He’d been tempted, though. He’d actually parked his car on the next block and walked over once, with the intention of waiting inside to confront her, but had turned
around and gone back without entering. Her home was a safe place. But it hadn’t always been. His job, as someone who loved her, was to ensure that it remained a place where she felt safe.
Which meant that it was a place where she didn’t have to worry about losing control and beating on her son’s chest a second time.
* * *
WORK KEPT HIM occupied until ten, at which time he stripped down and took a swim in the heated pool in his backyard. Then it was inside to shower.
That was the part he should have skipped. A little chlorine left on his skin, or in the bed, wouldn’t have been as damaging as standing beneath the warm spray, his naked skin invigorated and chilled, basking in the purely physical pleasure until the sensation reminded him of other times. Other showers. Ones he hadn’t taken alone.
A vision of Ella, her long legs naked and wet, came to mind. Waylaying his well-trained thoughts. Steering them off course.
It was as if he could still smell her from earlier that evening. Knew every nuance of her voice. Felt her heat beside him and heard the click of her sandals on the sidewalk. His penis grew, and he closed his eyes, trying to bring himself back under control.
He was going to help her. Help Jeff. He really had no other choice. Ella believed Chloe. Because Chloe was the only one talking to her. Jeff didn’t want to put her in the middle.
Brett had talked to Chloe and to Jeff. He had both sides.
And he believed Jeff. He also agreed with Ella’s assessment that Chloe could probably benefit from time spent at The Lemonade Stand. The counselors there were superb. And since they all ate, it stood to reason that they’d all run into Chloe some time or other.
The immediate plan was to help keep Jeff patient any way he could. To give Chloe time to figure out her emotions.
The success of the plan hinged on three things.
He had to help.
He was going to do so without hurting Ella any more.
And the only way to do that was to make damned certain that they didn’t let this get at all personal.
* * *
NORA WAS AT the hospital shortly after Ella arrived on Tuesday. They’d found a bus route that she could take from outside the Stand straight to the hospital, and she’d been doing so every day since.
The young woman looked rested. She smiled. And if baby Henry remained stable, he’d be released to her care early that week.
There was already a crib waiting for him in Nora’s room at The Lemonade Stand.
Ella made a note on the chart she was keeping on Nora and Henry for her report to the High Risk team when she attended their first meeting on Wednesday. She was keeping a chart on another patient, as well. A twelve-year-old boy had come in over the weekend with what appeared to be a cigarette burn on his arm. He said that he’d been playing at the family bonfire and sent up some ashes, one of which landed on his skin. The doctor on call had been certain the burn came from something pressed against the skin and held there.
Mom and Dad had both been present at the hospital. Police were notified. There’d been a previous domestic disturbance call to the home the year before. Called in by a neighbor.
In separate interviews, both parents verified the boy’s story.
A ten-year-old sister did, as well.
There was nothing anyone could do but keep a watch on the family. Ella’s report to the team would ensure that elementary school and junior high counselors and a social services staff member would keep both kids on their radar. Officers from the Santa Raquel Police Department would make well checks in the neighborhood.
Notes had been made to the boy’s hospital chart, a flag added to the family’s address, so that if anyone came in again, the doctor on call would be alerted to the situation.
When Ella looked at the domestic-violence statistics she’d been given, she was overwhelmed by the size of the demon they were fighting, but on Wednesday afternoon, as she sat at a conference table at the local police precinct, looking around at the other people who sat there—different races and levels of education, different genders and ages—with one common desire to eradicate the disease of domestic destruction, she knew that they’d win. Have an impact, at least.
Having traded her scrubs for black dress pants and a white blouse, she tried to blend in as she sat quietly and took notes. When she was called on, she made her report. And throughout the meeting wrote down three names she’d been given—one from child services, and two from Officer Sanchez—to check against hospital charts for recent injuries.
At the table she finally had the opportunity to meet Sara Havens, a counselor at The Lemonade Stand and the Stand’s representative on the team.
With her shoulder-length dark blond hair and blue eyes, Sara looked like a stereotypical California beach beauty with nothing more on her mind than getting the perfect tan. Until she was asked to give an overview of the team’s core approach, as well as a profile of their victims, as a reminder for the seasoned members and to educate the newcomers. There were two other new members in addition to Ella.