The Good Father (16 page)

Ella hadn’t gotten a call...

Pulling her cell phone out of the pocket of her scrubs, she glanced at the screen. No missed calls. No voice mail. No text messages.

Lila would have called. The High Risk team would have been notified...

“There must be some mistake,” she said, turning toward Henry’s pod. They had pictures of Nora’s back. The woman had talked to the police and was willing to testify against her husband...

“I thought so, too.”

“Did she say she checked out of the Stand?”

“She didn’t. Check out, that is. She said she just decided on the way in this morning.”

Before seven in the morning? Right after waking up? She’d decided to take her baby out of a safe environment and back to a dangerous home that spontaneously?

“I’ll talk to her,” Ella said.

Thus began a morning that didn’t improve as the day wore on.

* * *

D
RIVEN BY A
tension he couldn’t assuage, Brett finished business on Friday afternoon and sped most of the way to Santa Raquel. Was he that worried about Jeff? Just determined to be there for his friend as his friend had been there for him? Or that eager to get the business with Ella behind him?

He asked the questions. And had no answers.

Something he didn’t usually abide. There would be no unanswered questions in his life. He’d made the promise to himself when he’d left his marriage with the intention of living alone for the rest of his life.

He wasn’t going to risk hurting anyone as he’d hurt Ella. Or worse, risk hurting anyone as his father had hurt his mother and him. The nightmares he’d had after finding out he was going to be a father had ceased. The memories had faded. But they’d served their purpose.

He’d spoken to a counselor about them, of course. Who’d talked to him about fear versus reality. About the residual effects of growing up in an abusive home. But he knew that statistically, abusers had very often grown up as victims. That the pattern of abuse perpetuated itself. His parents had both grown up in abusive homes, had promised each other that abuse would not enter their home. Trusting that, because they knew better and so badly needed and wanted a safe home, they’d break the pattern.

His father had failed first.

And then, according to his mother, she’d failed, too. Brett didn’t agree with her assessment, knowing that when she’d lashed out at him the afternoon of Livia’s funeral, beating him on the chest with blows that didn’t even leave bruises, she’d been railing at life, distraught with grief, and clinging to him as much as pounding her fists against the wall he presented between her and her need to die...

She’d cut herself off from him after that day. And shown her son by example how to be accountable to the intense emotions that could be smoldering inside him. No one had been able to assure him that there was no chance he’d be capable of becoming his father. Of someday exploding. Just as no one had been able to guarantee him that those dreams he’d had after Ella had finally become pregnant hadn’t been a warning from his unconscious mind.

His phone beeped with a text message, but he didn’t stop to read it. He was low on fuel, noted that his dashboard computer told him he had enough miles until empty to make it home and passed on the fill-up for now.

Ella’s shift ended at three. He needed a few minutes of her time. Without Chloe.

After pulling into the visitor parking lot of Santa Raquel’s new children’s hospital—a building he’d visited during the grand-opening ceremonies—he strode inside and had Ella paged, saying only that someone was there to see her for personal reasons. And then waited.

If she was with a patient, he could be there a while.

So be it. This was going to get done.

“Brett?” Her face was ashen as she came hurrying toward him from behind a locked door. “What’s wrong?”

He’d always thought her scrubs were sexy. Something years and distance apparently hadn’t diminished.

God, she was beautiful.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said a bit curtly. For both their sakes. “I just needed to speak with you.”

“I’m working,” she said, pointing out the obvious. “A phone call wouldn’t do?”

“I wanted to make certain that Chloe wasn’t around.” Lame. But also true. There was good reason for him to control this situation. To protect everyone involved.

Leading him over to a deserted conversation pit, Ella sat on the edge of a brown tweed couch with piping that reminded him of his parents’ old sofa. “Is this about Jeff?” she asked. “Is he going to be a problem with the phone calls?”

He remained standing. But didn’t want to be rushed. “You’re off in half an hour, correct?”

“Yeah. There about.”

“You think you’ll be later?”

“Not much. Most of my charting’s done.”

“Go ahead, then. I’ll wait. I’ve got some work to do.” He motioned to the satchel he’d carried in with him. It contained his tablet and laptop. The hospital had free Wi-Fi in the lobby.

Frowning, Ella shook her head. “No, this is fine. I skipped my last break.”

She hadn’t smiled since she’d seen him. Had lines around her mouth that he recognized. Ella wasn’t having a good day.

Convincing her of the viability of his plan might take a few minutes.

“I’ll wait,” he told her. And then had another thought. “Better yet, let’s go to the Bistro and get a glass of wine.” He stopped short of adding
You look
like you could use one
. Or
I need you a bit more relaxed than you appear at the moment
.

“We can take my car,” he said.

Her eyes lit. And then faded. But she said, “I’d rather drive myself. Besides, I’m in the garage, not the lot outside. I’ll meet you at the Bistro in an hour.” And he was satisfied.

As she stood, Brett turned to go. But spun back long enough to watch his ex-wife’s backside all the way through the door.

A guy needed a little vicarious pleasure every once in a while. Even a satisfied and determined bachelor like himself.

* * *

E
LLA DIDN’T GIVE
Chloe much of an explanation when she called to say she wasn’t coming right home. Just that she’d be late and to go ahead and eat without her. Chloe had brought home food from the Stand, a casserole they were all having for dinner that night, and could easily warm Ella’s when she got home.

She’d have liked to have told Brett no, she couldn’t meet him for a glass of wine. But as much as she wanted to take care of her emotional health and avoid any nonessential contact with him, she also wanted to have this glass of wine with him.

But only to find out what he had to say. To make a solid plan for helping her brother, so that his wife and son could go back to living with him, go back home where they needed to be.

And then she was going to accept the dinner offer she’d received that afternoon from a doctor on the ward. Jason Everly, a pediatric pulmonary specialist, was gorgeous, a couple years older than she was and single.

He didn’t want children of his own. Which was a good thing since she had no intention of putting herself and her partner through several more years of fertility efforts only to risk another heartbreak. Her body’s peculiar metabolic imbalance meant that she was at high risk of another miscarriage. Not that she intended to share any of that with Jason. They were just having dinner.

Brett was seated at a high-top on the patio. The Bistro was close to the hospital, an upscale place in a lovely landscaped strip mall of equally lovely places. The patio looked out toward a row of historical homes that were now bed-and-breakfast establishments.

Feeling a bit self-conscious about her purple scrubs with pink teddy bears on them, Ella ran a hand through her recently released hair, hoping that the long curls would detract from all the pinkness, as she walked toward him.

And then she noticed that about half of the clientele was dressed like her. Clearly the place was a popular hangout with hospital staff. And there had just been a shift change.

Now slightly self-conscious for another reason, Ella glanced around to make sure that Jason wasn’t there, and was relieved when she didn’t see him. Because she didn’t want him to see her with Brett and lose interest?

Or because she didn’t want another man approaching her while she was in the company of the man she’d promised to love and cherish until death did them part?

“I ordered,” Brett said as she slid onto her stool and glanced at the bucket with a yet unopened bottle of wine on their table.

A glance at the label showed her that he hadn’t forgotten what she liked.

So Brett.

Other than his inability to open his heart, or share it with anyone, the man was pretty much perfect in every way.

“Good, I’m parched,” she told him, fiddling with her glass rather than looking at him.

Parched? Who drank wine when they were parched?

But to make good on her word, she picked up the ice water in front of her and took down half the glass.

As if on call, their waiter appeared before she’d set down her water glass and opened the wine.

Brett ordered a fresh vegetable appetizer for them to share, and the waiter excused himself.

“To good work,” Brett said, raising his glass to her.

Don’t lift your glass
,
a voice warned from inside her.
Don’t honor the old tradition
. Brett’s glass hung suspended. If she didn’t tap hers to his, she’d be rude.

And it wasn’t as if he’d toasted to their future, or their love, or even just to them, as he’d done in the past.

His glass remained in the air.

Ella lifted hers. Touched his. And felt as if they’d just kissed.

* * *

H
E’D HAVE PREFERRED
to wait until the wine had had time to make his job easier, but as soon as he’d seen Ella cross the restaurant floor, he’d known he had to present his proposal and leave.

He had some inane response to the woman. Like an allergic reaction. Quite irritating.

“I stopped in Palm Desert last night and saw Jeff,” he said as soon as the waiter had poured and departed.

He had his mental agenda prepared.

“After speaking with him, I believe we need to take action to resolve this issue.”

Ella gave him her full attention. But the way her fingers were caressing the stem of her wineglass was distracting.

He should have stuck to iced tea. And taken his chances with her mood.

“What does that mean,
take action
? What kind of action? You aren’t suggesting that we turn him over to the authorities, are you? Because that’s not what this is about, Brett. The whole point here is early intervention. To help him before it gets that far.”

He’d been right about her irascibility. In a past life, at home after a hard day like hers obviously had been, he would have suggested that she drink some more wine, the words accompanied by a grin, and followed up with a kiss, to which she would have responded with all of the tension inside her and they’d have made love hard, followed by a softer, slower coupling.

They might or might not have made it to the kitchen for dinner...

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

The apology drew him out of his mental fog. And made him aware of his lack of response in what was only a business conversation.

“No apology necessary,” he said, pushing everything away but that meeting’s agenda. “And no, I’m not suggesting we call in the authorities. Nothing along those lines. On the contrary, I’m not convinced that the root of Jeff and Chloe’s problem is Jeff.”

Ella blinked. “What?”

A woman from the next table looked over.

“How can you not think the problem is Jeff?” She leaned forward, her voice quieter, but no less intense. “He’s been verbally abusive and now has escalated to pushing and shoving and restraining. You know as well as I do what the next step in that progression will be.”

“Jeff admitted to taking out his work frustration on her,” Brett said. “Much like you’re doing with me now.” He had a talent for getting to the point.

Sitting back, Ella took a sip of her wine, watching him.

He withstood her scrutiny with ease. He was a professional at the boardroom table.

“I asked Chloe about Jeff’s behavior,” he continued. “When you took Cody to play in the sandbox. She said pretty much the same thing he did. That he snapped at her, said things he’d give anything to be able to take back, simply out of frustration. That he apologized. Bad days are a part of life. Husbands and wives fight. People say things they don’t mean. None of that equals abuse.”

“I had a feeling she downplayed things for you,” Ella said, her tone equally professional now. Equally serious, too. “She wants your help. And she thinks, as I do, that you’re our only real hope in getting Jeff to see that he needs help before things get completely out of control. But she’s also a bit intimidated by the fact that you’re the founder of a women’s shelter. She’s afraid that you’re going to turn Jeff in, and she most definitely doesn’t want that.”

Should he be straight with her? Let her know that he was working with a different set of facts? That he wasn’t attempting to get Jeff to admit that he had anger issues that needed attention? “Jeff thinks that Chloe is going through some kind of emotional blip. Similar to the postpartum depression she suffered from after Cody was born.”

“I know what Jeff thinks. We need to change his thinking. He has to be able to see that this is his problem, and if he keeps blaming someone else, he could very well lose his family and maybe even end up in jail.”

“But what if he isn’t wrong?”

“You think this is all Chloe? That she’s making up the incidents of verbal abuse? The shoves and pushes? Of slamming Cody into a chair so hard he screamed?”

“I’m just suggesting that maybe she’s embellished them in the retelling to you because she’s slowly losing parts of herself by always putting Jeff and Cody first and is struggling with a way to understand herself and be happy.”

He knew when Ella took a long breath that she was considering his words. One of the things he’d loved so much about her was her ability to take a step back and look at both sides of a situation.