“Third,” Lucas said, immediately wishing he hadn’t given the thought voice.
“Second unexplained.” The inspector looked at him, then at the ground, sadness deepening the lines around her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Her words touched him and reminded him that the lives of his father and his buddy would not soon be forgotten. They’d all lost friends in the Grove Street blaze.
She turned all business again. “I’m starting to suspect Chief Brennan is right.”
“What do you mean?”
“He seems to think somebody’s trying to get a message across. Apparently there’s a lot of opposition to the shelter reopening, and he thinks this is somebody’s idea of a protest.”
Lucas shook his head. “After everything this town’s been through, a person would have to be pretty sick to use fire that way.”
“Yeah, well, this is a sick world.” She clapped his shoulder. “I’d better run. You take care.”
“You too, Andi.”
His leg started to ache and he went back inside to find Jenna.
She was gathering her things in the shelter’s dayroom, looking weary but triumphant. “We found places for everyone. At least for tonight.”
“Hey, that’s great,” he said. “Are we still on for Friday?”
“Oh! I didn’t tell you.” She beamed. “I got the job. At Hanson’s.”
“You did? That’s great!”
She hesitated. “I don’t have my schedule yet, so I might have to take a rain check.”
“That’s okay. How about I call you?”
“Sure. Thanks, Luc.” She sounded as relieved as he felt that they’d struck a friendlier chord. But he couldn’t let her think she was completely off the hook. He still had a few points to make. “It’ll give us a chance to continue our discussion.
She groaned. “Aww, do we have to?”
He laughed. “This way you’ll have time to gather some ammunition.”
“Gee, thanks.” She rolled her eyes, but he noticed they held a very promising spark.
When the first waves of pain passed, he caught his breath and pulled himself to a sitting position.
22
Thursday, December 4
Here, boy! Come here!” Lucas leaned down to grab a rawhide bone Sparky had left on the back deck. “Sparky?” He shut the door behind him and navigated the uneven steps to the lawn.
An overnight dusting of snow had melted in the morning sun, but the grass still glistened with moisture. He’d let the dog out to romp in the snow an hour ago, but had gotten caught up researching canine training programs online and nearly forgot to let Sparky back into the warm garage.
He was pumped about the calm way Sparky had handled himself at the fire scene at the shelter the other night—he didn’t run off, didn’t fight the leash, despite his excitement. This dog had great potential. He just had a feeling about him. He hadn’t heard anything more about the fire since that night except that they’d been able to let the residents back in. It was hard being out of the loop. Maybe he’d call Andi Morley later and see what she knew.
“Sparky! Here, boy!” He whistled again and walked around the side of the house, grasping at whatever handhold the railings and shrubs offered. More and more he’d been trying to go without the hated cane, but it would have been helpful on the wet grass this morning.
“Sparky?”
The dog bounded around the corner of the house straight for Lucas, wearing what Jenna would have called a smile. But before Lucas could brace himself, Sparky charged and jumped up on him.
Lucas’s feet went out from under him on the slippery lawn. He heard a sickening pop a split second before he felt his leg give. He cried out, but knew no one would hear him. Like his mother, everyone in their close-knit neighborhood worked during the day.
When the first waves of pain passed, he caught his breath and pulled himself to a sitting position. He ran a hand down his leg, fully expecting to encounter blood and a protruding bone. “Oh, dear God. Help me.” As if his life were flashing before him, all the agonizing surgeries and excruciating physical therapy of the past year paraded through his mind.
“Please, God, no. …” He didn’t have the strength to start over.
Sparky stood beside him, panting, whimpering a little. He must have sensed something was wrong. “It’s okay, boy.” Lucas rolled onto his elbows and knees, but when he tried to put weight on his left knee, the pain that shot up his leg knocked him flat.
The ground was icy and hard beneath him, and a wave of nausea made him shiver. Sparky whined and nudged at his shoulder.
He had to get into the house, take a look at his leg … see what he was dealing with. If he stayed out here much longer, he’d freeze.
He pushed himself up, this time putting all his weight on his good leg—or more accurately, his better leg. Sparky took the “heel” position at his side, then shadowed Lucas as he half crawled, half dragged himself up the stairs to the deck and inside the house.
Sparky followed him in, and Lucas didn’t try to stop him, even though part of him wanted to throttle the dog for what he’d done. But it wasn’t Sparky’s fault.
Sitting on the floor by the back door, he untied his left shoe and gingerly worked it off his foot, shouting in pain as the shoe came loose. Something was messed up bad. It felt as if the pain was centered in his ankle, but it seared all the way up his calf. Already his ankle was starting to swell.
Lucas looked up and eyed the phone on the kitchen wall. He’d left his cell phone in his room by the computer. It would be easier to get to the kitchen phone. He prayed Ma was at her desk at the bank.
He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. He wasn’t sure if the sick feeling in his gut was a physical reaction to the damage he’d done to his leg, or if it was because of the sure knowledge that he’d just been dealt a months-long setback.
The thought of having to regain hard-earned ground made him want to weep.
Oh, Luc, I’m so sorry.” Ma actually wrung her hands while sitting on the side of his hospital bed.
He stared at Dr. Broderick and swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. “I have to be off of it for a month?”
Broderick nodded, empathy in his grim expression. “I want to see you again in two weeks for evaluation, and we’ll decide for sure then. But yes, likely a month to six weeks. You tore it up pretty good. Besides the obvious contusions and stretched ligament, there’s this.” He showed them the X-rays, pointing out a hairline fracture on one of the small bones in his foot. With all the bones he’d broken when the shelter collapsed on him, Lucas wondered how the doctor could tell this was a new injury.
“And what about the dog?” his mother asked.
Lucas shot her a “don’t you dare” look, but she plunged ahead anyway.
“Dr. Broderick”—she avoided Lucas’s eyes—“if you don’t write it down on a prescription pad as doctor’s orders, I know my son. He’ll be out there tomorrow trying to pick up where he left off training that dog. I just want to hear it from your mouth if that’s something you’d recommend.” She shot Lucas a defiant glare.
The doctor looked between the two of them and gave a little chuckle. “Emily, I’m not going to get involved in that argument for anything. What happened was unfortunate, but it was a fluke, too. It could have just as easily happened tripping on the sidewalk. And you can’t keep the man off the sidewalks.”
The doctor turned aside and spoke to her in a stage whisper, aiming, apparently, for humor. “For what it’s worth, that cast will slow him down a little.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Lucas remained silent, not amused that they were talking about him as if he were invisible. He swung his feet off the bed and slid to the edge of the mattress. He grabbed the crutches leaning against the wall and situated them under his armpits. “So I can go home?”
Broderick gave him a stern look. “If everything goes okay tonight, I’ll discharge
you in the morning if you agree to go straight to bed for a couple of days. And stay off the leg until I see you again. If you’re careful, you could be back to where you were in a few weeks. I don’t have to tell you this could have been a lot worse, Lucas.”
Lucas merely nodded, feeling the familiar old anger seething just beneath the surface.
Friday, December 5
He awoke, groggy, from a midmorning nap. He was back home in the confines of his bedroom. His comfy bed may as well have been a prison cot.
At his insistence Ma had gone back to work this morning, and the house was quiet. He felt as if he were back at square one. Back to those days following the fire when he’d thought he might go stark-raving mad here—trapped, with no way to leave.
He reached for the crutches and eased his legs over the side of the bed. He’d barely used the crutches and already his armpits felt raw. It brought back too many memories of the days following the fire. Of course then he’d been too grateful to be out of the wheelchair to mind the crutches.
He made his way to the kitchen, careful not to bear any weight on his leg. He felt light-headed, even though he hadn’t taken any medication since last night in the hospital. Why did this have to happen? The last thing he needed was a setback like this. “Can You cut me a break, God? Come on!” His own voice startled him.
He didn’t usually pray out loud. Or did he dare call that a prayer? The words had come out more like a curse.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. It wasn’t right to take it out on God. He knew better than that. His faith had been tested almost beyond what he could bear in this past year. And still, God had proven faithful every step of the way. Lucas knew beyond doubt that he would never have made it through without God’s presence with him every second. He’d pushed away the memory of the darkest moments of those awful days—times he’d actually prayed to die. God had been there, even then. He was thankful now that God had refused to answer those prayers. Eventually hope had quickened his passion for life again.
But now he felt the darkness frighteningly near. He closed his eyes. “God, are You trying to tell me something? What am I missing? What is it You want me to do? Because I’ll do it if I just know what it is.”
He looked at his computer on the desk. Application forms scattered the desk’s surface. Tears of frustration welled behind his eyelids. “Lord, why did You put this desire in me if You don’t intend me to do something with it? I don’t get it.” Exhausted, he plopped down in the chair and let the crutches clatter to the floor. He put his head in his hands, feeling numb.
“God … give me a right attitude. Show me what I’m supposed to do.” With effort he bowed his will, and slowly a sense of peace washed over him. A peace unlike anything he’d experienced before.
After Pop’s death, Ma had talked about God giving her “a peace that passeth understanding.” The description had sounded like a trite sermon to him then. But now he’d experienced it for himself.
He blew out a slow breath and let the calm flow over him like a summer breeze.
Her breath caught as she met Clarissa’s eyes.
23
Friday, December 19
What do you mean it’s expired?” The woman hitched the slobbering baby up on her hip and glared at Jenna. “You’re new here, aren’t you? They’ve never checked coupons here before. They just run them through.”
Jenna frowned. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I was told not to accept expired coupons.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’ll just take my business over to the IGA if that’s the way you’re going to treat your customers.”
“I’m sorry ma’am. I’m just following—”
“I want to speak to the manager.”
A cheery Christmas carol played over the store’s intercom system, contradicting the mood of the moment. Jenna sighed and offered an apologetic smile to the two people in line behind the coupon queen. She glanced down the row of checkout stands, hoping Mr. Iverson wasn’t on the floor. This was the second customer complaint she’d gotten today, and the manager had been none too happy to have to handle the first one—a man on his lunch hour who griped because she was too slow.
“Just one moment,” she told the woman, biting her tongue to keep her voice even. She picked up the intercom and depressed the Call key. “Assistance on register five, please, assistance on—”
“What do you need, Jenna?” Sydney Baer, a part-time worker with the high school’s work-study program, came to her rescue, and within a few minutes the coupon lady was happily on her way.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to allow expired coupons?”
Sydney shrugged. “Technically we’re not, but I usually go ahead and take them. It saves a lot of grief.”
“You don’t get in trouble?”
“Not unless they’re like five years old or something. The customer’s always right, you know.”
“Okay.” She shifted to her other foot. Under the guise of retying her apron smock, she tried to rub the kinks out of her spine. Her back was killing her, but turning to the next customer in line, she pasted on a smile. “Welcome to Hanson’s. Did you find everything you need?”
Two weeks—and as of yesterday, three Thursdays—had gone by, and Jenna hadn’t heard a word from Lucas.
She was disappointed, but she might have been more so if she hadn’t been so crazy busy trying to learn this job. The first two days of training had been a killer, leaving her frustrated and exhausted, and thinking she was the stupidest woman on the planet. But on the third day some cog or sprocket or something had clicked into place, and after that, running the cash register had become second nature. She hoped interacting with Hanson’s customers would soon come as easily.
Even with the occasional cranky customer, she was actually rather enjoying the job. It felt nice to be earning her own way, to be independent for the first time in her life. Okay, so she hadn’t seen her first paycheck yet, but checks were due out today.
She helped out three more customers before the store cleared out a little. A few minutes later Mr. Iverson came down from the office with a stack of envelopes. As if they’d been summoned, the bag boys appeared from the back of the store, and the other checkers lined up, waiting for Iverson to call their names.
As soon as she had a minute to herself, Jenna ripped open the flap and peered inside, holding the envelope to the light so she could make out the amount of the check.
She looked again. Surely there was some mistake. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she slipped the check out of its envelope, unfolded it, and studied the numbers on the pay stub. After the various taxes, Social Security, and some deductions she’d never heard of were subtracted, her check was barely half what she’d expected.
It didn’t take a math whiz to figure out that it would be months before she’d saved enough for an apartment, never mind the credit cards and the other bills she’d be responsible for. Thank goodness her car was paid for. When she got home tonight, she needed to take a good look at her finances and figure out where she could cut back. Again.
Sydney and Elma Johnson, who served as a greeter at the front of the store, whispered about something at Sydney’s checkstand. Mr. Iverson walked by, clearing his throat loudly, and Elma scurried back to her station. Sydney grabbed a spray bottle and started wiping down her conveyer, and Jenna took her cue to get busy.
A minute later a grocery cart appeared in her lane, and Jenna started her spiel. “Welcome to Hanson’s. Did you find—”
“Jenna?”
Her breath caught as she met Clarissa’s eyes. “Clarissa … Hi.” She forced a steadiness into her voice. “How are you?”
“You work here?”
No, I’m just standing behind the cash register wearing this smock as a fashion statement. She bit her tongue. “Yes. For a couple of weeks now.”
“Oh, honey.” Clarissa delivered the words as if Jenna had just told her her dog died.
Jenna chose to ignore them and
shifted back into business mode. “Did you find everything you need?”
“Jenna. Please. Don’t do this.”
Jenna pressed her lips together. Was this woman for real? Feeling a slow burn, she picked up a cellophane bag of yellow peppers from the cart and placed them on the scale. She scanned the other items from the cart—expensive food from the store’s deli and gourmet departments. Of course those departments were why most people shopped at Hanson’s instead of the IGA.
“Jenna, listen to me.” Clarissa leaned close and lowered her voice. “You’re better than this. If you must work, surely you can find something more suitable than—” She stopped.
Jenna wondered how she’d intended to finish the sentence.
“Look at you,” Clarissa said, sounding just short of horrified. “Your hair … your clothes … a smock? Oh, Jenna.”
She thought Clarissa might burst into tears of sympathy any moment. Taking a step back from the register, Jenna dropped the polite checker persona. “You didn’t leave me much choice. And for your information, I happen to like this job.”
“Come back.” Clarissa spoke the words as if the idea had just come to her. “I mean it. Come home with me now. We can work things out.”
Jenna shook her head. She knew Zach’s mother too well. Knew how she could manipulate things and people. Jenna had always watched others cave to Clarissa Morgan’s wiles. Why had it taken her so long to see that she was just as susceptible?
Well, not anymore. She knew what “work things out” meant. It meant that Jenna would toe the line and Clarissa would continue to control her.
She couldn’t resist goading the woman. “Then you’re okay with Bryn and me being friends?”
Clarissa opened her mouth to speak, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if composing herself. “I said … we’d work something out. And we can. I’m sure of it. You don’t want to do this, Jenna. I know—”
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