ad litem program. The hours of training it took for one qualified ad litem to emerge. The need for legal advocates sitting alongside children in court to help clear up the confusion that stole childhoods.
And about the few of them, the paid lawyer ad litems who, in addition to looking out for the child’s best interests and supporting the child, also offered legal advocacy.
She opened her mouth and said, “I…had a…rough childhood.” And in spite of the heat in her cheeks, the discomfort attacking her from the inside out, she couldn’t seem to stop. “Other than my parents’ divorce, things looked fine on the surface. Middle-class, well-dressed mom with a college education and respectable job. No one could see the things that went on underneath the surface, behind the closed doors of our home. And trying to get anyone to listen, when things looked so picture perfect, proved impossible.”
His frown deepened. “She hit you?” He sounded as though he’d like to hit her mother back, and Audrey almost smiled. Too many years had passed, the wounds had healed, and still it felt good to have someone come to her rescue.
She was falling for this man.
“No,” she said. “She suffers from depression, though she refused counseling and has never been treated. Sometimes she’s fine, but when the darkness descends, watch out. She’ll turn on me without warning. Her way of loving is to control. If you do something to displease her, she’ll take away her love. And anything else she’s providing that she knows you want.”
“Such as?”
“When I turned sixteen, she gave me a car. I needed it to get to the university where I was attending class as part of a special high-school-student program. From that point on, she used that car to control me. From the classes I took, the people I chose as friends, the jobs I applied for, the clothes I wore, the church I attended, even the boys I dated. If I didn’t do as she suggested, she’d take away my car. Or my college-tuition money. Or the roof over my head. She’d tell me what to think, how to act, who to love. She used to write these horrible letters, telling me how stupid I was, how I never came to the table, as she called it, or that I came late. Anytime anything went wrong, it was because I’d screwed up again.”
“Where was your dad through all of this?”
“I’m not sure. They divorced before I was a year old. Mom told him he wasn’t my real father, but there’s never been anyone else in her life that I’m aware of.”
“You didn’t get tested, to find out if the man was your father?”
Audrey kept thinking that she’d stop the conversation. Right after the next sentence.
But something about Detective Ryan Mercedes compelled her to talk to him. She’d never met anyone like him. Such a mixture of idealism and rigid determination. He was a man you could count on to protect the tribe. But one with a heart, as well.
“He wasn’t interested in proving anything,” she said.
“Did you ever see him?”
“Nope. I don’t even know what he looks like. I wrote to him once, when I was in high school, but the letter came back with a big ‘return to sender’ on the front. My mother said it was his handwriting.”
“And she never told you who your father really was?”
It did sound rather fantastic, now that she heard her story aloud. Audrey was so used to that part of her circumstances, it seemed normal to her. And in her line of work, representing children whose rights were in jeopardy, she regularly saw familial situations that were much more dysfunctional than hers had ever been.
“I’ve always assumed that the man listed on my birth certificate, the man she was married to, was my father. My mother has a way of changing the truth to suit her in the moment. She uses words to lash out and hurt when she’s hurting, but I don’t think she’d have been unfaithful to her marriage vows.”
“He must have known that.”
“Probably. But she uses people’s vulnerabilities against them until she breaks them down to the point where they’ll agree with her just to get some peace. I’m guessing she hit him where it counts one too many times.”
Audrey sat forward. She’d said too much. Far too much.
“Nice guy, to leave his kid all alone with that woman.”
“He paid child support, every single month, until I turned eighteen.”
“Like money was going to make you happy? Protect you?”
Life was black and white to Ryan. There was right and wrong. Good and bad. You chose the right. Righted the wrongs. Served good and obliterated the bad.
A characteristic that had drawn her to him from the beginning. The world needed more of his kind of passion.
She just didn’t want to need it. Not on a personal level.
“Maybe he thought, since I was a girl, her daughter, that there’d be some kind of motherly instinct that would come out in her, protect me from the emotional abuse he must have suffered.”
“Or maybe he sucked as a father.”
Ryan’s words made her smile.
“YOU NEVER DID answer my question.” Ryan wished he’d brought the wine bottle in with him. Wished he could pour another glass for both of them. Keep her on his couch with him.
At least for a time.
Long enough to get to know her well enough to get her out of his system. To dispel the strange and uncomfortable hold she had on him.
Ryan was used to being his own man. He’d been hearing the beat of his own drummer for most of his life. And walked to it alone.
He liked it that way.
He had things to do with his life—lives to save and evils to conquer—and he couldn’t do that if he gave his heart away.
Or at least that was the story he’d been telling himself. If there was another reason, some deep-seated something that prevented him from living the normal life of wife and kids and family, he didn’t want to know about it.
“What question?” Her big brown eyes were mysterious, pulling him into their shadowed depths, as she flung a lock of her long blond hair over her shoulder. She sat on the edge of the couch, as though poised for flight. He wished she’d relax again.
“Why you do what you do.”
“Oh, I thought I had. That’s easy. I spent my childhood feeling powerless,” she said as though that explained it all.
And in a sense, it did. She’d been stripped of something vital as a child. And every day, when she went to work, when her work preserved the dignity and sense of self of even one child, when she protected the innocence of childhood, she took back the personal power she’d lost.
Ryan understood that. Righting wrongs was what made his past, his history, his genealogy conscionable, too.
CHAPTER TWO
