Murphy's Law

“Look around you, Garrett. We're stuck in a ditch, in the middle of a blizzard with no—”

“That's not what I meant, sweetheart, and you damn well know it. Why are you thinking about quitting your job?”

“For a variety of reasons.” The evasive answer was automatic. She winced. This man had just been painfully open with her, didn't he deserve the same honesty? She sucked in a shaky breath before adding, “I screwed up. Big time.”

Murphy held her breath, waiting for him to prod. He didn't. That surprised her. Were th

e situation reversed, she would have.

While she was grateful Garrett was giving her the option of elaborating, she also found that, oddly enough, she wanted to. Why that was, she couldn't be sure. She hadn't even told Tom the whole story about what had happened, and her brother had been hounding her for the information for weeks.

Maybe it was simply time she opened up and talked about it all? Or maybe, just maybe, it was Garrett Thayer she felt the need to unburden herself on.

“I told you I'm a social worker, right?” she asked, and felt him nod. Although she couldn't see it, she felt the heat of his gaze warming the top of her head, the beat of his breaths puffing hotly against her scalp. She had an urge to glance up at him, but resisted. Saying this was hard enough; looking into those striking blue eyes of his while she did it would be impossible. “Well, part of my job is following up on reports of child abuse.”

“Like when a teacher calls about a child with suspicious bruises and really poor excuses,” he said.

It was her turn to nod. “Exactly! How did you know?”

“I'm a cop.”

“Right, I forgot for a second.” Her hands were in her lap; her fingers anxiously twisted the scratchy hem of the blanket. “Six weeks ago I got a report. Not from a teacher, it was a neighbor who said the eight year old boy who lived next to her kept sporting bruises that she didn't feel the mother could adequately explain. I made an appointment to see the neighbor, an appointment to consult with the boy's teacher, scheduled a visit to his house, called his pediatrician. Everything I'm supposed to do.

“Anyway, the boy's house is in Barrington, an upper-crust suburb of Providence. The parents and the boy were all home when I arrived, at my request. I like to see how the child interacts with both his parents, and siblings, if there are any. Billy, the boy, didn't.”

“Interact?”

“No, have any siblings.”

“Oh. How did Billy interact with his parents?”

Murphy's voice cracked as more and more of an incident she'd rather not remember—but always would—assailed her. “Fine. They interacted fine. He"—ahem—"had a broken arm that was in a sling, and a few bruises and scrapes, however none of that's abnormal for an eight year old boy. Well, bruises and scrapes aren't. Broken bones are more rare.” She took a deep breath, and forced herself to continue. “The mother said Billy had fallen out of his tree house. Billy said that was exactly what happened, and from what I could see he didn't seem to be covering up. The mother even showed me the tree house. The explanation seemed logical enough. The tree house was high; a fall from it could easily have broken Billy's arm and would also account for the bruises.”

“So, you left?”

“No! I take my job seriously. Appearances can be deceiving. I know that. So I interviewed the parents at length. I talked to Billy while they were in the room, then again privately. At no time did he give me any indication something was wrong, or"—Murphy cleared her throat—"that he was afraid of his family. I had no reason to think he was in physical danger and needed to be removed from the house immediately.”

Murphy felt Garrett tense. She suspected he'd guessed what had happened next—he was a cop, probably familiar with the whole scenario—yet was waiting to hear the words from her.

They were words that clogged in her throat like a handful of mud. She had to concentrate hard to slough them off her tongue. “I went back to my office and called Billy's teacher. I'd already talked to her once on the phone, but to be on the safe side, I made an appointment with her for the following afternoon. Same thing with his pediatrician.”

“What did they have to say?” he asked, and Murphy felt the arms he'd coiled around her waist tighten to steely bands.

“Nothing. That is, I never got a chance to talk to them. Billy was brought into the emergency room that same night. His mother had…h-had…”

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt a tear slip down her cheek, splashing on the back of her hand. It was followed by another. Then another. All in rapid succession. Murphy swiped them away with the back of her fist, but they refused to stop falling.

She couldn't…damn it, she simply could not continue. The memory—the pain and guilt that stabbed through her—hurt too much!

“He died,” he said flatly.

She shook her head, and her voice was watery as she tried to swallow back a sob. Oh, but she hated to cry! “No, he didn't—no thanks to me!—but he came close. He was in a coma for four days. We had to get the full story from his father.”

Her voice tremulous, she forced herself to go on. “Billy's mother had told him to clean up his room when he got home from a scout meeting. Only Billy didn't come straight home, he went to baseball practice—something he'd forgotten to tell his mother. His mother was furious. She decided it was time to"—her breath caught as more tears dripped down her cheeks—"teach Billy to do what he was told once and for all. Her method of ‘teaching’ him was by beating the lesson into Billy's head with the boy's own baseball bat.”

“My God.” Garrett's husky whisper could barely be heard over the howling wind outside.

“Billy's father came home and, well, you can guess the rest. According to him, Billy's mother was prone to rages, but never one like this. She got angry a lot, but"—Murphy sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve—"usually the bruises were small and easily hidden beneath clothing. The neighbor who called DCYF said she'd heard Billy's mother yelling more than normal the day Billy supposedly fell out of tree house. Then the next day, when she saw Billy's arm in a sling, saw the bruises that couldn't be hidden this time, remembered a couple of other times when the same thing had happened…”