Chapter 26
Jessie
The bruise on his arm was the first thing I noticed.
It could’ve been from anything—he’s seven—but his hesitation to answer my questions, his mother’s obvious discomfort, and his father’s too-perfect posture all scream one thing: This kid didn’t fall out of a tree. I can feel it in my gut, and my gut is rarely wrong.
“Okay, Riley, you wait here while we get a cast ready,” I tell the subdued, brown-haired boy before turning to his parents. “It might be a little while. We’re pretty busy right now, but we’ll try to get him in a cast as soon as possible.”
“We understand,” his father, Mr. Lewis, answers. He’s been pleasant, but his body language betrays him. He wants the hell out of here as soon as possible. I pull back the curtain and slip out of the makeshift room.
“The boy in bed two is showing signs of abuse,” I tell Rachel when I reach the nurses’ station.
She’s several decades older than me, with years of experience, and I need her help navigating this.
I know the hospital’s procedure, but I’ve never handled a child abuse case.
Women, sure, but not a child. My own childhood memories try to come flooding back, but I push them from my mind. This isn’t the time or place.
“What did you notice?” Rachel asks, taking his chart to review it. I know what she’ll find: a broken arm, healed breaks in his elbow and wrist noted by the x-ray tech, bruising on his arm, and tender ribs. All injuries consistent with abuse.
“Dad is trying to hide it, but he’s nervous. The bruising is on the part of his arm that isn’t broken, and tender ribs are on the opposite side of his body.”
She looks up and raises a single brow. “Let me guess: Dad says he hit every branch on the way down?”
I flatten my lips. She isn’t far off.
We call over Dr. Marshall and discuss our other procedures before he nods. “I agree, this is concerning. Keep an eye on them, and I’ll call CPS to see if someone can come down and talk to them.”
We nod in unison.
“Thank you both,” I tell them.
Rachel squeezes my elbow, comforting me before following Dr. Marshall into the administration office.
Only fifteen minutes pass before the dad flags me down. “How much longer?”
“I’m not sure. The doctor is still with another patient,” I tell him the lie I was instructed to give, buying us time to contact CPS.
“Okay. We have somewhere to be. If he could do Riley next, that would be great.”
“Of course, I’ll tell him.” The fuck I will. This kid isn’t leaving here until I’m sure he’s safe.
We’re still waiting on a call back when I’m flagged down again and forced to get Dr. Marshall. That’s how we both end up in the makeshift, curtained room with one pissed-off father.
“I don’t appreciate these questions!” Mr. Lewis shouts at us.
“Sir, I’m only trying to understand the nature of Riley’s injuries,” Dr. Marshall calmly replies.
Riley doesn’t look up from where he fiddles with the bed sheet.
“My son is clumsy. He likes to play outside and often trips or falls.”
“And that is not uncommon. My concern is the old injuries and the presentation of the new ones on both sides of his body. Riley, can you tell me what happened?”
He finally looks up but ignores Dr. Marshall. He looks right at his father and doesn’t say a word. I glance at his mom, who sits perfectly still in her chair, legs crossed. She hasn’t offered any information about how Riley got his injuries.
“I already told you what happened,” his father snaps. “Now cast his arm. We are leaving.”
I step to the other side of the bed and take a seat next to the mom. “Mrs. Lewis, did you see Riley fall? It would help us treat him if we knew exactly how he fell.”
She shakes her head, not making eye contact or speaking a word. Now that I’m closer, I see a yellow bruise on her cheek she’s nearly succeeded at covering with makeup. It’s clear as day Mrs. Lewis and Riley are terrified to speak to us. And that only means one thing: They don’t feel safe.
“I’ll prepare the cast,” Dr. Marshall says.
I follow him out of the room.
“They aren’t coming,” Rachel tells us once we’re out of earshot of the family.
“What? Why not?”
“No one is available, but they’ll contact the family in the next forty-eight hours and make inquiries.”
“Forty-eight hours? That’s not good enough. Riley—”
“Jessie, there isn’t anything else we can do,” Dr. Marshall’s voice is laced with empathy. “This is fairly normal. They are short-staffed, but forty-eight hours is the standard procedure, and someone will contact them. This isn’t over for them.”
“A lot can happen in forty-eight hours,” I whisper, and they both look at me with understanding.
This is bullshit. That kid needs help, and we can’t do a damn thing about it.
Dr. Marshall casts Riley’s arm, and the Lewis family leaves the hospital.
I thought my shift would never end. I sit on the bench in front of my locker and drop my head into my hands. I let the weight of having to watch Riley walk out the hospital door hit me.
It’s not fair—what he has to go through, his mother, the fact that we can’t do anything else to help them—none of it’s fair.
Thoughts of my childhood wash over me, and this time I can’t push them aside.
Thwack!
I jump when the back door slams. Mom is still asleep in her room, and my school bus doesn’t come for another ten minutes. Dad stomps into the living room—he’s been gone all night.
“Why is this place always such a fuckin’ mess?” he snaps.
I sink into the couch, hoping he’ll ignore me.
I should’ve hidden somewhere when I heard the door.
I should know better by now. A nine-year-old should be smarter than this.
I turned nine a while ago. Kacey brought me cupcakes to school, and her dad took us to the park after.
But my dad always says I’m stupid. Maybe he’s right.
“Girl, answer me!”
I swallow. “I–I–don’t know.”
He grabs my arm, yanking me off the couch. I can smell alcohol on his breath. “I’m sick of busting my ass, providing for this family, only to come home and find this house a mess. You’re going to clean it, you hear me?”
“But I have school in ten minutes,” I foolishly argue.
I shouldn’t have.
Clap!
His palm hits my face, and my head snaps to the side. Tears start falling as the shock hits me and sting warms my cheek. He’s never done that before. He’s yanked and pushed me around and pulled my hair, but he’s never hit me.
“Don’t you dare talk back to me, you worthless little bitch!” He shoves me then, letting go of my arm, and I fall to the floor. “You’re not going to school. You’ll stay here and clean this house until I’m happy with it.”
I glance at my backpack by the front door, knowing there is no breakfast or lunch inside it or anywhere in this house. But that’s another mistake he catches. “You think those books will get you anywhere? You’re stupid, just like your mother. No amount of studying will change what you are. Trash.”
I clean well into the night, my stomach growling relentlessly.
I suck in a gasping breath. Fumbling with my bag, I dig out my phone.
“Hello, gorgeous. You on your way home?” Trey answers and his baritone voice and predictable rambling soothes my nerves. “What are you hungry for? I’m thinking pasta tonight.”
“Trey,” is all I say, but he can hear it in my voice.
“What’s wrong? Where are you?” I can hear him moving through the house on the other end of the line.
“I’m at the hospital. Bad shift. Can you come get me?”
“I’m on my way,” he says. I hear his truck keys jingle softly.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Knowing he’s on his way, I tell myself I’ll be okay.
Daryl hasn’t shown up or texted me again about the five grand, but the not knowing is almost worse.
I’m waiting for him to make a move, unsure whether he truly will or not.
My stomach twists in knots as I fight tears, unable to fathom why, how, anyone could ever intentionally scare or hurt their child.
Trey makes it to the hospital in record time. I’m waiting on the bench out front for him. He jumps out and opens my door before I can argue it’s not necessary.
When he turns out of the parking lot, he reaches over to hold my hand on the center console.
“What happened?” He doesn’t hesitate to ask, which tells me how worried he is.
Trey has always been careful not to push too far, ask questions he knows I won’t answer or would make me uncomfortable, and I appreciate that.
I’m sure he knows there is a lot I don’t tell him.
He looks away from the street to glance at me, but I can’t meet his eyes.
“A kid came in today who was clearly being abused by his piece of shit father, and I had to sit by and watch as they cast his broken arm and let him leave.”
“What the fuck? How did the hospital allow that?”
“We followed all the standard procedures. Nurses and doctors are mandatory reporters, but once we submit our paperwork to CPS, there is nothing more we can do—it’s in their hands. They’ll contact them and investigate in the next forty-eight hours, but I doubt anything changes for that family.”
“Wow, I can’t believe that. I’m so sorry, Jessie.” His thumb rubs a gentle circle on the back of my hand. “Who does that to a kid?” he continues. “How could anyone treat their own family that way?”
“You’d be surprised,” I mutter as we pull into the driveway.
Trey’s head snaps my direction, reading more into that statement than I intended.
I grab my bag and open the truck door, desperate to escape the questions I see behind his eyes before he can ask.
“Wait. Jessie, were you treated that way?” He shuts the truck door behind him as I unlock the back door. “Jessie, hold up.”
I push through the door, Trey on my heels. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about the kid with the broken arm who got sent home with the monster who did it to him.”
“And I hate that there wasn’t anything anyone could do to stop that, but now I’m asking about you. You were white as a ghost when I picked you up. Is that why today was so hard—why you called me?”
I guess this is the day he starts pushing for more.
I knew it would come eventually. He isn’t going to let this go.
Between my father’s unwelcome visit, the texts, the nightmares, and town rumors, I’m sure he has questions.
I haven’t told him any details about my childhood because I don’t want him to look at me differently, and I know he will, but today has been too much.
“Yes!” I snap. “Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
“Jessie . . .” he says my name so quietly I barely hear it. But it’s not what he said, it’s the look on his face. Pity.
He reaches for me, but I step back. I rub my hands up and down my face, frustrated with this entire day. “That’s exactly why I never talk about this. That look, right there.”
“What look?”
“Pity! Pity for the trailer trash girl whose daddy never loved her. Well, I’m sorry we don’t all get to grow up in happy suburban families and live out our dreams.”
He rears back, like I slapped him. That was too far, but I’m upset and he’s pushing me further than ever before. My eyes burn as I turn and break into a run for the bedroom. I don’t get far before he catches me, but he doesn’t say anything.
Trey turns me, pulls me into his chest, and hugs me. His arms wrap tightly around me. The steady rhythm of his heart beats against my cheek. I relax into him, knowing I don’t deserve his comfort but taking it, nonetheless.
A minute passes before I speak. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I hate when people find out how I was raised, and they either look at me like I am the same scum as my parents or look at me like I’m a wounded kitten.”
“I didn’t mean to look at you that way. But, Jessie, it is sad to hear that someone I deeply care for has been hurt that way.
For me, it’s not about how you were raised.
It’s about the kind of person you are now.
And the way you care about that kid shows you are a million times better than your parents.
Besides, Dot truly raised you, and she’s fucking great. ”
I smile. He’s right—she did raise me. She saved me.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’m here to listen if you do.” He presses a kiss to my forehead.
I pull back, taking his hand, leading him to the couch. It’s high time I decided he deserves to know at least part of my story. Folding my legs under me, I take a deep breath. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Wherever you want. Tell me as little or as much as you want.”
“I, um— I slept in the garage a lot. It was safer there. And there wasn’t ever any food, so I was pretty small for my age, but once I met Kacey, she always brought me extra food .
. .” I give him a broad scope of what my life looked like.
There are still some things I don’t want to talk about or relive, but I tell him enough that he understands what the first nine years of my life looked like.
I don’t say a word about paying Daryl now or some of the problems he’s caused in my life since college.
If Trey knew, he wouldn’t be able to do anything.
He would try to step in, and that would only make it worse and get him hurt.
He doesn’t interrupt, but his jaw clenches.
He never stops touching me, always maintaining one point of contact.
He’s visibly upset by every word out of my mouth, but he waits patiently until I’m finished to tell me how sorry he is that I had to go through that.
Then how proud he is to know the person I’ve become despite it.
His words are a balm on a horrible day. I scoot closer, moving onto his lap, and curl up in his arms.
“So, the day your dad showed up. Is that common?” he asks.
Shit.
I have to be careful how I answer this. I don’t want to lie to him, but he can’t know the extent to which Daryl harasses me. I shrug. “Define common. He’s shown up over the years and made it clear he keeps tabs on me.”
“Has he ever . . . hurt you? Since you moved out?”
“No. I keep my distance and anytime he’s shown up, I do what I can to placate him and he leaves.” Not a lie. By placate I mean pay him, but Trey doesn’t need to know that.
“If he ever shows up again or speaks to you that way again, I want to know. Got it?”
I only nod. I can’t promise him that. I won’t let my father anywhere near him.