His First Choice

Wow, again. Lacey followed the vivacious woman to a small but meticulous living room with a camel-colored sectional that perfectly complemented the one camel-colored wall. The other walls were a peaceful cream color.

Lacey’s eye went straight to the built-in bookshelves on either side of the mounted flat-screen television set. In addition to books and DVDs, there were some trinkets. And a lot of photos of Levi.

Scanning the movies, she did indeed notice preschool titles on a higher shelf.

Wondering if the trunk-size wicker basket that served as a side table contained the preschooler’s toys, Lacey said, “I’m not here about your brother.”

“Oh.” The woman blinked and sat down. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “going on about my personal stuff like that. Jem says that I need to watch that. I tell him I will, and then off I go again, not even realizing. So, forgive me.” She stood up. “I was about to have some tea. I’ve just come in from work. Can I get you a glass?”

“I’d like that,” Lacey answered, more because she wanted to be able to follow the woman to the kitchen, to get as much of a look at the house as she could, to see how Levi’s mother lived when she wasn’t expecting company, than because she actually wanted a drink.

Tressa didn’t ask why she was there. Contrary to her previous behavior, she didn’t say anything at all, just pulled a couple of glasses out of the cupboard and filled them with ice. “Sweet or unsweetened?”

“Sweet.” She didn’t allow herself the indulgence often.

“Me, too.” Tressa crinkled her nose and then grinned. “I manage to make myself drink it unsweetened about half the time.”

Lacey was up to about three-quarters of the time. Most weeks.

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.

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