Tara Taylor Quinn - His First Choice

As she drove through the streets of Santa Raquel on Tuesday, mingling with rush-hour traffic, Lacey followed the instructions from her GPS.

She hadn’t known, until the summer before her sophomore year in college, when she’d had to declare a major, that she was even going into social work. She’d always had a way with children. And her aptitude test had scored measurably higher for a career that involved working primarily with children. Science and math weren’t her thing, so that had ruled out anything in medicine.

“In zero point two miles you will be arriving at your destination. On the right.” The slightly accented female voice came through her sound system.

When she’d been little, Lacey had assumed she’d just grow up and be a mom someday. That thought had never really changed. It, like so much in her life, had just slowly drifted apart from her. There’d been nothing that stood out as a conscious realization of what her life would be. She’d just become what she was.

A woman married to her career.

One who was fulfilled, satisfied. One who contributed to society in a positive way.

And who was financially secure, too.

Really, if one had a choice, who wouldn’t want to be her?

Pulling up in front of the little cottage that would have looked more in place on the beach than on the nondescript street in an older neighborhood on the outskirts of town, Lacey picked up her tablet, turned it on and opened the file she’d created the day before. And then opened the document that was, as of yet, mostly blank.

The next half hour would be critical. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes as she met the woman who quite possibly was abusing Levi Bridges.

* * *

“SOMEONE’S HERE, JEM, I gotta go.”

Heart trying to thump blood through a gut of rock, Jem stood at his kitchen window, looking out over the backyard, listening to the fountain through the window he’d opened when he’d come in to prepare the vegetables he’d be grilling with chicken for dinner that night.

“At least I think they’re here. Someone just pulled up in front of my house. Hold on, let me look. I don’t recognize the car, but...”

Tressa’s voice sounded expectant. Which was better than mistrustful. This was good, considering the drama-ridden world in which his ex-wife lived. And he, thankfully, did not.

Chewing on his lower lip, he waited, deliberating over his options. He’d called to see if she’d tell him anything. Give him any clue as to whether or not she was behind the call to social services. To the fact that his world had once again been turned completely upside down.

It had been why he’d left her. Or rather, taken her up on one of her oft-repeated “offers” to leave him. He couldn’t have his son growing up with the drama-based tension that Tressa brought into every room she occupied.

If she stayed there long enough, that was.

“Who is it?” he asked now, trepidation knotting his insides to the point of decimating his appetite. A feeling he’d grown used to during his years with the woman who’d captivated him and then slowly instilled pity within him. Heart-wrenching pity. For her.

She’d given no indication, in the five minutes they’d been talking, that she’d had a visit from social services. Or any indication that anything was wrong, either.

Other than her job, but that was another story...

“I don’t know. No one’s getting out. But I can see her there. It’s a woman. Her hair’s in a twist.”

Lacey. But if she’d been there to report back to Tressa, as in, his ex-wife being the one who’d called to report him, Tressa would surely have recognized her and made a quick excuse to ditch him. Unless she had concerns...

“She’s blonde. Looks about our age...” There was curiosity in Tressa’s tone now. But the tone was still soft. Still the calm and therefore quite likable side of the woman he’d married. “She’s wearing some kind of jacket, sky blue. Who wears sky blue jackets anymore?”

So Tressa.

And also, so Lacey. He knew exactly what the outdated jacket looked like. She’d had it on that morning when she’d escorted his son down the hall and away from him. To play with cars, according to Levi.

Jem reached for a beer. If Tressa had not called social services, this was not going to be good.

Lacey hadn’t said a word about visiting Levi’s mother that evening when she’d called just as he was basting the chicken that was already on the grill.

She’d called to check on Levi, she’d said.

Like a storm chaser, he could predict what was coming. He also knew that he wasn’t going to say anything to Tressa about it—a decision made right that second. After all the years he’d spent defending his wife’s actions, her words when she went off inappropriately, so many years of smoothing feathers she hadn’t meant to ruffle, he didn’t want anyone associating him with her anymore.

Not in a partner sense.

And most particularly not when a decision maker from social services was involved.

“She’s getting out now,” Tressa was saying. “Probably just selling something. I hope it’s not clothes.” His ex-wife chuckled, still at ease.

Jem gripped the back of his neck.

“If it’s jewelry, I’ll buy some. Poor thing, having to go door-to-door to make a living. I can always give it for Christmas presents. Nice car she’s driving. I wonder if she just lost her job. Or maybe her ex dumped her for someone a little more fashion conscious...”

Sounding truly compassionate now, Tressa’s voice was fading.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Jem said, reminding her that he was still there.

“Yeah, fine, Jem. Call me.”

She’d disconnected before he heard the doorbell ring. Call me. That was Tressa. I only want people in my life who prove they want to be there.

It was always about meeting her expectations. As long as you could do that...

Jem looked down at the bundle resting on the counter beside him. He’d been about to carry it out to the grill, but had decided to check in with Tressa first—right after Lacey had called him, butting into his evening, bothering him all over again...

He picked up the bundle—broccoli and corn with a little bit of butter, wrapped in foil. Weird way to prepare them, maybe, but Levi liked them that way.

And only broccoli and corn. Not carrots. Not beets. And certainly not the Brussels sprouts Jem tried on him one time.

He’d eat raw cucumbers, too. But only if they were peeled...

Not once, in the entire five minutes they’d been on the phone, had Tressa asked him how Levi was doing with his cast. She’d asked about his day in school, asked if he’d missed her. But not a word about the broken arm their son was carrying around, learning how to adjust to. Not a word about the T-ball he’d missed.

In that aspect, she was a bit like their son—able to let go of regrets. Except Levi’s disruptions were truly gone once he let them go. Tressa just swept hers under the rug.

Lacey Hamilton didn’t seem like the type of woman you swept away.

* * *

HAVING TAKEN A moment to prepare herself, to erase her morning with Levi and focus only on the woman she was about to meet, Lacey felt ready as she climbed the step up to the small, neat porch.

She liked the wicker bench and table, the red geraniums blooming in a pot in the corner. Geraniums took care to maintain, she knew.

The only way to help Levi was to open her mind up to whatever facts might present themselves. No matter how hard or bad they could turn out to be.

The flowers were a nice touch. And based on the pale pink discoloration of the white picket rail behind them, the blooms had been there awhile.

She knocked, expecting to wait a minute while the resident checked her out through the peephole. Or the nearby window, she revised, as she saw the curtain move.