For the Children Page 12

  “I know.”

  Under cover of the plain white sheet, protected, Abe felt stronger. His room wasn’t much—box spring and mattress with a plain blue bedspread, no designs on his sheets or walls or anything, but the bedding was soft from the stuff his mom used when she washed it. And his wall held a mammoth CD rack that was almost completely filled.

  “I had no idea he was—”

  He would’ve felt stupid sleeping on cartoon characters, anyway.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I know.”

  His room was small, but then he didn’t have much junk. Just the old dresser he’d helped his mom bring in from someone’s trash a couple of years ago, and his desk with an old computer she’d gotten from someplace he didn’t want to know about. And the television set and video games she’d bought him for Christmas the year before when she’d had a bunch of money.

  “But he hurt you, honey.”

  Resting her weight on one arm, she leaned toward him, brushing his hair back. He felt like a baby when she did that. But as long as no one else knew, he figured it was okay.

  “It’s okay, Mom. It’s just a few bruises. They stopped hurting already.” Or they would if he could just stop thinking about them. A whiff of his mother’s soft perfume took his mind from the way life had become.

  “But what about basketball? You’re not allowed to play if you miss practice and you’re so close to making the play-offs.”

  He shrugged. And couldn’t breathe for a second from the burning stab in his shoulder blade. The stupid tears came back and he had to turn his head sharply away from her.

  “Coach’ll let me play. I’m the best guy on the team.” The lie was safe. She couldn’t make it to games. He’d just hang out until they were over.

  Her soft lips on his cheek made things good. Or as good as they got in his life.

  Until a drop of water smeared on his cheek. She was crying again. The kind he hated most, when there was no sound. Not even sniffling.

  “You’re my best guy, you know that, don’t you, Abie?” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” Someday he was going to be her only guy. Someday real soon. He already had some ideas about how to get enough money to lock the bastards out of the trailer for good. He’d spent the whole day thinking about it.

  That and trying to forget about those fat hands on him last night. Coming at him again and again when he wouldn’t…

  “Diane Moore called today.”

  Shit. “Why? You called McDonald and told them I was sick.”

  She kissed him again, her fingers soft and slender against his head. “I forgot.”

  Rigid, staring at the wall, Abe silently recited a slew of words that Blake and Brian Smith would never in a million years say.

  Didn’t she get it? He couldn’t help her if they hauled his ass away.

  Not that that was going to happen. He’d make damn sure of it. One way or another. He’d run if he had to.

  “Ms. Moore said we have to be in court in the morning for a status hearing.”

  He didn’t care how much it hurt to turn his head, he stared into the darkness until he could see her eyes. His mom didn’t look him in the eye and lie to him. Ever.

  “They’re going to send me to jail,” he said. He felt as if he might throw up. Or have diarrhea.

  “Oh, Abie.” His mother smiled right at him. Abe’s throbbing shoulder and the place on his back didn’t burn quite as badly. “They aren’t going to throw you in jail for missing school.”

  “I broke probation—”

  “You missed school, Abie,” she said, her voice sounding all momlike. God, he wished she was like this all the time. “We’re due for a status hearing. I probably just lost the slip of paper with the date.”

  He didn’t remember there being a date, but it wasn’t like he paid that much attention. Mostly, he just tried to forget the whole court thing. He still couldn’t figure out why those official types had to get involved. It wasn’t as though he was stupid. Missing school didn’t hurt him. He got straight As and knew a lot more than most of the kids.

  “Okay,” he finally said, wishing he could put on his headset and go to sleep. ’Course, if it was like last night, every time he moved in his sleep he’d just wake up again.

  Life sucked.

  “We have to be there at eight-thirty, so I’ll just take you to school afterward.”

  Great. Damn great. Judge Simms first thing in the morning.

  “Can we get breakfast before we go?”

  “You bet.”

  “At McDonald’s?”

  “Of course.”

  That was something, then. “Thanks, Mom.”

  She kissed him one more time, right next to his mouth. A longer kiss. And he knew everything would be okay. Somehow.

  He wanted to kiss her back, to wrap his arms around her neck and hold on, but he’d quit doing that ages ago. He wasn’t a little kid anymore.

  And if he moved his shoulders that much, she’d for sure figure out he was hurting….

  She looked him in the eye once more before she left. She had to be the most beautiful mom in the world. He was lucky.

  Everything was going to be great soon.

  With him and Mom, it always was.

  Eventually.

  He tried to sleep after she left, but he was afraid. After last night he wasn’t closing his eyes until he saw the outside light go out. The one that meant his mom was done working. While he waited, he thought about basketball. The team. Their chances of making it all the way. Coach.

  And that was when he started to cry.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE FOLDS of her black robe swirling around her ankles, Valerie stepped through the private back door into her courtroom and up to the bench on Tuesday morning. One quick glance showed her that Abraham and Carla Billings, a C.P.S. worker, Diane Moore, Abraham’s probation officer, and his court-appointed attorney were all in place, standing as she entered.

  She waited, but the boy refused to look up at her.

  “You may be seated.” She opened the boy’s file. And thought about Blake and Brian on their way to school that morning, talking quietly about their friend. Wondering if he’d be at practice. If he’d be able to play in the upcoming tournament game.

  And, characteristically, they were as concerned about whether or not Abraham was all right as they were about their current favorite sport.

  It wasn’t like him to miss practice without an excuse, they said. And they’d started to weave a fantastic story around the boy. With their scanty knowledge, spurred on by the fact that he’d never come to their home or invited them to his—and mixing in a bit of twelve-year-old-boy darkness—they’d invented a scenario horrific enough to shut them both up.

  The truth was worse.

  Valerie forced back another twinge of guilt as she thought about her duplicity in using Kirk Chandler as an unsuspecting source of information.

  “Judge, we’re going to Abraham Billings. This is #JV324555.”

  Valerie only half heard the bailiff. She glanced up a couple of times. The boy, dressed in clean jeans and button-down shirt, was staring at the table in front of him, rubbing the edge with his right thumb. With his tanned skin and perfect features he seemed more suited to a movie set than her courtroom. Carla, circumspectly dressed in expensive-looking navy slacks and an off-white ribbed sweater, was watching her son.

  She loves him.

  Valerie didn’t want to know that. Not right then.

  She read aloud from the document in front of her and then asked, “Have all parties received and reviewed the report?”

  The reply was affirmative.

  With a knot in her stomach, Valerie proceeded with the delinquency hearing—knowing full well that it was a front for the real reason Abraham was there. She’d already signed the dependency petition that had come from the attorney general’s office that morning; Abraham would be removed from his home. C.P.S. was going to take him directly from the court.

 
Quietly, almost imperceptibly, Carla took her son’s left hand. Clasped, their hands fell beneath the table, out of Valerie’s sight. She stared at where they’d been, heart pounding.

  Abraham’s left sleeve had risen slightly when his mother had taken his hand.

  “We’re here because you missed school yesterday,” she said, reaching deep inside for the composure to continue this long enough to get what information she could. “What happened?”

  “I was sick.” His voice was strong. Clear. If he lied that well, things were worse than she’d thought.

  “Abraham?”

  “What?”

  “Could you look at me, please?”

  He glanced up, but wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  “You were sick yesterday?” she asked.

  “Yes.” No wavering there.

  “Why didn’t the school know about that?”

  “I thought they did.”

  Valerie looked at Carla Billings.

  “I forgot to call,” the woman said, her voice uneven. “I’m sorry.”

  Valerie had the right to remove Abraham from his home. But she also knew it was critical to give him more of a reason than broken probation. She couldn’t bring up the smoking. Couldn’t tell him what they both knew—that his mother was prostituting in her bedroom while her son was at home.

  “What was wrong with you?” she asked him.

  “I had the flu.”

  She turned back to his mother. “Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he have a fever?”

  “No. Not that I could tell.”

  She nodded. Looked at the folder. Then back at Abraham’s mother. “You didn’t check?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Did you see a doctor, Abraham?”

  The boy was sitting up so straight, he wasn’t even touching the back of his chair.

  “No, ma’am.” He looked at her when he answered. At her, not her eyes.

  “Are you better today?” she asked, compelled by something that was not yet clear to her.

  Carla Billings reached over to her son, rubbing his back.

  Abraham flinched. So it was more than just the hint of a bruise she’d seen when the boy and his mother had clasped hands.

  “Show me your arm, Abraham,” she said.

  He held out his right arm.

  “Not that one.”

  The boy flung his left arm out and then drew it back.

  “Again,” Valerie said. “And roll up your sleeve.”

  Slowly, gazing at his mother the entire time, Abraham did as she’d ordered.

  An ugly, multicolored bruise covered the boy from his wrist to his elbow.

  “Now, would you please show the court your shoulder?”

  “Judge, I hardly think—” Abraham’s attorney began.

  “Now, Abraham. Please,” Valerie interrupted.

  Abraham’s big brown eyes implored his mother, who finally nodded. She helped her son get his shirt off enough to expose one shoulder blade.

  He stood, turned, displaying the welted and broken flesh, and then quickly sat, pulling his shirt back on without apparent regard for the pain he must be causing himself.

  “I see there are bruises on your body, Abraham. What happened?”

  “I fell out of a tree.”

  “He was playing out by the cemetery,” his mother said, her eyes wide and innocent as she faced Valerie.

  “The one by Cypress Lane?” It was the only cemetery anywhere near the trailer park where Abraham lived.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not aware of any trees in that vicinity. At least not ones suitable for climbing.”

  “That’s because I fell off the cemetery wall,” Abraham said, his right thumb thumping on the table as his chin jutted out at her.

  “Is that the truth, Abraham?” Valerie gave him another chance to talk to her. To help her help him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She took a deep breath. It didn’t release the ache inside her. “Abraham, I’m ordering a C.P.S. investigation,” she said, writing on the page in front of her. “In addition, I’m ordering that temporary custody be given to C.P.S. until the investigation is completed.”

  Abraham nodded, his expression stoic. Valerie couldn’t look at his mother. But she heard her gasp. And could practically feel the energy seep from the younger woman.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to say?” she asked the boy.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Taken aback by the boy’s complacent reaction to the news she’d feared would unhinge him, Valerie turned to his mother.

  “Ms. Billings, you are entitled to a hearing in this court five days from now to contest this decision if you feel so inclined.”

  She wished she hadn’t looked at Abraham’s mother. The utter despair in the woman’s posture, her expression, her eyes, was mirrored deep inside Valerie. She’d known it would feel like this.

  And she’d let that feeling get in the way of doing her job. If she’d followed her first instinct and removed Abraham from his home the last time he’d been here, the boy wouldn’t be so bruised that he couldn’t even sit back in his chair. She could have spared him that, at least.

  Tears streamed silently down Carla’s face. And Valerie wondered if she’d done the physical damage to her son.

  She turned to the C.P.S. officer. “Martin, before you place Abraham, I want him to have a complete medical examination.”

  “Place me?” Abraham rose perceptibly in his seat, his voice ricocheting off the walls of the small court. His eyes, wide and frightened, were trained on his mother. “Place me where?”

  “You are, at least temporarily, in the state’s custody, Abraham. Mr. Lewis will be finding a place for you to stay.”

  “Mom?” The boy continued to stare at his mother, as though she were the only person in the room.

  Carla opened her mouth to speak, but a huge sob tore through the room. Wordlessly, she nodded.

  “For missing school one day?” he asked her, his voice high.

  Shaking her head, his mother reached for both of his hands, squeezing them. “For the bruises, Abie.” She spoke so softly Valerie could barely hear the words. “They don’t believe you fell.”

  “I did!” Abraham cried. “I did fall! Tell them I fell.”

  When Carla pulled the boy onto her lap, Valerie nodded at the officer, who’d risen behind mother and son.

  “Come on, Abraham, it’s time to go,” Martin Lewis said from behind them. He reached for the boy and then withdrew, and Valerie knew he was thinking of the bruised flesh they’d seen. And the fact that they had no idea how many more bruises were hidden under his clothes.

  Valerie had no idea who’d done this to Abraham, but she knew she’d do everything in her power to make absolutely certain it never happened again.

  Abraham clung to his mother so tightly, Valerie realized he must be hurting himself. She nodded at Lewis again.

  “Abraham, it’s time to go,” the man said more firmly.

  And when the boy still didn’t react, Lewis took Abraham’s hand.

  “No!” The single, shrill word shot out, followed by another. And then another. The tough young man she’d seen at school with her sons was crying, begging, screaming, clinging to his mother. Refusing to let go even when Martin Lewis held him by both arms.

  At that point Valerie had to leave the room.

  HE WAS NOT HAVING a good afternoon. For the second day in a row his star player had cut practice. There was no way Billings was going to be ready for the play-off game on Wednesday. But Kirk didn’t give a damn about that.

  He’d been trying to get Valerie all day to tell her his fears about Abraham. To ask her advice. She hadn’t picked up.

  And he hadn’t left a message. He’d been hoping Abraham would at least show up for practice. Basketball meant so much to him.

  So where
the hell was the boy? Kirk didn’t even wonder if Abraham was okay. He knew he wasn’t. Abraham Billings had not been okay the entire time Kirk had known him.

  He’d been planning to change that.

  Pushing in the number to Valerie’s cell phone before he left the school parking lot on Tuesday evening, he held the phone to his ear with one shoulder, started the Corvette and pulled slowly into the street.

  She picked up on the sixth ring. And after only minimal cajoling on his part, agreed to walk with him that night after her boys were in bed. That meant he had four hours to kill.

  As he headed home, he listened to the messages that had come through on his cell phone that day. One from his mom and dad in Florida, their monthly call telling him that the weather was great and the golfing even better.

  It was all the conversation any of them could manage with each other and keep up the appearance of a happy family. Unspoken recrimination lay so close to the surface that any talk more personal than that posed too big a threat.

  The elder Chandlers had plenty of money to live out the rest of their lives in easy luxury. And, because of Kirk’s heartlessness in pursuing his father’s business in a hostile takeover—for financial reasons and financial reasons only—his father had no life that he cared about anymore.

  He wouldn’t say so, though. Kirk’s whole life, his parents had justified his actions, spinning gossamer fictions around them. Unfortunately, this last web was just too thin to hide the ugly truth.

  He’d had a call from Troy, too. The Arizona statute his lawyer had warned him about was going to protect Susan. Unless Kirk could come up with much more substantial evidence to show that the father named on Colton’s birth certificate was not his biological father.

  Kirk needed a new lawyer.

  And someone who had authority in the Arizona court system.

  After ten minutes of pacing, Kirk was back in his car, heading out of the elite neighborhood that no longer felt like home. A few minutes later, he parked in the space he’d grown, over the past couple of years, to think of as his. He had some serious issues to ponder. And the only place he could find solace was with his daughter.

  Alicia might not need him there. But he needed her.

  And maybe, if he got lucky, Abraham Billings would wander by.