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  “Impossible,” I blurt out, unable to comprehend what he is telling me. Jeannie? I feel an arm slide around my waist and I know Viv is close. “She’s in Springfield with friends.” At least that’s what she’d told me last time we spoke.

  “I’m not sure what the story is, sir,” Detective Barnes says gently. “We’re holding her and her companion at the police station on Middle Street. We’d appreciate it if you could come with us and help clear this up.”

  This is going to tear my kids apart.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dino

  “I’d like to stop at my house first,” I tell Detective Barnes when he climbs in behind the wheel of his car.

  The other detective graciously offered me shotgun, since I guess it was obvious I wasn’t going to fit in the backseat of the cruiser that easily.

  “I’d rather we get this sorted first,” he says, not unkindly. “As soon as we clarify who she is, and what she was doing at your house, we’ll head over to the house. I have officers still at the scene.”

  “My kids, they get off the bus at three forty-five,” I point out.

  Barnes turns to me briefly before focusing back on the road. “We’ll get you out of there as soon as possible. You may want to catch them before they get home. The woman appears to have done some damage.”

  Fucking great.

  The rest of the drive to the police station is quiet but my head is chaos. They say imagining is worse than knowing, and right now I believe it.

  I follow the two detectives into the building and down a hall, where they show me into a small room with a large window. I barely recognize the woman on the other side, sitting on a chair against the wall with her head leaning back, appearing to be asleep. Fuck, Jeannie.

  “Is that your wife?”

  I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. Unbelievable how six months can change a person. At least visibly, because she had changed a long, long time ago—I’d just been too blind to see it.

  “It is. We’ve been separated for six months and divorce papers have been filed.” I try to keep my voice even.

  “I see,” Barnes says. “Who filed for divorce?”

  “I did. When I discovered she’d been doing drugs in our house, taking money that wasn’t hers to take, and pulling the kids down with her.”

  “I see,” he says again. “Was this drug problem new?”

  I shake my head, turning my back on the window. I’ve seen enough. “No,” I answer. “Jeannie had a hard time after Jonas, our son, was born. Postpartum depression? She was put on meds. It wasn’t any easier when our daughter was born three years later. She always needed something to help her cope. I’m not sure when it went from prescription to recreational street drugs—when it started going off the rails.”

  A hand claps on my shoulder as Barnes leads me out of the small room. He stops me in the hallway. “Would you mind if we put you in the same room with her, so we can ask her a few questions and see how she answers with you there?”

  Yes, I fucking mind, but I’m going to do it anyway because the only way out of this hell is go through it. I give him a curt nod and he opens the door to the adjoining room.

  Jeannie’s head comes away from the wall and her eyes grow large when she claps them on me. “Francis...” She sounds pathetic, pleading. I tear my eyes from the ravages drugs left behind on the once fresh, pretty face of my wife. She looks like she’s aged twenty years in a few months. I didn’t expect it to hurt but it does.

  Just half an hour later, I walk out of the police station and take a deep breath in. The air inside had been cloying and thick with the full evidence of Jeannie’s addiction. She’d started off saying she needed her family, that she missed us—but when Barnes confronted her with some of the things her companion had admitted to already, the conciliatory Jeannie disappeared. The guy was her drug dealer turned boyfriend, she admitted. Apparently had been for a while. That bit of news didn’t sting half as much as it probably should.

  Jeannie had never left for Springfield, but had hung around Portland. I’d been pissed with her for not contacting the kids, but now? I’m glad she didn’t. I will do whatever the fuck I need to do to keep the kids from seeing this mess of a woman. A mother who admittedly breaks into her kids’ house to steal their stuff to sell for drugs? Sickening.

  Barnes walks up behind me and grasps me on the shoulder. “Sorry for the hold up,” he apologizes. “My partner just informed me that the boyfriend just admitted this apparently was not their first burglary.”

  “Their?” I pick up on that distinction immediately.

  “Would appear so. We need to get to the bottom of it, but we’ve got a stack of unsolved burglaries that we’ll be looking at them for. Ironically, your wife—”

  “Ex,” I bite off.

  “Your ex-wife,” he corrects. “She thought hitting up your place would be risk free. That if anything happened, she could talk her way out of it.”

  “Yeah, I gathered that.” I try to stay calm but want to put my fist through the brick wall. “That woman may be the mother of my children, but I don’t know her. I have a feeling maybe I never did.”

  “Addiction—any kind of addiction—can change a person into someone unrecognizable.”

  Barnes drops me off at The Skipper so I can pick up my wheels. I should probably pop inside let Viv know I might not be back today. Gunnar, the owner and my good friend, is sitting at the kitchen table with Viv, playing with her little one, when I walk in.

  “Trouble?”

  I snort at the understatement. “You could say that. I just left my ex-wife and her boyfriend at the police station, strung out on drugs, and from the sounds of it, facing charges for a string of burglaries.”

  “A string?” Gunnar says.

  “A boyfriend?” Viv exclaims at the same time.

  I rub my hands over my face. Their response is nothing compared to the reaction I anticipate from the kids. I briefly consider lying to them, but decide against it. The chance this news will get to them some other way is too great, and I want to be there to deal with the fall out. Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.

  “I’ll fill you in later, but I haven’t been to the house yet, and I’ve got to intercept the kids in a bit. Let them know what’s up.” I turn to Viv. “Sorry to leave you hanging like this, girl, but—”

  “Get out of here,” Viv says, waving me away dismissively. “I’ve got it covered.”

  “Need company?” Gunnar asks, already out of his chair.

  My first instinct is to tell him I’ve got this, but maybe it’s time to practice what I’ve preached to my friends for years: take a hand when it’s offered. The truth is, I feel totally fucking overwhelmed, and it would make me feel better to have someone with a clear head on his shoulders back me up.

  “Please,” I say quietly, the unfamiliar word strange on my lips.

  Barnes is already waiting in my front yard when we arrive. We have to park in the street because there are three police vehicles in my driveway. That’ll do wonders for my reputation in the neighborhood.

  Gunnar doesn’t wait for me; he walks straight up to Barnes and introduces himself.

  “Mr. Brachio,” Barnes says as I walk up. “Just a reminder, there was some damage done. My guys are about done, but until then, I’d like to ask you to leave everything as is.” I nod in response.

  When we get in, the living room looks almost untouched, except the big screen TV that is missing. Quick cash.

  “They had loaded that in the back of the van already, we’ll get it back to you,” Barnes says, catching me looking.

  In the kitchen, the only things out of place are the tins we keep on top of the fridge for small odds and ends, as well as emergency household cash. They’re on the counter with the contents spread out. Figures that would’ve been the first place she went to look for money. There hadn’t been much, if anything, in there. The kids know I’ll put twenty bucks a week in there for minor household needs or a pizza.

 
The upstairs is a different story. My bedroom is a mess, but the worst is not the contents of the dresser drawers, which were tossed all over the room. Nor was it the walk-in closet, where Jeannie had previously found the cash I’d been saving for a second hand car for Jonas, and spent it on drugs. The bed, though, that was a shocker. It was literally ripped to shreds. Pillows, covers, even the mattress had huge rips in it. It’s clear she’d released her frustration at not finding another stash in what used to be my hiding place, on what once was our marital bed.

  It’s funny, standing here looking at the wreckage she left behind; I can almost feel that door slamming shut. Done. Over. Any guilt I may have felt at the demise of our marriage disappears as I take in the symbolism of the demolished bed.

  “Your daughter’s room seems mostly intact, aside from some minor mess, but I think you should have a look at your son’s room,” Barnes says behind me.

  I follow him down the hall to where the kids have their bedrooms, separated by the second bathroom. If possible, Jonas’ room is even worse than mine. This room is tossed. The mattress is off the bed and every last one of the drawers have been pulled out and emptied. The contents of his closet have been emptied on the floor and his desk chair was shoved in there. Even the posters he had on the wall were torn off, and I’m surprised to see what looks to be a hole in the wall over his bed.

  “Mr. Brachio—is your son involved with drugs?”

  The question hits me on my ass. I’d recently suspected, but she’d fucking known. His own mother had known even as far back as six months ago. Not only that, she’d known where he hid it. The realization hits me right in the gut. I have to bend over, my hands on my knees, to catch my breath.

  I’ve been so blind.

  Pam

  Three days after my world has been crushed once again and I’m still breathing.

  I’m struggling to focus on Sarah, a single mom of two, who came to Florence House two years ago to escape an abusive boyfriend. She’d managed to get back on her feet, but the ex was still trying to connect with her after years. It’s one of the reasons she still comes to me weekly; to help keep her on track.

  “How did he get your number?” I ask her, already knowing the answer because Sarah had never been able to completely let him go. She drops her eyes to the floor and fidgets with the scarf she never took off her neck. “Sarah?”

  Slowly her eyes come back up, filled with guilt. Dammit. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and my heart sinks.

  “Don’t apologize to me, girl. You don’t owe me anything. I’m just worried about you. What happened?”

  “It’s just that Benji is going through a rough time. He’s getting into fights at school, and the other day I caught him beating on his brother. I was at a loss and called him. I never had problems with the boys when we were with him. I thought maybe he could help.”

  I have to take a deep breath before I blurt out that the reason her oldest is having behavioral issues is because of her ex. The boys watched their mother getting beaten, occasionally getting in the way, and her ex didn’t make any bones about slapping the kids around when he felt it was warranted either. No wonder the kids had been quiet and careful around him. They never knew what could set him off.

  Christ, I’m getting tired of history repeating itself. Especially now. I know only too well what can happen with children who grow up in a situation like that. Violence can perpetuate violence.

  “Tell me what’s happening with Benji?” I ask instead. The truth is, I’ve given her the name of a great child psychologist, but she hasn’t followed up.

  The remaining half-hour of her session, I have to bite my tongue as Sarah does everything to minimize and justify Benji’s tendency to use his twelve-year old fists on anyone who gets in his way. It doesn’t matter how many helping hands I reach out, how much I try to get her to see she has become part of the problem by denying what’s happening under her nose. I want to shake her, but this woman is so beaten down by life, I’ve tried everything to build her up, and yet we’re still in the same spot we were two years ago.

  Another boy who will undoubtedly end up in a place his mother doesn’t want him to be; unless he gets some serious help. But other than enforcing on Sarah the importance of getting him help now, before it’s too late, there isn’t a damn thing I can do.

  By the time she leaves, making me all the promises I’ve heard before, I’m wiped. Emotionally drained. I’ve done this for almost fifteen years and I’m running on empty. Some of these women pull through on the other side, but some, like Sarah, will slip again and again. It’s not like me to believe a man is the solution to anything, but in Sarah’s case, I pray that she meets one, a good one, who will use his strength to protect and love her instead of beat on her.

  It’s five thirty by the time I walk into the kitchen to see what to scrounge up for dinner, when the damn phone rings.

  “Florence House.”

  “Pam?” The familiar soft voice has my heart suddenly pounding at Mach speed.

  “Maria, honey?”

  “I need help,” she whispers and I have to strain to hear. “Anchor Motel.”

  Two minutes after the call is abruptly ended, I’m in my car heading to South Portland where Google Maps popped up an address for the motel. I reacted without thinking, but now I’m second-guessing the wisdom of heading out alone. I don’t know what I’m walking into, I don’t really want to alert the police, yet, but some back up may not be a bad idea. There’s one person who comes to mind.

  Mark Veldman is an ex-cop, who I met through a former resident of the shelter. He’d been involved in a sex trafficking investigation at the time. Nowadays he works with his brother in the family business, which happens to be located on the south side. My fingers have already located his number.

  “Vintage Veldman.”

  “Mark? It’s Pam. Listen, I need your help.” In a few words I manage to outline my predicament, and he promises to meet me at the motel, insisting I wait in the parking lot should I get there first.

  I beat him there, but don’t have to wait long before he pulls into the empty spot beside me. I stay in the car and wait for him to come to me. A five foot ten black woman is not easy to miss here in Portland. New York was different, I would disappear in the crowds, but here I still tend to draw a little attention. My generally colorful wardrobe doesn’t help either.

  Mark leans down when I open my window. “Let me check with the front desk. See what they can tell me.”

  “Thanks,” I say to his already retreating back.

  I have my back to the building but keep an eye out in my rearview mirror. The door of the last unit, furthest from the office, opens and I watch as two vaguely familiar kids exit. One of them, for sure, I’ve seen hanging around the neighborhood with his Seals buddies. Before I can stop myself, I’m out of the car and walking toward the unit. The two kids, who’ve lit up smokes, lazily watch me coming. Punks. If they think they’re impressing me, they’ve got another thing coming. I’ve seen and experienced things that would make them crap the baggy jeans, hanging almost to their knees. Idiots.

  “What you want, momma?” The kid on the right, the one who hangs around my neighborhood pushes away from the wall, stepping in my path.

  “Not yo momma, little man. If I were, I’d slap you upside the head so hard for smoking, they’d hear it ringing in Boston. Now move your bony butt aside.” One thing I’ve learned from my life before I came here; you never cower. Doesn’t matter if your heart is trying to squeeze out your throat, you never, ever show fear.

  The kid tries to stare me down and makes a move as if to pull something from the small of his back, but I show no reaction. Doesn’t mean I don’t have one, it just means I’m guessing that’s what he’s looking for—a reaction. Well, he won’t get it from me. I’ve played this game a little longer than he has.

  After an uncomfortably long pause, he finally steps aside and leans back against the wall. Without a word, I walk up to the door and
turn the handle, only to have it pull clear from my hand when someone yanks the door open from the inside. I’m shoved to the side as another youngster darts from the room running. I don’t pay much attention, I’m too focused on the scene inside the room. Maria is sitting huddled in a corner on the floor beside the bed, with Christian standing over her. It takes less than a second to take in the situation. A collection of beer cans and bottles littered around the room, drug paraphernalia on the nightstand, along with an opened box of condoms. Well thank God for small blessings. But when I look back at Maria and see the state of her clothes—ripped and torn off her body—my relief is short-lived.

  Christian has his arm pulled back, ready to hit her.

  “You don’t wanna do that, boy. Not with me as a witness,” I caution him.

  I almost expect the gun he pulls on me when he swings around at the sound of my voice. At the wrong end of a barrel is a place I’ve unfortunately been before as well, but it still doesn’t stop me from swallowing hard. Christian’s focus drifts over my shoulder and I sense, rather than see, Mark’s presence behind me. Before either Mark or I can react, Christian disappears into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “He’s going for the window. Take care of her,” he says behind me, before I can hear the thud of his footsteps running out the door.

  “Oh, sweetie,” I croon softly. I sit down on the floor beside Maria, pull the questionable sheet off the bed and cover her up, keeping my arms around her shaking body.

  In the distance, I hear the sound of approaching sirens. I lean my head back against the wall as I rock the young girl in my arms, wondering how to tell a loving father that I saw the tear-streaked face of his kid as he ran from a gangbang in progress.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dino

  “I’m not going.”

  I lean my head against the doorpost of Jonas’ room.

  After days of Gina’s silent tears and Jonas’ complete withdrawal, I’m starting to wonder whether I shouldn’t have just lied to them.