Maybe not this one.
Walking around to the other side of the breakfast nook off the kitchen, Tressa pulled out one of four white wooden chairs at a block table similar to the one Lacey had seen at Jem’s house. “We might as well sit out here,” she said, indicating the chair directly across from her. Lacey sat.
The table had professionally embroidered, flowered linen placements. Bright and colorful. A matching print on the wall behind Tressa caught Lacey’s eye as she sat down.
“I love this room,” Lacey said, glancing out the sliding glass door to a small walled courtyard lined with flowers and a little birdbath-type above-the-ground fountain.
“Me, too,” Tressa told her. “I work at a bank, and while I love the challenge of making money work for you, some days I can’t wait to get home to my little oasis.”
What about her son? What did she think about not getting home to him every night? And on days when Levi was there, did he disturb the oasis?
Lacey looked from the woman, who was sitting perpendicular to her, to the wall Tressa was facing. She also had a view of the kitchen. For the first time she saw the side of the refrigerator facing the breakfast nook.
All available space was covered. Magnets held up drawings, scribblings, photographs. All done by, or taken of, Levi. It was a shrine to the boy. Which his mother faced every single time she sat down at the table.
Maybe Levi Bridges was just accident prone and was exhibiting changed behavior because of a developmental stage he was going through.
Maybe she had to be looking more closely at the day care.
“I’m afraid to ask why you’re here.” Tressa smiled. A tremulous, timid smile. No hint of defensiveness. Or authority, either.
Lacey smiled back, offering all she could offer at that moment—compassion.
If Tressa was hurting her son, she needed help. It would be Lacey’s job to connect her with resources...
If she was hurting her son.
Lacey liked the woman’s home.
And hated the case.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WHATCHA’ DOIN’?”
Jem glanced down at the little boy staring so solemnly up at him. And swore to himself, then and there, that he’d take the boy and run if need be, to protect him. He knew he wasn’t hurting Levi. And he’d be damned if some stranger thought she could come into his life and proclaim that he was...
“Getting ready to put the veggies on the grill,” he said, picking up the foiled bundle that had been sitting on the counter for far longer than he’d originally intended.
He’d been waiting for Tressa to call him back. He’d wanted to deal with whatever drama was coming his way before he started cooking dinner, because once the food was cooked, he intended to sit outside with his son and enjoy the meal. Sans drama.
“That was before Whyatt.” Levi’s stare was no less piercing for his youth. When he’d headed to the kitchen to start dinner, Jem had told Levi that he could watch one episode of Super Why! Which meant he’d been in the kitchen a full twenty-five minutes. It took ten, at the most, to prepare veggies for the grill.
“Well, sometimes these things take a little longer,” Jem said, off his mark for having to be less than straight up with the boy.
“You was just standing here looking...”
“Were,” he corrected, and with veggies in one hand, he scooped Levi up with the other. “What do you say we go look over the boat while dinner’s cooking?” He swung Levi high and then landed him on his hip.
Parenting books said to distract as a form of behavior management.
“Can I help?” Levi was fascinated with the old schooner that took up most of their garage. Jem couldn’t wait until the day his son would be old enough to really participate.
And hoped that by then he’d still want to.
“I painted this weekend while you were at your mom’s. You can help me sand.” No tools. Nothing dangerous. Just in case they had a surprise visitor. Not because he didn’t trust himself to take perfectly good care of his son.
Purposely leaving his cell phone on the kitchen counter, Jem headed outdoors.