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The man was frustrating the hell out of her.
“So what’s up with Abraham?” she asked as soon as they were seated in the cushioned armchairs in a private alcove.
Abraham was, after all, the reason she was there.
At least in part.
“He was smoking a cigarette.”
She set her cup down, carefully keeping her face neutral. Smoking was a violation of Abraham’s probation. She could detain him for it. Get him out of that home for a bit, give the state time to come up with something on Carla, one way or the other. Was she the loving mother Abraham was protecting? Or was she, as his caseworker unofficially claimed, unfit to raise her son?
Valerie didn’t particularly care what Carla Billings chose to do with her life—except insofar as it affected Abraham.
“He tried to hide it,” Kirk was saying. “To the point that it burned his hand. He was favoring it in practice this week.”
“Did you see his hand?” Valerie’s mind was spinning. She couldn’t possibly use this information.
And she might have to use it to protect a young man in her care.
“Yeah. The burn’s right in the middle of his palm. Looked painful.”
“Was he taking care of it?” And where was Carla Billings when her twelve-year-old son was out smoking?
“It looked okay.” Kirk shrugged. “Making a big deal of it wasn’t going to do anything but make him defensive. I got a close enough look to see that it wasn’t infected and let it go.”
“I wonder where he got the cigarettes.”
“I don’t know.”
“What did you say to him?”
He sipped his coffee. “Nothing.”
“What?” Valerie sat forward, her arms wrapped around her middle. “You condoned his smoking?”
“I pretended not to notice. I have a pretty strong suspicion that Abraham needs a friend right now, not another authority figure.”
“What makes you think you could ever be that friend?” She picked up her cup of chocolate. Stirred in the whipped cream. Took a sip.
“Because I’ve got the time and the willingness to be the best friend that kid ever had.”
“Can you do that?”
“Do what? Be a friend?”
“Play favorites with the kids.”
Paper cup in hand, he sat back, crossing an ankle over his knee, his tennis shoe glistening newly white beneath the lights of the café. “I don’t play favorites. Ever. I’m there for all of them. Completely. Abe just seems to need more at the moment than most of the rest.”
“Most of the rest?” He’d looked away when he’d said that.
“Has Blake said anything to you about stomach discomfort?”
The chocolate in Valerie’s cup jostled, splashing over onto her hand. Burning. Valerie hardly noticed. She wiped it away only when Kirk handed her a napkin.
“No, Blake hasn’t complained to me. Why, has he said something to you?”
Along with Brian, he’d had another physical a couple of weeks ago, although it had just been a once-over for his basketball eligibility. Still, he’d been in perfect health.
