Mother May I(91)

“That’s Trey’s hand.” Bree’s voice had almost no inflection. She was all the way across the room, but she knew which picture he’d lifted. “I know my husband’s back, his fingers. That’s him.”

Marshall kept his face as neutral as possible.

On the phone she’d asked how she could stay married. Looking at the picture, he understood the question. But he was a cop, a realist who worked for lawyers now. He couldn’t help but see what would unfold if she did leave Trey. He knew how these things played out.

Trey was a Cabbat. The family had so much money, so many connections, and they had never fully warmed to Bree. God, they loved her children, though, and that kind of family was used to getting its way. If Trey was hurt enough, angry enough, they would take everything from her. They would take her kids.

Of course, she had these pictures. Good blackmail material, if she could bring herself to fight that dirty. He should keep the extra copies someplace safe, use them for her if he had to. Make Trey back down. Except as soon as he came up with that plan, he saw the flaw. The pictures had small, soft teeth. First, they didn’t show his face, so even if she was willing to release them, Trey could lie. Or worse, he could admit everything. Including Bree’s part in Spencer’s murder.

“Well?” she asked. “What do I do?”

He kept his expression neutral, but she knew him so well that his lack of reaction was telling. Her face crumpled back into tears, and her hands moved over Robert, restless.

“Maybe it started like he said. Maybe it was her idea. I can’t tell what she’s feeling in the other shots. But that one, when she sees the camera, it’s so clear. She wanted it to stop. They didn’t stop. Or maybe she didn’t want any of it, ever. I don’t know. I only know what I see.” Her voice was a raw, ugly whisper. He had yet to speak, but she stepped toward him as if he’d argued with her. “He’s not a predator. He never did anything like this again in his whole life. I’d swear to it. I think on some level he must be so ashamed. He must be sorry. Because he distanced himself from Spence and got back with Maura. He lied to me, or he kept silent, but maybe anybody would. He did an awful thing. Years ago. But he is not an awful man.”

“He’s not an awful man,” Marshall echoed, relieved to have something he could say, a way to agree with her.

She nodded, vehement. “He’s a good man. A good father. So good to me.” Her eyes on his were pleading. “He did an awful thing.”

“Yeah. He did,” Marshall said. “So what’s the fix? You love him. You have three kids together. You’re not going to head right to a divorce lawyer’s office. What do you want to happen next? How does this get mended?” He sounded pragmatic and cool. Inside he was shaking. He hated Trey for putting her in this position. He felt as if he was playing devil’s advocate. Literally. “You can’t blame him for what Coral did. Hell, if he and Adam Wilkerson were mass murderers, it doesn’t justify her stealing children. You can only blame him for this one moment, right here.” He turned the picture toward her, and she flinched. “He did this. It happened, but so did the next thirty years. So did all the years of your marriage. All the good he’s done in his community and for you, his kids. So what now?”

Her face had cleared as he spoke. “When you put it that way, it gets so simple.”

That shocked him. “It does?”

“Yes!” she said. “He has to make it right. He has to make it right with Lexie. He should have done it way back then, when she was leaving for the bus. God, he gave her whatever little bit of cash he had in his wallet.” She shook her head, this thought profoundly distasteful to her. “That must have made her feel worse, and yet she was desperate enough to take it. That speaks volumes. We have to find her. She’s out there. There’s still time to make it right. He has to do now what he should have done then. Apologize. Make reparations. Help her with rehab, her mother’s funeral, whatever she needs. He derailed her life, Marshall. He owes her. So we find her now, and he does everything he can to make it right.”

Her eyes were shining. She’d seen a way through that she could live with.

Marshall had his doubts. “You think he’ll do that?”

In his experience wealthy, powerful men, even the nicest ones, were bad at admissions and apologies. Hell, rich men were bad at shame in general. Not to mention Trey’d had a chance already to tell Bree this story. His son’s life had been at stake, and Trey had lied to her.

Her tears had stopped entirely, though. She was pacing, talking faster now, her hands smoothing over the baby as he stretched and cooed.

“Yes. He will. I know him. He’s a good man. We find Lexie. Maybe she won’t be open to his amends, but we do have to try. He should give money to help fix the larger problem, too. I mean, this still happens. We can donate to campus awareness at UVA, rape hotlines, women’s centers. But we start with an apology.”

“Privately,” Marshall said. Because that, maybe, Trey would do. A public admission? No. But he clearly still carried guilt over this, and if he did apologize to Lexie, make reparations? Bree was sweet, and she was forgiving, and she adored him. Maybe it could work?

“I hope privately. I don’t want the girls to ever, ever know about this, if it can be helped,” she said. “That’s up to Lexie, though. I think? In my head I’ve been thinking of her as this terrifying thing. We’ve got ex-marines all over the place. I’ve been so scared. But that picture. She’s so small, and scared, and hurting.”