Free The Child Comes First by Elizabeth Ashtree Page B

riding with his mother in the car just in front of him. He knew he should not think of Tiffany as innocent, and yet he did. He shouldn’t perceive any of the things that were happening to her as unjust, but they felt that way to him. And he couldn’t seem to shake the nagging sense that he’d let her down.
    â€œYour mother is going to need help with Tiffany now that she can’t take her out to stores and such,” Jayda said. “School isn’t in session, so she won’t get any break from taking care of her. And she can’t leave Tiffany home alone.”
    â€œI know that,” Simon nearly barked. Frustration closed in around him, prickly and cold. But he shouldn’t take it out on Jayda. “Sorry, I just don’t know how I’ll get out to Ellicott City as often as Mom’s going to want me to.”
    â€œWe could draw up a schedule. I’ll take half the days, and you take the other half,” she offered.
    â€œThank you,” he said. But then he smacked the heel of his hand on the steering wheel, venting some pent-up emotions. “I should have known they’d go for the monitor and prevented it, somehow,” he said. He shifted in his seat under the weight of his failure.
    He felt her palm skim over his right shoulder, lightly, briefly, comforting, consoling. Then it was gone. She said, “You couldn’t have known. There was nothing you could have done. So now we just make the best of the situation we’re in.”
    Simon saw that her hand had returned to her lap, but he wished she’d touch him again. He’d taken off his suit jacket for the drive out to the suburbs, and the sensation of her touch—or maybe that subtle energy that belonged only to her—had felt good through the thin layer of his shirt.
    With his peripheral vision he could see her straight, silky hair blowing in the breeze from the windows they’d elected to keep open. No scarf to keep her hair perfectly coifed, no complaint that the wind might spoil her makeup or dry out contact lenses worn solely to change the color of her eyes. She didn’t wear cosmetics. If she wore contacts, they’d be to correct her vision, not to turn her irises a formidable shade of turquoise. Jayda was a natural woman, and at least among females his own age, that was completely new to him.
    He pulled to the curb in front of his childhood home. They got out and went to the Honda in the driveway. Tiffany had fallen asleep in the backseat. Simon’s mother looked as if she could use a nap, too.
    Jayda opened the rear door next to Tiffany. “C’mon, sleepyhead. I’ll show you straight to your bedroom. You can explore your new home tomorrow.” She led the girl inside.
    Simon walked with his mother and tried to hide his irritation as the probation officer pulled a van up behind his Mustang. They were going to disrupt the entire household with their monitoring system.
    â€œYou’re not usually so easily annoyed, Simon,” his mother said as they walked toward the side door.
    He had to smile. “So I’m not doing a very good job hiding it this time—is that what you’re saying?”
    â€œTiffany will be fine. And I’ll be fine, too. You’ll see. Don’t worry about us. The house-arrest part is just a minor concern.”
    He glanced back toward the men, who were taking equipment out of the van. That’s when he realized that a couple of his mother’s neighbors were looking out their windows to see what was going on. They’d certainly never seen this kind of thing on their street before. And electronic monitoring was more than a minor inconvenience. His mom was about to find that out the hard way. “The system uses your phone line to monitor Tiffany, so you won’t be allowed to have any cordless phones. They’re going to take them all. You’ll get one land line and it can’t be a mobile unit, just the