“Spencer has broken ribs. I’ve seen the bruises. Can you explain that?”
Molly’s brows drew down. She shook her head at him, scowling blackly. “She never did anything to hurt him. How could she? He’s bigger than she is.”
“That doesn’t mean she couldn’t hit him. I’ve known little tiny women who beat the hell out of their big, strong husbands. Size has nothing to do with it. Women can be just as violent and abusive as men.”
“Not Isabella. That’s ridiculous.”
“How did Spencer get the bruises? He works from home. From what I’ve seen, he rarely goes out. Who is beating up on him? Who caused those bruises?”
“I don’t know,” Molly said flatly. “I’ve never seen any sign of either of them hurting the other. Isabella has never said anything to even hint at abuse. You’ve got it wrong, Zachary. I don’t know where you’re getting this, but you’ve got it all wrong.”
“Have you ever seen Spencer with injuries? Bruises or cuts on his face? Unexplained injuries?”
“No!” Zachary could see it wasn’t the truth. She had seen it. He could tell by the shock in her eyes. Maybe she hadn’t registered the thought that her daughter was abusive, but she had seen unexplained injuries.
Zachary let the silence build for a couple of minutes. He didn’t ask anything further, but let Molly think about it. Watched her grow uncomfortable with the silence and try to justify it to herself.
“You’ve never seen him with unexplained injuries?” Zachary prompted.
“Everybody has accidents. Spencer is no exception.”
“What kind of accidents did he have?”
“I don’t know. He never really tried to explain. He just brushed them off and said it was nothing. Or sometimes he said it was Declan. They’d been play-wrestling, and Declan had kicked him in the eye. Or Declan had been playing a game with him where Spencer was blindfolded, and he walked into something. I don’t know. Things happen. People get hurt. I often get bruises and don’t know where I got them. On my legs and knees. Sometimes my arms. It’s just part of life. It doesn’t mean I’m being abused. I don’t believe Spencer was either.”
Zachary traced figure-eights on the arm of the chair with one finger. “Maybe you really don’t know what was going on,” he said. “Maybe they both had you fooled, and you didn’t realize. You know that things were difficult between them.”
“Yes, but they had worked things out. They had set up boundaries and rules. Ways that they could get along with each other. Live with each other without driving each other totally crazy.”
“Like Spencer not going into Isabella’s art studio.”
“Right.”
“What would happen if he did go in?”
She stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. The studio was off-limits for him. What would happen if he ignored that rule and walked in? Or moved something? Or took something, because he couldn’t stand the mess?”
“He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t go into her studio.”
“Because of the way she would react if he did?”
“Because they had agreed on rules and boundaries,” Molly growled. “And he wouldn’t want to go in her studio.”
Zachary thought back to the chaos and disorder that ruled in Isabella’s studio. He pictured Spencer standing in the doorway, as he had a couple of times. He didn’t hover in the door, wishing that he could enter. He didn’t look longingly at the disorderly shelves and tables, wanting to straighten them. Rather, he had hung back as if he couldn’t stand to enter.
“What about Spencer’s office? Was Isabella allowed to go in there?”
“It was his space,” Molly growled. “Is his space. I don’t know if she is allowed or not, but it’s his space, and she respects that boundary. You can’t think that she would want to go in there and interfere with his things.”
“No, I don’t think that. But would she go in there? To talk to him? To leave the mail on his desk? To pick up a toy that Declan had left in there? What are the rules?”
“You’ll have to ask them.”
“And what were the rules for taking care of Declan? They each had separate responsibilities?”
“Yes. Of course.” Molly nodded vigorously. “They were very good about sharing responsibilities. Spencer took Declan in the mornings. He made sure that he had breakfast and lunch and played games with him. Did chores or went on walks. Then in the afternoon, it was Isabella’s turn. She’d take over so Spencer could work in peace.”
“What did she do with Declan?”
“What do you mean? Looked after him.”
“You listed off things that Spencer would do with him. Make him breakfast. Play games with him. Take him out for a walk. What things would Isabella do with him?”
“Well… put him down for his nap. It’s very important for young children to get enough sleep, or they get grumpy. Being chronically short on sleep makes a person sick, overweight, more prone to catching everything that goes around.”
“Uh-huh. And?”
“And what?”
“What else would she do with him? Put him down for a nap. What else?”
“I don’t know. A hundred different things. Do an art or craft with him. Watch him while he played in the backyard.”
“She didn’t spend as much one-on-one time with him as Spencer did. She found ways to do other things while it was her time to look after him.”
“There’s nothing wrong with letting him nap or watching him playing in the back yard.”
“Of course not. That’s not being negligent.”
“That’s right.” Molly nodded her agreement.
“But it does show a pattern. It shows that she wanted to continue to follow her own routine, and only did what she had to in order to accommodate Declan.”
“You’re wrong. She loved Declan. She loved spending time with him.”
“Maybe she didn’t always share her feelings with you. Maybe she felt like she couldn’t tell you how inadequate she felt, or how she didn’t want to be with Declan all the time. Maybe she was afraid that you would judge her for not wanting to spend as much time with her child as she
