Three Seconds To Rush (Piper Anderson Legacy Mystery Book 1) Page 2
Long press-on nails were in her face, demanding the cell phone back. “Any other calls?” she asked impatiently as she moved toward the door.
“No,” Tara admitted, knowing there wasn’t anyone in her life that could help her now. She’d been alone for almost two years. Completely alone. It was only she and Wylie now.
“The social worker is waiting. I’ll send her in,” the woman said between snaps of her gum.
“Good,” Tara replied firmly, a wave of hopefulness filling her. This person could find Wylie. She’d have answers. At least it was a start.
“Tara,” a soft voice asked accompanied by a little tap on the door frame. “My name is Emily Corraza. I’m a social worker for the state. May I speak with you please?”
“Yes,” Tara implored desperately. “Yes, please. I’m wondering where my son is. Do you know?”
“I do,” she replied with a tiny smile. Emily was slender, not a curve on her body could be seen through her flowery blouse and black pants. Her honey-blonde hair hung in a childish braid over her left shoulder. “He’s with a foster family right now. I actually dropped him off myself. He was cleared by the doctors and should be fine.” Pursing her lips, she had a pained look of apology on her face.
“What happened?” Tara begged. “Was he hurt?”
“He suffered some hypothermia,” she explained, crinkling her chin sadly. “He’s all right now. A very happy, healthy little guy. I want to talk about some options you have. Can we do that?” Her voice was so melodic and calm Tara nearly forgot how dire the situation was. There was a glow of empathy around Emily that lulled Tara away for a moment.
“What happened?” Tara asked, not bothering to wipe away her tears. She didn’t care how wild her hair looked. She was being judged and scolded for things she hadn’t done. Let them stare, as long as someone fixed this and fast. “I don’t understand how any of this happened.”
“I understand this can be very confusing,” Emily reassured her, raising a hand to quiet her gently. “You don’t have to discuss anything that happened last night with me. That’s not why I’m here.”
“But I don’t know what happened last night. Can you tell me anything?”
Emily sat in the chair by Tara’s bed and pursed her lips again, thinking it over. The freckles splattered across her nose and cheeks added to her cherub demeanor. “As far as I know from the police reports and witness statements, Wylie was discovered in a shopping cart in the parking lot of the grocery store. He had no coat on, and it’s not known how long he was there before he was discovered by some Good Samaritans. The police were called, and they checked your car’s registration for information. About the same time, you were discovered in a nearby alley suffering from a heroin overdose. Luckily the officer on scene was carrying Narcan. He was able to revive you. I don’t know much besides that. Wylie was brought here and checked out. Like I said, he’s been medically cleared and released.”
“I don’t do heroin,” Tara insisted, through more tears. “I didn’t leave my child in a shopping cart alone in the middle of winter with no coat on. I would never do that. You have to believe me.”
“Okay,” she said, reaching over and patting Tara’s leg. “We don’t have to deal with any of that right now. I want to talk to you about Wylie. Do you have any family who would be fit and willing to care for Wylie?”
“I can take care of Wylie,” she argued, filling suddenly with rage. “I am fit to take care of my child. I’m going to go to court tomorrow and tell them this is a mistake; they have this all wrong. Then I can have my child back.”
“That still leaves tonight,” Emily challenged in a non-threatening way. “Is there anyone in your life who we could have Wylie sent to, just while you sort this out? Your parents? His paternal grandparents? A sibling of yours?”
“My parents live on a commune in California. I haven’t spoken to them in eight years. I’m an only child.”
“Paternal grandparents?” Emily asked again.
“Yes,” Tara reluctantly admitted. “Millicent and Todd Olden. They live in Boston. I haven’t spoken with them since TJ died.”
“Is TJ Wylie’s father?”
Tara nodded, unable to conjure up more words.
“I’m very sorry to hear that. How did he die?”
“Heroin,” Tara ground out. “But that was his issue. Not mine. I have never used. I didn’t even know he was using for a long time.”
“Let’s not get off topic here. You said the Oldens live here. Do you think they’d be open to caring for Wylie while you deal with the charges against you?”
“I’m sure,” Tara nodded with a sarcastic huff. “They haven’t seen him in over a year. I was taking him for visits for a little while after TJ died, but it just didn’t work out. I’m sure they’d be happy to know they can have him while I’m stuck in here.”
“We can have them evaluated to see if their home would make a good temporary solution for Wylie. We’d like to keep him with blood relatives if at all possible.” Emily made some notes in a file and looked up for more information.
“They already foster,” Tara shared hesitantly. “I’m sure the state would find them very fit for Wylie. I’m the one who didn’t think they should have contact with him.”
“Why’s that?” Emily asked, her face filled with concern. “Was there some kind of falling out?”
“TJ never got along with them. He told me it was impossible to be a part of their lives unless you did everything their way. They treated TJ terribly when he needed them the most. They cut him out of their lives and tossed him aside because he embarrassed them and, in their eyes, tarnished their good name with his addiction. They are heavily involved in their church, and TJ’s habit didn’t fit into that. I decided anyone who would be so cold didn’t deserve to be around my son. TJ didn’t want them in Wylie’s life, and while I tried for a while to make it work, it just didn’t.
“I see,” Emily cooed earnestly, “but under the circumstances, and in my experience, it sounds as though they still might be the best temporary solution for Wylie. Even with the misunderstandings in your past, they sound like they could care for Wylie in the interim. Do you agree?”
“It’s better than complete strangers, I guess. If you’re telling me I can’t be with him, I can’t take him home tonight, then I’ll agree to him going to the Oldens’ house.”
“Good,” Emily said, as though Tara had just answered a multiple choice question correctly. The corners of her thin lips perked up and her eyes beamed. Clearly Tara was making this easier on Emily than she was used to. “I’ll start making the calls. Here’s my card,” she said, handing over a pink business card swirled with flowers. “You can call me if you have any questions. I’ll ask that you don’t reach out directly to the Oldens or attempt to see Wylie until we have more clarity on the situation.”
“What does that mean?” Tara asked, feeling like everyone knew something she didn’t. The night had been filled with language and processes she’d never known. “I’m going to go to court and this will be figured out tomorrow.”
“That’s criminal court,” Emily explained gently. “Many times charges of felony child endangerment can play out in civil or family court too. It’s not listed in the penal code, but being charged can impact your parental rights. It’s important you understand that. The state will be involved in Wylie’s well-being now, and that might be regardless of the outcome tomorrow.”
“It’s a mistake,” Tara insisted again. “This entire thing. I know the more I say it the less people seem to believe me, but I’m telling you I don’t do drugs.”
“There was a needle in your arm,” Emily said, finally sounding frustrated with her. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t ever be fit to see your child again. It’s a process. One you can help shape. You can get well. You can be the mother Wyle deserves. It takes work—”
“No,” Tara shouted, feeling completely out of options now. No one was listening. “You aren’t understanding
me. I don’t need rehab. I don’t need help. I need my son. We were fine. Just the two of us. I want that back.”
Emily jumped back but quickly righted herself, maybe reassured by the restraints still holding Tara down. “Anger is a common reaction. Also the detox process can be very overwhelming. You aren’t alone. I hear you have a lawyer. That’s a great place to start. Focus on the criminal charges and take some comfort that Wylie will be with family.”
Tara’s nostrils flared as she bit back the words she wanted to say. They’d only fall on deaf ears. She’d look like a neurotic fool if she let loose the fury inside of her. “How will I know when he’s made it to the Oldens?”
“If you give me your lawyer’s information I can communicate through their office when you don’t have access to a phone.”
“Like if I’m in prison,” Tara half laughed and cried. “This is insane.”
“It’ll work out.” Emily attempted to assure her, but it was unconvincing. “Just focus on you.”
“I’m a mother,” Tara growled. “I haven’t focused on me since the day my son was born. I haven’t put myself first. I’ve skipped meals, I’ve ignored being sick, and I’ve given up everything for Wylie. I’m a mother.”
Emily’s eyes glassed over for a beat but she blinked her stubby lashes quickly until the tears vanished. “I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 3
Reid stared at the line of trees blowing by him as his car sped down the winding road. He wasn’t suicidal. That was for other people. Sick people. He just occasionally thought about hooking his steering wheel and ramming his car into the woods. Everyone felt that way occasionally. Right?
The sports radio station changed to static the way it always did on this patch of road. Everyone always told him he should live where he worked. Why? He hated his job, and driving into the woodsy silence and leaving Boston behind was the only thing that kept him going some days. Even if it meant he had to get up an hour and a half early. Even if he had to keep his car stocked with protein bars for the nights he didn’t have the energy to talk long enough to order dinner.
He’d determined what he wanted to do for a living when he was sixteen years old. Mitch Disson’s father had come to his school for career day and had spoken so passionately about law and justice that Reid knew if he didn’t become a lawyer he’d regret it for the rest of his life. It meant giving up basketball and basically murdering his social life, but he was determined. Reid had an addictive personality, but luckily it had been only for success, education, and money so far. The side effects weren’t all that different than someone addicted to drugs. He was antisocial, losing most of his friends and family somewhere along the way. He’d been too busy, too focused to see them all moving farther away from him. He would lose weight all at once because he’d forget that food kept him alive. And when people started to ask if he was sick, he’d force himself to put the pounds back on.
He had accepted a position with Morris, Morris, Freeler, and Banks two years ago. The firm had a legacy in Boston. Three of the partners had been sharks in their day, but it wasn’t their day anymore. Morris Senior had dementia, yet his name stayed on the door and his signature on the bottom of plenty of documents. The cover-up of his medical condition was one for the record books. Morris Junior, normally going by the name Teddy, tended to spend the majority of his day chasing after women half his age and dealing with the fallout. Freeler and Banks were good enough guys, old as dirt and fairly straight-laced. But they were tired, rarely making it to court anymore. That left Reid to carry the brunt of the cases. He had some paralegals and staff at his disposal, but he’d been one of those men angrily accused of never delegating. Busy suited him. When your mind raced about a case it took up space. And that space couldn’t be used up by your own memories.
This morning, however, was nothing but memories. That was what happened when a person you haven’t seen in ten years came calling. It was like a plug in a tub yanked up and, no matter how hard you try, you get sucked back to the darkness.
Tara had been the skinniest little nobody girl when they met at the park. She was seven and he was nine. They were both latchkey kids, though for very different reasons. His mother and father worked in the city and commuted to their very important jobs. Her parents were hippies or drunks or something, and they just never seemed to be around. The park ran programs where college kids coordinated games and fun things to do for the neighborhood children. At nine, Reid thought that was pretty cool. It was different in the early nineties. There weren’t tons of video games or indoor activities. The expectation was: if it wasn’t raining you stayed outside.
Tara had been quietly playing cards with the college girl in charge that day when Reid walked up. Her tiny smile was missing half its pearly whites with two big adult teeth that seemed out of place. He had to hold back his laugh at the sight of it. But he did. Because he’d known what it was like to be laughed at.
Reid had been chubby at five but was straight-up husky by that summer. His cheeks were always round and as red as watermelon. Wearing a shirt in the pool was a must and hiding out from the other kids was a survival tactic. But he could tell the first time he set eyes on Tara, she’d never call him a name. She wouldn’t shove him or pinch his fat or laugh when he tried to jog. She was the kind of girl who’d flash a sweet gap-toothed smile and make you forget the world was shit for a second. And it worked. Their friendship worked for years. Until he’d failed her. Until he let her down in a way that haunted him in his quietest moments. And now here she was again, begging him for help, and he’d probably fail her again.
Chapter 4
The wood table was so glossy Tara caught the outline of her reflection in the thick lacquer. Her hair was wispy and wild, fighting hard against the elastic band she used to try to wrangle it. Not washing her face last night to get rid of the smeared mascara made her look even worse. But none of it mattered. All she wanted to do was run her finger across the little crevice in her son’s chin and smell the sweet scent of his bubble bath.
“Your lawyer is on his way up,” the bald-headed bailiff said as he peeked in the room then moved back into the hallway.
It had been so long since she’d seen Reid. She wondered if his curly brown hair would still be shaggy. He’d transformed so much in the seven years they’d known each other; she tried to imagine how the ten years since they’d seen each other had changed him.
There was a summer, a couple years after they met, where his doughy body had climbed upward, sucking in the fat and turning it to height and muscle. His skin cleared and his smile straightened from braces. Over that summer Reid morphed into something completely different. She was sure after all this time she’d hardly recognize him.
But she was wrong. His amber eyes were the first thing she homed in on when he entered the room. His short haircut and well-tailored suit made him look like a stranger, but his eyes, the dark lashes rimming them, and the tiny scar that cut through his eyebrow, were all the same.
“Reid,” she said in a gasp of relief. “Thank you so much for coming.” She stood to hug him but jolted back as the chains around her wrist held her firmly to the table.
“Are these really necessary?” Reid asked so accusingly that it sent the bailiff snapping into action, yanking at the keys on his belt.
“You’re right,” he agreed, fumbling with the lock for a minute. “I think if she tries anything we can take her,” he joked, but neither of them laughed. He backed out of the room in awkward silence and closed the door.
“Thanks for that,” she murmured as she rubbed at her wrists. “I know I’m a mess. I’ve been up all night.”
“I’ve had a chance to review the charge.” Reid launched right into business and the coolness in his voice made her aching heart squeeze even tighter. “Judge Mastlison has been assigned to your arraignment today. That’s not terrible. She’s very pro rehabilitation rather than incarceration for drugs, however she’s less lenient when children are at risk.”
“I’ve read the report,” Reid challenged, an exhausted look in his eye. “They have sufficient evidence to bring this to trial. You don’t want that.”
“I know I don’t. All I want is my son.”
“He’s been placed with your in-laws. I received word this morning. They seem receptive to caring for him. You will be luckier than most if you keep him out of the system. I’m going to reach out to the prosecutor this morning, but my gut tells me they’ll pitch a plea. You plead guilty and in return you’ll be remanded to some mandatory drug treatment. Because of the severity of the felony charges, I’d expect at least ninety days. I’d imagine they’d offer one to two years of probation. You’re lucky this is your first documented offense.”
“It’s not my first documented offense, it’s not my offense at all. I’m telling you I have no idea what happened. I don’t do drugs. This is a mistake. You know me.”
“I don’t,” he countered, a bite in his voice, as he banged one hand down on the table, not hard but enough to draw her eyes to his arm. His shiny gold watch gleamed under the halogen lights in the small conference room. Tara knew instantly the divide between them could be summed up by the differences in what they wore on their wrists. Normally, before the hospital had cut it off of her, there was a tiny beaded bracelet she and Wylie had made together. Nothing close to the gold he wore.
Reid drew in a long breath and rubbed quickly at his temple. “I knew you when we were kids. That doesn’t mean I know what you do today, just like you don’t know what I do today. However, after reading the charges against you, if you don’t take this plea you will go to trial, and odds are you will go to jail for anywhere between two and ten years. If you’re seeking my legal opinion, I’m giving you advice.”