon you’ll be home.”
She nodded again and bit her lower lip as Brett held her hand, ushering her out to the main lounge area, where Sarah waited. Brett approached Sarah, still holding Quinn’s hand. Quinn slipped her other hand into Sarah’s, like they’d been friends for years. Sarah smiled, seemingly comfortable with how Quinn had warmed up to her, so uninhibited. “When can I meet your horse?”
Sarah glanced at Brett. “Hopefully soon. Maybe your dad could bring you sometime. I know my Beauty would like you.”
Quinn swung her arms back and forth, smiling at Sarah a
nd then back to Brett. “Will you, Daddy?”
Brett raised his eyebrows at Sarah, surprised she’d offered. “That would be fun. As soon as we get you back home, we’ll go meet Beauty. Meanwhile, you have fun with Sadie, okay?” He squeezed her hand.
Quinn jumped on the balls of her feet. “Okay, I promise.”
Peggy, who’d been in the bathroom, approached and reached for Quinn’s hand. “All set to go?”
Brett cleared his throat and excused himself to use the bathroom. He needed to regroup and gain control of the emotions that threatened to take over and pull him under. No way could he stand there and watch Quinn walk out the door. He couldn’t meet Sarah’s eyes either. He had to stay focused for the interview portion of the appointment, and he needed to appear stable—even though the earth had never rattled under him as much as it did right then. He held it together until he shut the bathroom door and turned the lock, then he sat on the edge of the tub and dropped his head into his hands. He swallowed a sob, took a deep breath, and stood. He crossed to the sink, turned the cold water on, and splashed it on his face.
When he returned to Sarah, she was sitting in the chair with a notebook and a pen in her hand. She motioned for him to sit across from her on the sofa. Quinn’s absence left the room empty. The fingers of loneliness pressed into his heart. He cleared his throat and took a seat, picking at the sharp, jagged edges of his fingernails where he’d bitten them half off.
There was something he needed to know. Something he hated to ask. “I need to know something.”
Sarah nodded. “What’s that?”
“Did someone—” Brett hesitated. “Was Quinn okay? I mean, no one tried to …” He covered his face with his hands.
“Was she sexually molested?”
Brett met her eyes and nodded.
“No.”
Brett collapsed deep in his seat and exhaled loudly. He stared up at the ceiling. “It’s just that I don’t know what happened. Anything was possible.”
“I understand. I’m sure you’re relieved.” Sarah hesitated before she began her questions. “So, when you left for work yesterday, did you realize Ali had been drinking or using drugs?”
Brett clasped his hands together, feeling the bruise from punching the reporter. He rubbed his hand and stretched it and placed it in his lap, forcing a calm demeanor. “She was sitting up and promised she was okay. But it wasn’t the first time she told me she could handle Quinn, but then didn’t. I hoped she could, of course. Obviously. She’d had bad cycles before and turned it around, so I hoped she would this time too. But what could I do? I had to go to work. And I wasn’t supposed to be near her.” He leaned forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees, cradling his head.
“If you were to get custody of Quinn, what would you do for child care?”
Brett shook his head and looked away. He’d filed bankruptcy last year, broke from Ali’s ongoing medical expenses. Sarah had probably already done a background check, so she had to know. He could ask his mother for money, but she’d tell his old man. His dad had never wanted him to be a cop; he had wanted him to go to law school and be a part of his father’s firm—make it Reed and Reed. When Ali had gotten pregnant, and Brett decided to marry her, his father had gone berserk. But Sarah didn’t need to know about all that drama. “I’ll find a way to pay for day care.”
She paused as if waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t. She continued. “Tell me about your childhood. Do you have siblings?”
“Nope, I’m the only child. I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work.” Brett watched a sailboat glide by the front of the window, struggling to stay afloat in the wind.
“What am I trying to do?”
“You want to see if there’s a pattern of abuse or neglect in my family. Well, there isn’t. Never was. It’s just that my father and I don’t speak.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. It has nothing to do with getting Quinn back. But Ali’s problems do. If she doesn’t show up here today, it’ll help my case, won’t it?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” Brett squirmed in his chair.
“On what you tell me, and if you’re telling the truth.”
Brett exhaled and straightened his legs. “Where do I begin?” He stared out at the sailboat again. “When I first met Ali she seemed calm, reserved, and in control. She was nonconfrontational, simple. I liked that. I liked how agreeable she was too.” He paused to make eye contact. “She’d go along with anything I’d say and support my opinion. We were teens. I thought she acted a little shy and that, eventually, once she felt more comfortable around me, she’d loosen up, have her own opinions. But after we were married, I realized she didn’t like to make decisions. She couldn’t. She was agreeable to whoever was in control at the moment. She wouldn’t stand up for herself.
“After she had Quinn, she slept all the time. I’d worry, wondering if she’d wake up after I’d gone to work. Or if Quinn was in her crib crying and waiting to get out. I never knew what Ali was doing—was she drinking or under the influence of some drug? Was it safe for her to drive? And then there were days when she’d go manic. She’d stay awake all through the night.” Brett watched a Jet Ski turn circles in the water. “She can do that for days. When I pushed her for answers, or an explanation, she’d curl up in a ball and cry.”
He stopped to clear his throat and wiped his hands on his shorts. “The doctors said it was postpartum depression. Then they diagnosed her with bipolar disorder. They put her on so many drugs that some mornings I couldn’t wake her. I’d shake her and shake her, and she wouldn’t budge.” He turned then and met Sarah’s eyes, lowering his voice. “She didn’t confide in me about the abuse until we’d been married for several years.”
“What abuse are you referring to?”
Brett looked away. “Sexual abuse. Her mother’s boyfriends. For years. She never really went into great detail.”
Brett explained how Ali didn’t have many friends, how the only people she confided in were needy people on drugs or people down on their luck. She’d listen to their stories and feel bad for them. He told her how Ali flitted from task to task without ever completing one. How disorganized she was with keeping a schedule—even for sleeping.
Sarah crossed her legs and leaned forward in her chair. “That must have been difficult for you.”
He met her eyes. She seemed sincere. Nobody had ever validated his feelings before. Yes, it had been tough, real tough. Brett exhaled deeply again, and his heart raced as he swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’m sure there are others who are far worse off than me. The only reason I’m sharing this is I want custody of Quinn. I don’t like talking about it. What’s the point? I left Ali because I couldn’t live with the dysfunction anymore. I’ve moved on, but I never expected to lose custody of Quinn.”
“Maybe it would help if I explained abuse in a way that will help you understand Ali better.”
“Why? I don’t need to understand her. I understand everything there is to know about her. I don’t want anything to do with her anymore.”
“Unfortunately, she’s the mother of your child, and you’ll always have that connection, so you can’t erase her from your life.” She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “I’m not saying you need to make excuses for her. I only want you to see an illustration.” She reached for her water bottle sitting on the coffee table and took a swig.
Brett watched, noticing Sarah’s boots, jeans, and her pink top. She was poised in a casual sort of way, nonthreatening yet confident. Something Ali could never pull off.
“Let’s say one day, hypothetically speaking, you’re not in uniform, but you’re at the corner of a crime district. You’re distracted—maybe you’re texting someone. A guy on the street attacks you, steals your wallet, and beats you over the head. You blame yourself for being distracted, for not paying attention to your surroundings, and for letting the guy get away. You
chase him down, but you’re injured and you’re too far behind. It’s not your fault, but you scold yourself for not being more alert. You mull the incident in your head over and over again, wondering where the guy came from, what you could have done differently. And sometime afterward, you decide it’ll never happen again because you won’t let your guard down.”
Brett nodded, thinking, Does she know me, or is she guessing?
She brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and crossed and uncrossed her legs again. “Now, imagine if you’re a child like Ali with immature thoughts, trying to make sense of when and why abuse is happening—and it’s occurring much more frequently than what happened to you with the mugger. One week something happens, and she tells herself it was because she glanced at her mother’s friend a certain way, or didn’t listen to him. After a while she gives herself bizarre explanations for the abuse, thinking she was responsible. She believes she did something to cause the abuse, and wants to figure out how to get it to stop, to prevent it from happening again.
“In many abusive families the child is taught to hide the family secrets, and so the child never develops normal healthy relationships. Their concept of a healthy relationship is distorted. And in Ali’s case, maybe it was the only way she felt loved. So, she learned to be ashamed to love.”
Sarah shifted in her seat, but kept her honey-brown eyes on Brett, suddenly making him feel warm all over. She spoke with passion. Was she speaking from her own experience?
She continued. “Ali’s problems are complicated. It’s going to take a long time and a lot of counseling to break through the barriers of her abuse. I can understand why you wanted to divorce yourself from her. It must have been difficult living with a person who couldn’t show love, who possibly struggled with why she did, and still does, certain things.”
Sarah seemed so connected, understanding, and nonjudgmental. Brett didn’t know if it was the setting or just being in her presence that made him more than comfortable. He’d never shared this much information with anyone—not even Clay—and it felt liberating. Was Sarah just good at her job? Or was he attracted to her? He better get that thought out of his mind right away. He didn’t trust his judgment where women were concerned. He sighed and leaned back in his seat, crossing his leg over his knee. “You sound comfortable talking about this, like you speak from experience.”
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