instead of grabbing him around his middle, Tressa just grabbed his arm...” His voice fell off, as if that explained it all.
“You’re trying to tell me that your ex-wife’s grasp was so strong she broke your son’s arm in two places?”
“No. She didn’t have a firm enough grip to support his weight, and he fell off the shelf. It was an accident. Believe me, if Tressa had been rough with him, if I thought that she would in any way hurt him, I’d be in court to sue for full custody yesterday.”
It was hard not to believe him. But...
“So why won’t Levi talk about it?”
“Because he knew he wasn’t supposed to be climbing up on the shelves. He’s already been firmly spoken to about misbehaving and knows that he’s living with the consequences of having done so. I think at this point he just wants the whole thing to go away. He doesn’t want anyone else reading him the riot act. Levi’s usually a great kid. He takes it personally when he screws up.”
So maybe it was a great cover-up story. Maybe Bridges was a think-quick-on-the-fly kind of guy. She couldn’t afford not to consider the possibility.
But even if it was true, he’d failed to tell it the first and second times she’d asked him about what had happened. Because he’d thought the story could get someone in trouble?
It made her wonder what else he was covering up.
Or would cover up in the future.
“Are you aware that your son had finger-shaped bruises on his upper torso?”
“He absolutely does not.” Bridges stood. “We can prove that one right here, right now.” He made as if to move toward that archway through which his son had passed.
“I don’t mean now,” she said, keeping an even tone. He sank back to his seat, shaking his head.
“You’re telling me that someone reported bruises on him in the past? Why haven’t I heard about this before now?”
“What you heard isn’t important here, Mr. Bridges. What matters is the truth of the allegations. Are you, or have you ever been, aware of bruises on your son’s skin that were distinctly caused by fingertips?”
“No! Of course not!”
Lacey wished she’d brought a colleague with her. She needed another read on this guy.
“Who’s telling you this shit?”
She wouldn’t have chosen to swear at the social services worker at that moment, but it wasn’t a crime.
“I’m going to need to speak with Levi privately,” she told him. “Can you bring him to my office tomorrow?”
There wasn’t substantiated proof, nor any need as far as she could see, to remove the boy from his home that night. He’d exhibited no signs of fear of his father. There was nothing in the home to indicate anything other than loving care. Right down to the child-safe electrical plugs in all of the wall sockets. Even the one above the countertop in the kitchen.
“Of course I’ll bring him,” Bridges said. “I just...” His voice broke off.
She stood. “I’d like to see his room before I go,” she said, satchel back up on her shoulder. She wanted to see the father’s room, too, but didn’t ask to do so. Which bothered her, too. She didn’t normally have a problem making whole house assessments.
“It’s right this way.”
With a sure stride Bridges led her back the way they’d come, down a hall and into what was obviously a playroom. Levi, who was busy on the floor making “varoom” noises with a car he was pushing on a toy track, sat up as they entered. He stood, abandoned his cars, took her hand in his good one and proceeded to introduce her to every nook and cranny of a childhood dream. First his playroom, then the bathroom with a net of toys hanging from a decorative fish hook above a tub outfitted with colorful fish-shaped slip-free adhesive on the bottom. She saw no soap scum or dirt anywhere—with the exception of a glob of toothpaste in the sink.
Finally they ended up in the room adjoining the other side of the bathroom. A sleeping room with scenes beneath the ocean painted on the walls.
Dresser drawers were closed. There were no clothes or other clutter on the floor. The bed was made.
She could have suspected that Bridges had planned the whole thing. Cleaned up because he’d known she was coming. Except that he hadn’t known. No one had. Her colleagues also had no way of knowing—except by the log they’d read when they needed to.
Neither had he given any indication that there’d been any change in his son’s behavior in the past months.
Because he hadn’t noticed?
Because he was hiding something?
Or because, this time, she’d received a false report?
JEM DIDN’T SLEEP. Not a wink. He’d start to doze off and every single time he’d jerk awake—his heart pounding with dread.
How could he prove that he wouldn’t hurt his son? Not ever? No matter what?
Who was saying that he had?
Or had that even been said? At three in the morning he made his third trip—he was allowing himself only one an hour, as if that small bit of self-control was going to prove something to someone—to his son’s room to look in on the sleeping boy.
Levi had always been a back sleeper. Open to the world had always been Jem’s estimation of his son’s slumber habit. And there he was, sprawled with abandon, arms and legs spread, covers tangled around his lower torso, giving his all to sleep just as he gave that same zest for life in whatever he approached while awake.
The thick white plaster on that tiny arm gave Jem pause. As it had every single time he’d laid eyes on it since the doctor had put it there. He wanted to take Levi’s pain, to slay every dragon that attempted to enter his son’s life.
He couldn’t even prevent a broken bone. The helplessness that came with that realization wasn’t welcome. Or to be tolerated.
Just as he’d told the Hamilton beauty, boys broke bones. Most by accident—the boy’s or someone else’s.
As a vision of the woman came to mind, her blue eyes beneath that tightly pulled-back blond hair, Jem quietly left his son’s room.
Taking thoughts of Lacey Hamilton with him. They’d been his constant companion since she’d left a short half hour after she’d arrived so unexpectedly on his doorstep.
He had his rights. He knew that now. Knew, too, after the reading he’d done as soon as Levi had been down for the night, that the state of California was pretty stringent about removing kids from homes. It was done as a last resort. Period. There were a lot of options between a home visit and removal—unless, of course, abuse was obvious at the outset.
And in that case, Jem would be the staunchest of supporters for removal.
Still, one caseworker had a lot of power. Even ones who made you feel like you wanted to make dinner for them every night. Especially those ones.
He thought about calling Tressa. He wanted the support of their bonding together as they protected their son. But didn’t want it to look like he was tipping her off. From what he’d read, they’d be visiting her, too.
Unless, of course, she’d been the one to file the complaint.
As much as he wanted to, he still wasn’t completely ruling out that option.
With the child monitor he kept with him whenever he was out of earshot of his son’s room, Jem popped the top on a beer and, opening the back patio door, sat outside