His First Choice Page 7

Curious, that an ex-wife defended the man so much.

  “And what about you? Has there ever been a time when, not meaning to, you grabbed him too tightly?” Unless Mara Noble had lied, someone had left finger-shaped bruises on that little boy’s body. And someone besides a day care worker would have to have seen them.

  “Of course I haven’t.” There was no indignation in Tressa’s voice. Because the woman found the idea so far-fetched it wasn’t even an issue? That was how it seemed to Lacey. But she’d been lied to by the best, and she knew better than to take the interview at face value.

  Losing some of her conversational passiveness, she leaned forward. “How did Levi break his arm?”

  Tressa’s lips pushed out as she held them together. Her chin dimpled. She blinked away a sudden flood of tears. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Did he tell you I hurt him?”

  “No. He won’t tell anyone anything.”

  Tressa’s expression didn’t clear—no sign of relief at finding out that she had not been accused of wrongdoing.

  “He was climbing on the bookcase,” she said. “He’d asked if he could watch Whyatt, and I said yes, and then the phone rang. It was Amelia, and I was talking to her, and so he decided to help himself to his video. He knows he isn’t allowed to climb on that bookcase. He could...” She stopped. “Well, we all know what could happen, because it did.”

  “You’re saying he fell?”

  She shook her head. “He probably wouldn’t have if I hadn’t panicked. I rushed over to save him from disaster, but I didn’t have a secure enough grasp on him...” Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. “It’s just like Jem used to say, I overreact.”

  “He blamed you, then?”

  Tressa blinked. “What? Jem? For Levi’s arm? No.” She shook her head softly. “He said it was an accident. It was an accident. But I still feel horrible about it.”

  Lacey believed her. About all of it. The story was the same, with minute differences, like the fact that she’d given her son permission to watch his video and then taken a phone call...

  It didn’t sound rehearsed, and it explained Levi’s shame.

  She didn’t like that Jem always told Tressa she overreacted. Though if it was true, if Tressa had out-of-control emotions, that could be a concern.

  And if it wasn’t true, it pointed to an unhealthy behavior by the ex-husband—demeaning and belittling the mother of his child.

  “Have you ever noticed bruising on Levi?” She was back to the bruises Mara had reported on Levi’s torso.

  “No. But all little boys get bruises now and then. It’s not like I would have found it unusual or of particular concern. I might not have committed one to memory. Also, Jem has him most of the time. I just have him on weekends. And only every other one.”

  “Why is that?”

  Tressa shrugged. “I have a tendency to make issues where there are none. My whole family was that way. And probably why my brother got into drinking and drugs at such a young age. We’re drama queens, or king in Kenton’s case. Every one of us. And while it’s something I’m used to, Jem isn’t. I don’t want Levi ending up like my brother. Kenton was really sweet before he started drinking and taking drugs—to be able to survive under one roof with my mom and dad, he said.”

  So it was true. Which meant the ex-husband wasn’t belittling the mother of his child. She made note.

  “Can you give me an example of what you’re talking about?” Lacey hadn’t touched her tea.

  “With Levi and Jem, or with my brother?”

  “Let’s start with Levi.”

  Nodding, Tressa continued to hold Lacey’s gaze openly. “Levi would get a runny nose and I’d be wanting to keep him home, just in case. I’d be listening to his chest and worrying about pneumonia. I take things to extremes in my mind. Maybe it’s so that I’m always prepared.”

  She paused. Lacey nodded and waited.

  “So...say someone looks at us in the park. I’m immediately carrying on like he might mug us or shoot us.”

  The woman was so genuine Lacey couldn’t help but like her and want to help her. It’s what she did. Attempt to help families live healthy lives together.

  “So if you know you have a tendency to do that, are you able to reel yourself in?”

  “Yeah, but I’m still emotional, you know? I cry at commercials. Or when I see someone hurting an animal. I still worry about everything even when I know it’s not likely to happen.”

  “And you think that was a result of growing up in a turbulent house.”

  Tressa nodded. “It wasn’t good for my marriage, I can tell you that. And it’s not good for Levi to live like that all the time, either.”

  “Jem told you that?” She used the shortened version of his name on purpose, to keep Tressa at ease.

  The other woman shook her head. “No, I saw it. He’s happy, carefree and funny when Jem’s around. When it’s just me and Levi, he gets quiet, reserved.”

  Exactly the behavior Mara had described.

  “I make him nervous. Like he never knows if something he does is going to make me upset.”

  “Did someone tell you that?”

  “No. But only because I didn’t bother going back to counseling.”

  “Back?”

  “I grew up in a dysfunctional family,” Tressa reminded her, as if that explained everything. “And that’s an understatement.” She looked at Lacey. Her shoulders relaxed and she gave a little smile.

  “I’m guessing anything I tell you isn’t going to shock someone like you,” she said. “In your job, I mean.”

  Lacey sipped tea, having to work harder than normal to keep her professional distance. First the father and now the mother pushing at her boundaries, making her feel...personal. More than a decade on the job, and it had never happened before. Not like this.

  And then there was Levi. The little guy was an anomaly. One who had somehow touched her differently—just like Mara had said he’d done with her. There was something special about him with his little-boy lisp, cocky swagger and intelligent, curious, guarded gaze.

  “I’ve seen and heard a lot of unimaginable things,” she said now. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your family.”

  Half an hour later Lacey was still sitting there, listening to Tressa talk about a mother who’d tell her, on a regular basis, that she wished Tressa had never been born, that Tressa had ruined her life, that she was the devil—and then, in another breath, when Tressa was agreeing with her or taking her side, hug her and call her a princess. A mother who would withhold affection to get what she wanted. Whose love was clearly conditional.

  About a father who’d ask her mother if she knew how many times a day he thought about killing her, and then would hold her hand every time they went out. Who would take a typical childhood misbehavior and broadcast it to perfect strangers in an attempt to shame Tressa and Kenton into never doing it again.

  And about the brother who’d fly off anytime anyone tried to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. The louder the yelling got, his or anyone else’s, the more he turned to drinking and drugs in order to cope.

  The more out of control anyone got, the more everyone in her family hurled horrible insults at each other.

  And the more they all clung to one another, as well. Clearly Tressa had loved them.

  Her parents had been killed in a car accident shortly after she’d met Jeremiah Bridges.

  “He was my rock,” Tressa said now, an almost dreamy smile on her face. “In some ways he still is.”

  “Whose idea was it for the two of you to divorce?”

  “Mine. As good as he is to me, Jem just doesn’t get my intensity. I can’t really be myself with him, you know? I had to continuously clamp down on every reaction—from loving a song
on the radio to issues on an election ballot. I bring equal passion to everything.” She paused, then grinned. “I’ve done a lot of work on myself. Faced my issues. And...I met someone. Another woman, actually, though our relationship isn’t sexual. We hang out most every night. She gets me. And when I started putting her first, over Jem, I knew that wasn’t fair to him.”

  “Did you discuss this other woman with him?”

  “Of course. That’s the one thing about me. I don’t keep anything to myself.”

  Lacey was beginning to see that. She smiled and then quickly sobered. “So when you get upset, and you’re drama ridden, do you ever lash out like your parents did?”

  “Absolutely not. I might say what’s on my mind, but I’m not cruel like they were. I threw a stick once. It flew through the air and hit my friend on the arm. I felt sick about it. She wasn’t hurt, but the look in her eyes, when she looked at her arm and then at me... It’s the last time I ever threw anything.”

  “How old were you when that happened?”

  “Thirteen. I was on my period and I’m always more dramatic then.”

  “And your friend...did you remain in contact after that?”

  Sometimes the best way to see the full picture of a person was to see how others treated them. How others judged them.

  Not always.

  Because victims treated poorly by abusers tended to invite those into their lives who would repeat the treatment. It was the pattern of abuse. Insidious hell.

  She knew it well now.

  Being treated poorly didn’t mean you were bad. But it could.

  “Yeah, we were in contact. It wasn’t like I meant to hit her. She knew that. We were, like, best friends all through school. We’ve lost touch, but we’re friends on Facebook.”

  “You work in finance, right?” Lacey asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “So you have a degree?”

  “Yeah, I went to Cal State. That’s where I met Jem, actually.”

  “He went to college?”

  “Are you kidding? He has a master’s in business administration.”

  He owned a construction company, had a hard hat hanging in his truck behind the driver’s seat. She’d figured he’d worked his way up.

  Not that there was a damned thing wrong with that if he had. It just wasn’t her job to assume, one way or another.

  With the heat of shame working on her from the inside out, Lacey admonished herself for stereotyping.

  It was so not like her. She’d discovered several gems cloaked in mud during her years with social services, people with integrity who’d been dealt blows and were struggling so hard to keep air in their lungs they couldn’t worry about the mud on their skin.

  A phone rang and Tressa pulled out the phone that had been sticking out of the back pocket of her skinny jeans. “It’s Amelia,” she said, letting it ring. “We’re hooking up for dinner. I’m supposed to be at her place. If this is going to take a while, I need to let her know I can’t make it.”

  Lacey had no real reason to stay. Levi wasn’t in residence, and his mother had already denied hurting him or knowing anything about anyone else hurting him.

  “Do you mind if I see Levi’s room before I go?” she asked.

  “Of course not.” After sending off a quick text, Tressa stood. “It’s this way,” she said, heading back toward the living room before veering off down a hallway with fresh-looking camel-colored paint. “I made it like a racetrack,” she said. “He loves it.”

  She stepped into an opened door halfway down the hall, and Lacey stopped. “Wow,” she said, smiling again. The floor was a series of carpets painted with roadways. The walls matched, so there was no break in the road. There were stop signs, speed limit signs, stoplights. There was a park, and a store with parking lot spaces out front.

  “He can run his cars to the store, the park...” Even a firehouse.

  “Yeah. He loves it,” she said again. “It was Amelia’s idea. I’m the artist, though. I offered to do one for Jem so that Levi would have this at home, too, but he said it was good to keep it special for here so that Levi associated it with me.”

  She was dealing with a model couple for healthy divorced parenting. Levi had aware, concerned, loving parents who clearly doted on him.

  The only problem was, no one could explain bruises on the little boy’s body. No one was even admitting to seeing them.

  Except a day care worker.

  Who could have been wrong.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ON A WEDNESDAY morning in mid-May Jem received a call from social services, from Lacey Hamilton, telling him that while Levi’s file would remain open for a required period, she had written a report clearing Jem of any suspicion. If there was any other report of concern, or hospital activity, that could change, she warned. But she’d found no evidence that Levi was being abused and saw no reason to continue an active investigation.

  She did suggest that he and his ex-wife consider going back to counseling to maybe give Tressa ways to manage her emotions so that she could be around her son more often.

  And she gave no indication who’d called her to make the mistaken report in the first place. It had to have been the hospital. A protocol thing due to the number of visits.

  Before she’d hung up, Lacey had told him it had been a pleasure getting to know him and his family.

  He wished he could say the same about her.

  Yet...over the next couple of weeks, he thought of her more than he might have expected, considering how relieved he was to have her out of his life.

  As he grilled hot dogs for his son, he wondered what Lacey did when she was off work. Was she close to her twin? Did she have a big family—one that was all together and perfect and never at risk of having someone over your shoulder, trying to implode everything you’d worked so hard to build?

  Not that he made a habit of feeling sorry for himself.

  Of course, it didn’t help that Tressa was in needy mode with an out-of-control job situation.

  Or that his parents, who were solidly settled in Georgia, where Jem had grown up, had told him his older sister was going to be in LA sometime that summer and they thought it would be nice if he offered her a place to stay. It didn’t matter to them that Santa Raquel was an hour north of the city.

  Or that Jem and his only sibling had never been close.

  Family was everything to them. As evidenced by the fact that both his maternal and paternal grandparents lived within five miles of his mom and dad. They all went to the same church, the one Jem had been raised in.

  He supposed family was everything to him, too, in spite of the fact that he hadn’t been able to wait to get out of Georgia and, as soon as he’d graduated high school, had packed up for the college as far from his hometown as he could get and still be in warm weather.

  He called his sister and invited her to stay with him, and prayed that Lacey Hamilton didn’t get another bug in her ear while JoAnne was in town. His sister made him nervous.

  Family being everything to him was the only explanation he had to give himself for agreeing to spend four hours out on the golf course one Friday toward the end of May.

  Jem was a baseball man, but when he’d thrown out his rotator cuff after making it as far as the farm team of a major league California baseball team, he’d had to face the fact that even though he’d healed well enough to have a normal range of activity, he’d never be able to throw a baseball the same. He then became a water-sport man.

  “Listen, Mick, I know Tressa comes on strong sometimes, but you know as well as I do that she’s gifted when it comes to knowing when, where and how to move money around.” He shot wide and pretended to care.

  “She told him to fuck himself.”

  He cringed. Closed his eyes a
nd pictured himself and Levi sailing the ocean on a finished schooner that looked amazingly like the half-built one in his garage.

  “She went that far?” he asked as the bank’s regional director, in from LA, made a perfect shot to the green and picked up his bag. With his own bag on his shoulder, he followed along, letting the older man set their pace.

  “She didn’t tell you?” The gray-haired man gave him a sideways glance. Mick Hunter, in his late sixties, had a gaze that was as sharp as any Jem had ever seen. Wrinkled skin and slowed pace aside, the man was as strong-willed as ever.

  “Only that she’d been understandably upset and had said more than you thought appropriate.”

  Nodding, Mick walked in the direction of Jem’s misplaced ball. He’d do better to get the game right so that he didn’t wear out the man he was there to appease—on his ex-wife’s behalf.

  “She needs this job, Mick.” He couldn’t believe even Tressa had lost her composure to that extent. Not at work.

  And wished he couldn’t believe that she’d let him come into this meeting ill-prepared.

  “I can’t have the head office getting calls from wealthy investors because one of my managers doesn’t have the ability to reel herself in.”

  “He called her a thief.”

  “He’s a bit senile, Jem, and he wasn’t understanding his most recent investment statement. All she had to do was listen to his concerns and explain things to him. And then, when he saw how upset she was by his accusation, he apologized. In person and in writing.”

  “Didn’t he offer to pay her off for her trouble?” Jem said, dropping his bag as they reached his ball. Pulling a nine iron out of his bag, he lined up a shot for the tee. If he focused, he’d make it. “That’s bribery.” If he gave a rat’s ass about the game, he’d probably be good at it. “Usually when a man offers a bribe, he has something to hide.” Jem played his best card.

  “He doesn’t want his kids to know that he forgot about moving money from one fund to another. And he only offered her money after her response to his apology was...so inflammatory.”

  Straightening, Jem looked over at the other man. Mick’s hat shaded his forehead, but not the serious light in his eyes, or the frown beneath that grayed mustache. That afternoon was the first he’d heard that the man had apologized at all, let alone in writing. Tressa said he’d tried to “pat her on the head” afterward.