Father to Be (36 page)

Before heading for the bedroom, she backtracked to the kitchen, where Bud was washing a pot at the sink. It couldn’t hurt to get an adult’s take on the argument before she heard from Caleb. “The kids tell me there was a problem tonight.”

He sighed heavily. “I let Caleb go off for a walk by himself. He stayed out longer than he was supposed to and came back upset and filthy. When J.D. tried to deal with him, the boy exploded. Said he doesn’t have to answer to J.D., that he’s not his father, that he hates him.” He offered a thin smile. “You know. The usual angry-teenager stuff.”

“I bet J.D. never tried the ‘usual angry-teenager stuff’ with you.”

“No, ma’am, he didn’t. And I’d wager that you never pulled it on your parents.”

She shook her head. “Oh, I got mad, but blowing up was not an option, not in my house. Of course, J.D. and I were never in Caleb’s position.”

“If the boy would just let go of that anger …” Bud put a storage container of spaghetti sauce in the refrigerator, then leaned against the counter. “When he called me in Philadelphia, J.D. told me those kids would break your
heart. That’s not a problem for me. My heart’s been broken before, and I survived, but J.D.… ”

She patted his arm. “J.D.’s a rock.”

The look he gave her was filled with concern. “Even rocks crumble, Kelsey.”

J.D. crumbling was an event she couldn’t imagine. Instead, she gave Bud one last pat. “I’m going to talk to Caleb, then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You’re not in the way. Stay as long as you want. I know J.D.’s looking forward to seeing you.”

Smiling faintly, she went down the hall to the last room and knocked. When no invitation was forthcoming, she let herself in.

Caleb stood at the window, staring out. “You can’t come in here,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.

“No, Caleb, I can go just about anywhere I want. You’re the one who’s grounded.” She glanced at his dinner, untouched on the dresser, then moved to the other end and leaned against it. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Why? You’ll just take
his
side.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because that’s what grown-ups do.”

“I’m not here to take sides, Caleb. I’d just like to hear what happened.”

“He’s
not
my boss.”

“You know what? All our lives we’ve got somebody telling us what to do. When we’re kids, it’s our parents and our teachers. When we grow up, it’s our bosses and supervisors, our legislators, our husbands and wives. There’s not a person in the world who doesn’t have to answer to someone. In your case, right now that person is J.D.”

“He’s not my dad.”

“No, he’s not. But he’s here, and your dad’s not.”

“He’s coming back.” His whisper was a sad change
from the vehemence with which he normally made that statement. Was he beginning to have his doubts? Was he starting to accept that his father had left them for good?

“I hope he does, Caleb. I really do. But until that happens, you’ve got to adjust to living with someone else, to answering to someone else.”

“Not
him.
I’ll never answer to him. I’d rather die.”

“Caleb …” She crossed the room to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. His reaction was immediate—a wince, a shrug away. Curious, she moved closer and tugged at the neck of his T-shirt. He winced again.

“Quit,” he grumbled, spinning away and going to the opposite end of the window. “Leave me alone.”

“Take off your shirt, Caleb.”

“No.”

“You acted like it hurt when I touched you. I want to see. Take off your shirt.”

“Nothin’ hurts. I just don’t want to be touched.”

“Caleb.” When she started toward him, he backed away, but the corner was only a few feet behind him. He couldn’t go any farther.

Taking hold of the bottom, she pulled his shirt up and over his head before he could stop her, and she stared. There were bruises on his shoulders and both upper arms, the pattern typical of a grabbing-type injury, and there were other bruises, a large one on his ribs, another across his stomach.

She drew a deep, calming breath. “How did this happen?”

He stared at the floor.

“Caleb?” She lifted his chin, but he still refused to meet her gaze. “How did you get these bruises?”

His lips, still bearing the mark from Monday’s fight, barely moved. “He said not to tell.”

“Who said?”

His jaw worked as if he wanted to blurt out the answer yet hold it in. After a moment he jerked away from her, grabbed his shirt, wadded it in a ball, then went to climb with a grimace onto his bunk.

“Who did it, Caleb?”

“
He
did,” he said at last, and the words came out as if a dam had burst. “He grabbed me in the hall, and when I came in here, he came too, and he slammed the door. He said he’d had enough, that if I wouldn’t behave, then he’d make me, and he said if I told anyone, he’d send me away and he’d keep the kids and I’d never see them again.”

Feeling sick inside, Kelsey went to stand beside the bed. She had to tilt her head back to see him. He looked angry and ashamed and about to cry. She would be, too, if she were lying the way he was. “Caleb, you and I both know J.D. didn’t cause those bruises.”

“He did too! See! I told you you’d take his side!”

“Caleb,” she said sternly. “Look.” She gently placed her fingertips over the bruises on his left arm. “The fingers that left these bruises are smaller than mine. J.D.’s aren’t.”

He burst into tears, great, heaving sobs. “It
was
him! It was, I swear! Why won’t you believe me?”

She bowed her head, resting her forehead against the smooth wood of the bed. She knew he was lying, knew J.D. wasn’t capable of causing physical harm to any child. But at this point, truth didn’t affect what she had to do next.

Oh, God, she’d taken part in so many of these investigations. She’d seen firsthand the damage caused by such lies. No matter how much evidence they found to exonerate the parent, no matter if the child recanted his own accusations, that damage always remained. There were always some who believed the parent was guilty, always some who wondered. The loss of trust, the suspicion, the wariness—they could never be undone.

Raising her head, she met his gaze once more. “Caleb, last chance. Tell me the truth. Who caused those bruises?”

His glare was fierce. “
He
did. Grayson. The shrink.”

She sighed heavily. “Get your shirt and shoes on.”

“Why?”

“I have to take you to the hospital and report this to the police.”

“But—”

“And then I have to find a new home for you and the children until we can schedule a hearing.”

He studied her. “You’ll move us out tonight?”

She nodded.

“All four of us? Together?”

She nodded again. “When you’re ready, come on out. I’m going to tell Bud.” As he climbed down from the bed, she let herself out of the room. God help her, she didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to walk down the hall and tell that kindly old man that the boy he was worrying about had accused the son he was worrying about of abusing him.

The only thing she wanted less was to give J.D. the same news.

Bud had just poured himself a cup of coffee when she walked into the room. With a smile he offered it to her, but the sickness she felt inside must have shown on her face, because his smile slipped away.

“Bud, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to take Caleb with me. He’s bruised pretty badly, and he says—” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then looked at him once more. “He says J.D. did it.”

Bud simply stared at her, then his hand began to tremble, sloshing coffee over the rim before the cup slipped to the floor. It shattered there, and the milky brew seeped out in an ever-widening circle.

From down the hall came the children’s voices. “Caleb,
you’re gonna get in trouble! You’re not s’posed to be out of our room! Grandpa Bud! Caleb’s outta the room!”

Caleb came to stand beside her, and Bud’s stunned gaze moved to him. “How can you do that, son?” he asked, his voice as unsteady as his hands. “How can you lie like that?”

Caleb stared mutely at the floor.

Kelsey looked from him to Bud. “When J.D. comes back, tell him we’re at Bethlehem Memorial. I’ll have to come back for the other kids. Could you have them ready?”

“But, Kelsey, you can’t—”

“I have to, Bud. It’s policy.” She gestured for Caleb to leave, then turned back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The drive to the hospital passed in silence. Kelsey parked near the emergency room entrance, then went inside to the admissions desk. By the time she finished filling out the forms, a nurse was waiting to escort them to an exam room. She left Caleb in the doctor’s care, then returned to the desk to make two phone calls, one to Mary Therese, one to the Bethlehem Police Department.

She requested to see an officer and got the chief of police. It wasn’t ten minutes before Mitch Walker came through the sliding doors, and J.D. wasn’t more than a minute behind him. His hair stood on end, and he looked frantic.

So much for worrying how to greet him. There were no hellos, no smiles, no kisses. Just J.D.’s worried demand. “Is Caleb all right? Dad said you brought him here. Is he hurt? What—”

“He’s okay. He’s with the doctor now.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, paced a few steps away, then came back. “Kelsey, what the hell’s going on?”

She drew an unsteady breath. “Caleb has bruises on
both arms, his stomach, and his ribs. He says … J.D., he says you caused them.”

He stared at her. “No. No, he wouldn’t— I would never— You can’t possibly believe—”

“Of course, I don’t.”

“Then why are we here? Why is Dad home packing the kids’ clothes? Why the hell did you call Mitch?”

Mitch laid his hand on J.D.’s arm. “J.D., come on. The kid’s been hurt, and he’s pointing his finger at you. We’ve got to get to the bottom of it.”

“He’s lying, Mitch.”

“I know, buddy.”

“He’s
lying.
I never laid a—” J.D. broke off and rubbed his eyes. Kelsey recognized the guilt stealing over his face and felt the sickness return.

“I did grab him,” he said, appalled by his own admission, by the implications. “I was talking to him, he started to walk away, and I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. But I didn’t grab him hard enough to bruise.” An anxious note entered his voice. “I know how much force it takes to leave a bruise, and there’s no way, I swear, there’s
no way
I grabbed him that hard.”

Kelsey wrapped her fingers tightly around his. “The marks on his arms were made by hands smaller than mine. If you’d caused them, they’d be twice that size. He’s obviously lying, J.D., to get back at you because you grounded him, because the kids like you, because he sees you taking his father’s place with them, because he wants to remove you from their lives.”

“And you’re going to do that, aren’t you?” Accusation was as dark in his eyes as in his voice. “You’re going to take them. You know he’s lying, and yet you’re going to give him what he’s lying to get.”

She swallowed hard. “I have no choice.”

“You always have a choice, Kelsey. You’re just making
the wrong one.” Slowly the emotion faded from his eyes, leaving them flat and dull, and he pulled his hand from hers as if he could no longer bear the contact. “Apparently so did I.”

The words hurt more than any blow could have. In spite of his concern that she would regret last night, instead, he did. He was sorry he’d made love to her, sorry he’d kissed her, trusted her, told her that he was falling in love with her. He regretted it all, and that was enough to break her heart.

He turned to Mitch, effectively dismissing her. “Can I see him? With you or the doctor or whoever?”

Mitch looked to Kelsey, and she nodded numbly.

“Sure, come on.”

As they walked away, she sagged against the counter. He was wrong. She
didn’t
have a choice, not when it came to the kids. Anytime there was an accusation of abuse, the child—in this case, children—
must
be removed from the home until an investigation was completed. Even if there was evidence that the accusation was a lie, she had to follow procedure, for the kids’ safety and for her own peace of mind. If Steph’s social worker had done so twenty years ago, she wouldn’t have been dead a few weeks later. That wasn’t a result Kelsey was willing to risk.

But she did have a choice when it came to him. She could protect herself from him, could avoid him at all costs and keep herself safe. Keep her heart safe.

If it wasn’t too late.

Chapter Fourteen
 

J
.D. stood in the hallway, hands knotted in impotent fists at his sides, and watched as Mitch carried a wailing Gracie out the door, followed by Bud with Noah sobbing against his shoulder. His arms filled with bags of clothing, Jacob stopped on the porch and looked back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s not your fault, Jacob.” It was
his
for ever agreeing to take the kids in. For not expecting Caleb’s lies. For being so arrogant as to think that he could help Caleb.