by Dorie Graham
Lucas hesitated for half a second as his stomach tightened over the hope in the kid’s eyes. He had no business getting into some secret deal with the boy. A stupid espresso machine wasn’t going to do shit to solve the kid’s problems.
As the boy’s mother took a nervous step toward them, Lucas shook the small hand, feeling he was committing to so much more than helping Grey surprise her for her birthday or whatever, but knowing he couldn’t turn back now. “Deal.”
A smile split the boy’s face, sending a sense of guilt spiraling through Lucas. Why did he feel like he was promising something he couldn’t deliver?
* * *
GREY SIGHED as Paul Cooper plopped into the seat beside him later that afternoon. He’d been stoked about the espresso machine for most of the day, but Paul had a way of bringing him down.
“So, what does your dad do?” Paul paused only long enough for Grey to frown. “Mine is an attorney. He goes to court. He helps people. Does your dad help people?” Again, the breath of a pause before he continued. “I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like, but he brings me really cool stuff when he visits. Last week he took me to see the Falcons. It was so cool. Where do you go with your dad?”
Paul swatted at a stray fly that had found its way into the classroom. “He’s coming to see me next weekend and I get to spend the summer with him,” he said. “He has a place on the beach. Do you like the beach?”
Now he stopped and stared, waiting for Grey’s response. Grey stared back, his stomach tightening. He used to like the beach, but Mom said she didn’t believe in vacations anymore. Too much relaxing and peace and quiet.
He shrugged, saying, “The beach is cool.”
“My dad said if I wanted I could live with him at the beach all the time, but my mom said no way. It’s in Tybee, which is still Georgia, but Momma says it’s too far. Does your dad live with you, or are your parents divorced?” Again, the stare, while Paul waited, his eyes round.
My dad’s dead.
Grey gritted his teeth. He should just say it. It wasn’t true, but it could be. For all he knew his dad had kicked the bucket in the years since they’d last heard from him. If he told Paul his dad was dead then Paul would quit asking all these stupid questions. Grey opened his mouth, but the words refused to form.
The bell rang over the intercom, dismissing them for the day and giving Grey a welcome excuse to escape. He rose to gather his books. “It’s Wednesday. My aunt’s coming to get me. She freaks if I’m not up front when she pulls up.”
Paul nodded and said, “Tell your dad to take you to a Falcons game. Mine let me have a hot dog and popcorn and cotton candy and this ginormous soda. My mom never lets me have that stuff.”
“Yeah.” Turning quickly, Grey headed for the door.
Hurrying, he reached the front of the school in record time. Aunt Becca really did freak if she had to wait. As usual, she was one of the first cars in the pickup line. He slipped into the backseat beside his cousin, Amanda, who sat in her booster seat. Aunt Becca said he wasn’t big enough yet to ride up front. She’d lectured his mom on the danger of air bags lots of times, but Grey preferred sitting up front when he was in his mom’s car.
“Hi, honey,” Aunt Becca said and glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “How was school?”
Grey shrugged. “It was school.”
“Why is it dark under your eyes? You look like a raccoon.” Amanda peered at him through circles she made of her fingers.
“Amanda, that’s not nice,” his aunt said. Again, she glanced at him in the mirror. “You do look tired, Grey.”
Grey shrugged and sank into the seat as they pulled away from the curb. “I’m fine.”
“Can we go see Daddy at his work?” Amanda asked.
“Not today, sweetie. Daddy’s busy. We’ll go another time.”
Frowning, Amanda turned to look out her window. After a while, Grey glanced up to find her staring at him again, her eyebrows furrowed. He straightened. “What?”
“Where’s your daddy? How come I’ve never seen him?”
Crap. What was it with everyone today? “I don’t have a dad. He’s dead.”
The words came out sharper than he’d intended. Amanda’s eyes widened and her lip trembled. Grey glanced at his aunt, who’d turned in her seat to see him this time. Something like pity flashed in her eyes as she quickly shifted again when the light changed.
“He’s not dead,” she said. “He’s just not around.”
“He might as well be dead. He could be and we’d never know it.” Grey stared at the back of his aunt’s head.
She sat stiffly. “Honey, maybe we can talk about that later.”
“How come he isn’t around?” Amanda sounded scared, but she shouldn’t have been. Her dad wasn’t going anywhere.
“I don’t know. I guess he just doesn’t like us.” Grey couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone.
His aunt shook her head. “The man’s an idiot. Sweetie, what did Miss Penny say about your counting tree today?”
“Is Daddy going away?” Amanda’s voice rose anxiously.
His aunt stopped at another red light and swiveled again in the seat, addressing her daughter. “No, Daddy’s staying with us,” she said. “We’ll call him when we get home and you can say hi.”
Amanda’s chin quivered, but she nodded as she settled into her booster seat. Grey stared out the window. Why didn’t his father want anything to do with him?
Sidewalks, driveways and manicured lawns flashed by, all part of the great suburb of Roswell, Georgia. Grey pressed his lips together. One thing was for sure. If his dad were a part of their life now, he’d hate it as much as Grey did.
The hum of the engine soon lulled Amanda into sleep. Grey relaxed as the classical music on the radio settled peacefully over him. Aunt Becca hummed softly. This is what his mom needed.
They’d had this before—normal—no rushing from place to place, cramming every activity they could into a day. Maybe Mom had never been a fan of classical music, but she’d at least listened to less acid rock and at a lower volume. They’d enjoyed periods of quiet. If she could experience this kind of peace again, there was no way she’d ever want to go back to running nonstop.
If only he could get her to slow down for a moment. A thrill of excitement ran through him. The espresso machine should do the trick. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He’d surprise her with the machine on her birthday. Instead of running out every morning, they could have breakfast at home, quiet breakfasts that could set the tone for the day.
What a plan, and the coffee-shop guy—Lucas—was going to let him pay over time. He might have to snag a few more chores at his aunt’s and at home, but with his allowance, he should be able to do it. He settled back in the seat, content with his plan.
* * *
“I DID LIKE you said and I’ve been running nonstop all week.” Peg, one of Claire’s kickboxing students, puffed out a tired breath later that afternoon.
“Good, and you haven’t thought about the divorce?” Claire asked.
Her heart thrummed to the beat of the music in the background. She’d been looking forward to this lesson all day. She could only sit and work for so long before she craved physical activity. She’d be able to get a run in, too, later, while Grey stayed with his friend.
She’d dropped her son at school that morning, and then returned to the coffee shop. Her day had been filled with reviewing shipping bids and pulling together contracts. She rolled her shoulders, ready to get moving.
“Well, I haven’t given myself the chance.” The woman laughed, the sound like a nervous hiccup.
“Claire, want me to get them started with some warm-ups?” Bill, Claire’s sparring assistant, shoved his hands into protective pads.
She nodded, and then joined in. Nervous energy cranked through her. Too much caffeine and too little sleep was never a good combination, but was all she ran on most days.
Her body loosened with the re
petitive movements. She’d trained long and hard for the past year, earning her black belt in record time. Now, she taught kickboxing two days a week on top of her day job, while Grey had soccer practice after school, or went to her sister’s.
After the warm-ups, Claire nodded to Peg. “Ready for some sparring?”
The group fell back slightly as Bill motioned Peg forward and the two circled each other. The rest paired off and followed suit, while Claire moved among them, correcting a stance here, giving a quick demonstration there.
Claire stopped beside Bill and Peg. Again, a nervous laugh escaped the woman. Peg threw a few punches, striking the big pads protecting Bill’s hands and forearms.
“That’s good, Peg, but you’re holding back,” Claire said. “Loosen up. Try some kicks. Remember to bring your knee up and twist from the hip.”
The next few punches struck with astonishing force. Bill stepped back as Peg advanced with a kick to his left arm. With a cry, she advanced again, backing him toward Claire. Eyes wide, Peg threw two more kicks. A left hook. A right and a side kick.
Bill stumbled, knocking into Claire.
Claire threw her hands forward to break her fall as the side mirror rushed toward her. Her shoulder slammed into the mirror and glass shattered over the mat.
“Oh, my goodness.” Peg gasped for breath. “I’m so sorry. I...I guess I lost control. Claire, are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Claire pushed herself to her knees, staring in amazement at the shards of mirror. “Maybe we should take five.”
Peg nodded, her face crimson as she dashed for the ladies’ room. Claire bit her lip. Her fractured reflection peered back at her. It seemed Peg had too much pent-up anger. Maybe telling her to run from her problems hadn’t been the best advice, after all.
CHAPTER TWO
CLAIRE SIGHED AN hour and a half later as she hung up the phone and turned to Bill, who’d been hovering over her since her fall. He meant well, but his closeness set her already taut nerves over the edge.
“The installers will be here with the new mirror on Friday,” she said.
He nodded. “I taped over the broken part and cleaned up all the mess. You sure you’re okay?”
“Not a scratch.” She stood to move away from him, needing some distance.
She’d known him for years and thought having him around to help with the classes would be good therapy for her. Bill was safe. They’d played soccer together in middle school. He’d had her back on more than one occasion growing up.
During class, with the other students around, her fear had been under control. Now, with everyone else gone, her adrenaline spiked. “You can head out,” she said. “I’m fine. I have an email to send, and then I’m out of here. I’ve got to leave to get Grey in a little bit.”
Her cell phone chimed from the recesses of her purse. She groaned. She’d programmed that tune for her mother.
Bill nodded and backed toward the door as she answered the call. Claire waved, the knot in her stomach intensifying. “Mother?”
“Claire, did I catch you at a good time? You’re done with class, right?” her mother asked in her usual tone, her voice cold, polite.
“Yes, this is fine. What’s up?”
“Well, I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I never see you.”
Claire rubbed her eyes. Her mother had made it abundantly clear she didn’t want to see her, so what she was really saying was she never saw Grey. “You know how busy we are.”
“I don’t know why you have to cram so much into a day. Why don’t you bring that grandson of mine by for a visit some weekend? He can spend the night and you can do something fun for yourself.”
Subjecting Grey to an extended amount of time with her mother was one thing, but the thought of being home alone sent a chill through Claire. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Her mother grunted in disapproval. “You’re stifling him.”
She was doing anything but stifling him. She had him out and about as much as he could tolerate. The memory of Grey’s exhausted expression that morning flashed through Claire’s mind. She was the one interrupting his sleep at night.
Would he catch up on his rest at her mother’s? Surely, she could stand one night alone. The thought sent a shiver of unease through her, but she stifled it. She could do it for Grey. He put up with so much from her.
“Maybe next weekend. Let me talk to Grey. I’ll see if he’s up for it,” she said to her mother.
“That’s wonderful, dear, thank you. Maybe you could go out, have fun. It’s past time you started dating.”
“I’ve got to run. I’ll call you after I talk to Grey,” Claire said and disconnected without waiting for a response.
Without a doubt, she was going to regret this. She glanced around the quiet office and studio. Her unease intensified as the silence buzzed around her. She had never gotten along with her mother....
“Why would you say such a thing? Becca would never make such wild accusations. Of course, she doesn’t do anything to invite this kind of trouble.” Her mother’s words struck Claire as if they were blows. Why had she even come here? She should have known better.
“This kind of trouble?” Claire stared at her mother, incredulous. “You think I invited this?” She stepped away in an effort to compose herself. She would not break down again in front of her mother. “This isn’t a ‘wild accusation.’” She yanked up her sleeve to reveal the bruises on her arm. “It happened, whether you want to accept it or not. That man—that friend of yours—”
“Enough.” Her mother drew up straight. “There’s no need to involve the authorities when it will be your word against his.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Claire said, turning to leave. She had plenty to show the police. She’d have her doctor document her condition first, then they’d see whose word the authorities believed.
“Claire, whatever physical evidence you may have, there’s no way for you to prove you didn’t consent and things just got a little rougher than you’d anticipated. These things happen all the time.”
Tears pricked Claire’s eyes. She refused to let her mother see. “How can you be so unsupportive?”
“I’m just trying to help you see this objectively. You have to think of Grey. How do you think this will affect him?”
Tears rolled down Claire’s cheeks. She hadn’t considered her son in all this. It would be hard to keep it from him if she pressed charges. Phil Adams was a public figure, at least on a city level. Would it be in the news? Would Grey hear about it at school? He might not understand, but he’d be devastated to learn she’d been hurt this badly....
Claire inhaled slowly now and straightened. The only thing she and her mother had ever agreed on was keeping the entire mess from Grey. Wanting to protect him from the horrific truth, Claire hadn’t made a fuss.
As her heart thudded, she fumbled with her phone, breathing a sigh of relief once she had the music cranking from the device. Nodding, she lost herself to the ripping notes of an electric guitar.
* * *
ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON Lucas raised his beer in salute to the tombstone that barely showed the wear of the past two years. “Cheers to you, Toby,” he said. “I’m still pissed at you, bud, but sometimes I think you got the better end of this deal.”
A rough breeze whipped around him, making him shiver. September twenty-eighth had dawned unseasonably cold for Atlanta. He squinted into the clouds covering the sun. A sixteen-wheeler pounded along the highway hidden behind a thicket of Georgia pines and maples. He took a long drink from the bottle. The thudding of the tires echoed through his mind, as he thought back....
Lucas slammed his fist against the door. “Toby, open up. Open up or I’ll break down the damn door.”
Was he too late? The door swung open and Toby Platt stood, squinting into the haze of the day. His hair hung in an oily curtain around his gaunt face. He reeked, as though he hadn’t showered in weeks. Rather than scowl, as would be his normal r
esponse to such an interruption, he stared at Lucas, his eyes blank.
Ignoring the fear curling through him, Lucas pushed his way inside. The stench of rotting food and unwashed clothes mixed with the rank odor emanating from his lifelong friend. Lucas fought the impulse to gag. Instead, he drew a steadying breath and opened all the windows, letting in as much fresh air as possible.
He turned to Toby, who still stood in the doorway, frowning at the passing day, as though he couldn’t remember that the world existed, let alone what it was.
“When was the last time you ate?” Lucas didn’t wait for an answer.
He moved to the kitchen, to examine the refrigerator. Half a rotten head of lettuce, an empty milk carton and a jar of mayonnaise sat on the shelves. He rummaged through the cabinets, but couldn’t find anything to fuel a man who’d once given him hell on the football field.
He nudged Toby toward the bathroom. “I’m taking you out to eat, but you’re definitely showering first.”
He’d gotten his friend cleaned up, taken him to eat, and then made him an appointment with the V.A. Lucas had stayed with him that night, and then driven Toby to the appointment the following day. He’d stuck around for as long as he could, sleeping on the lumpy couch, cooking and cleaning up Toby’s tiny efficiency. Therapy and antidepressants had seemed to do the job and Lucas had gone back to his life, thinking they were out of danger.
But they weren’t.
“You’ve got some nerve coming here today.” Contempt laced Louisa Platt’s voice, drawing Lucas back to the present.
He turned to face Toby’s sister. So, she hadn’t softened toward him over the past couple of years. He couldn’t blame her.
Her gaze darted over the beer in his hand. She said, “You think this is some kind of celebration?”
He shook his head. “You know he was my best friend, Louisa. No one misses him more than I do. If I’d known—”
“Well, you should have known. You’re the one with the medical training. How could you not have seen what was happening? You should have been there for him. Then maybe we’d still have him. You owed him at least that after all the trouble you’d brought on him in the past.” Her voice faltered. She nodded toward the tombstone. “He should never have followed you into the marines.”
