Sheryl Nantus - Family Pride

“How do you know Ms. Farnsworth?” Hank asked.

“Bingo.” Jess didn’t miss a beat. “Every Thursday night at the Roadhouse Bingo Hall over on Sherbourne Street.”

I tried not to smile.

“Bran called and asked me to come over and bring the baby. He didn’t know Liam was already safe with Social Services.”

Hank didn’t give ground easily. “And you didn’t call the police.”

Jess shrugged. “Why would I? I didn’t know all this craziness was going on.” She gestured at Bernadette. “When I got here she was on the floor, Reb was shot and I told Michael to call 9-1-1.”

Hank continued his not so gentle questioning. “You saw Liam yesterday, took him from these two.” He tilted his head in my general direction. “Where did you pick him up?”

“At Yonge and Dundas, right on the street corner,” she replied.

“They brought the baby out to you.”

“Yes, they did.” Jess smiled, hands tucked in her pockets. “I met them at the corner, took Liam and went home. I called Denise and she said to bring him over the next morning.” The underlying steel in her voice spoke volumes.

“Of course,” Attersley said with a defeated sigh. He wasn’t up to verbally jousting with Jess—I’d yet to see anyone who could.

Jess looked at me. “I’ll have a lawyer meet you at the station. Take your time sorting through the mess. Don’t say anything else until he meets with you. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“You haven’t needed a lawyer before, Reb,” Attersley said.

“Never got into this much trouble before.” I gave a respectful nod to Jess. “I appreciate it.”

“We take care of our own. Call me if you need anything else.” Jess locked eyes with me. “Anything,” she repeated.

I got to my feet and watched Bran walk out the door, Michael behind him with two policemen escorting Bernadette, and Hank waiting to accompany me. “How about a time machine?”

It was well past midnight when I stumbled up the short walk to my front door. It was unlocked and I wasn’t worried in the least. Anyone who thought they’d be able to rob a house with Jess inside deserved whatever he or she got.

I shut the door behind me, feeling the tension begin to ease out of my body. I was home and I was safe—for the time being at least.

My arm ached. The prescription painkillers had taken the edge off but it hurt like hell, even resting in the simple sling. I wouldn’t be doing much for the next few weeks while it healed.

The doctor at the hospital had mumbled something about a nasty scar while he put in the handful of stitches needed. He’d suggested a plastic surgeon, clucking his tongue at having such an ugly line on my fair skin.

I’d resisted the urge to show off the claw marks on my back.

The widescreen television Bran had recently bought blared some science-fiction movie, the spaceships chasing each other with bad special effects.

Jess looked up from petting Jazz, the two of them sprawled the length of the sofa. Jazz let out an annoyed trill and rolled off to land on the floor with a thump.

I wagged a finger at the fat white cat. “Tell me you at least played hard to get for a few seconds.”

Jazz lifted her nose into the air and strutted off toward the stairs.

Jess turned the television off and stood up. “Rolled over for a few cat treats and told me where the silver was.” She looked me over, her lips twisting into a sad smile. “I’ll start some tea. You look like you need some.” Jess headed for the kitchen, humming a hunting song I’d forgotten the words to.

I felt like I’d fallen down a rabbit hole instead of coming home.

“Don’t even think about pressing your luck on that wound. Remember Johnny Ladder?”

I didn’t but wasn’t ready to get into a conversation about Felis I’d met and forgotten years ago.

She continued, ignoring my nonresponse. “He got himself shot by a hunting party who mistook him for a deer.”

I sat down on the still-warm cushions. “A deer?”

“Damned fool was running out at the farm and went off our territory. He limped back to Ruth with the same sort of gunshot wound.” I heard the sound of water running. “He figured he’d get back to work at the warehouse before the doctor cleared him. Idiot ended up with an infection and laid up even longer.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” I grimaced as I spotted bloodstains on the hardwood floor.

It’d take a lot of scrubbing to get them out.

Or a well-placed throw rug.

I made a note to scour the local yard sales for a good hunk of carpet.

“Can I ask how Liam is? Or is he in some weird witness protection program?”

“He’s safe with a foster family.” She poked her head out of the kitchen and held up a palm before I could speak. “Not ours, before you ask. He’ll be treated like a king until the courts determine who gets custody—the grandparents or his father.”

“His father.” I rolled the words off my tongue like a piece of sour candy.

“Like it or not, Michael Hanover is his father. DNA test’ll prove it quick enough.” The voice drifted to me as I looked around the living room.

It looked the same but so different in my mind. I couldn’t get the images of Bernadette holding us at bay and of my being shot out of my mind.

It’d be a long time before I could relax on this couch again.

The tangled wreck of the table Bran had destroyed lay in a neat pile. She’d swept the mess together but hadn’t disposed of the warped, splintered wood. “The Callendars will likely get full visitation rights so don’t worry about that. But they’re the grandparents and the courts usually rule for the biological parent to get full custody.” She paused. “And Hanover has the money to buy enough legal beagles to either tie the Callendars up forever in court or bankrupt them.”

My stomach twisted into knots. “Even if he doesn’t want the child?”

“Ah.” Jess held up a finger. “There’s the money question. Will he pay support to the Callendars and let them raise Liam or buy himself a nanny and be an absentee father?”

I shook my head. “He didn’t want the baby in the first place. Why would he want him now?”

“Appearances.” I heard the ceramic mugs clink against each other. “He may want to look good for the social papers. Right now the barbarians are at the gates and he’s going to want to spin this to look good.”

“Even if his wife is bat-shit nuts.”

“Even if.” Jess chuckled. “I’m no lawyer but I’m willing to bet that unless the cops can prove the father had previous knowledge of the attack on Molly Callendar he’s going to end up with the child. It helps that Bernadette is confessing to everything and everyone.” She let out a sigh. “Not the best outcome but it’ll have to do.”

I rolled my head back and forth on the cushions. It was a lovely feeling after hours of sitting alone on hard wooden chairs.

Bran had disappeared into the depths of the hospital as soon as we’d arrived, a classic case of splitting us up so we couldn’t chitchat and get our stories to match. It’d taken a few hours to get stitched up and cleared medically—afterward I’d stayed silent the entire way to the police station as per Jess’s instructions.

My lawyer had been waiting for me, clutching a stack of paperwork to his chest under a plaid bow tie. The elderly man was a classic image of the country lawyer, patting my good shoulder and murmuring reassurances in my ear that it’d be okay, it’d be all fine.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him it’d never be okay. Never again.

“Bill Watts says hello and thanks for the work,” I told Jess.