Sandpiper Cove

by Irene Hannon

  “Would you like another one?”

  At Lexie’s question, he tuned back into the table conversation.

  “No, thanks. But it was delicious.”

  “Can I have some more, Mom?” Matt cast her a hopeful look.

  “Let’s give what you ate a chance to get to your stomach first. If you’re hungry in half an hour, you can have another half.”

  “Okay.” Sighing, he pushed his plate back, surveyed the table, and gave Adam a toothy smile. “I like you sitting in the empty place. It feels . . . fuller.”

  “I agree. I prefer a full table myself.” Annette’s comment sounded innocent, but Adam caught the light-speed squint Lexie directed at the older woman.

  “If you leave everything, I’ll stack the dishwasher later.” Lexie stood. “I need to talk to our guest for a few minutes.”

  “Take your time. Matt and I will clear the table and keep Clyde company in here. Right, Matt?”

  “Right!”

  And no doubt try to pilfer another brownie out of his grandmother, who Adam suspected was a softer touch than his mother.

  Taking Lexie’s cue, Adam rose.

  She motioned toward the family room. “Let’s sit in there. It’s quiet—and private.”

  He followed her, taking a seat in the corner of the couch she indicated while she claimed an adjacent chair.

  “Let me fill you in on what I found today at your place, and what happened next.” She was back in official mode.

  Good.

  It was easier to concentrate when she was Chief Graham.

  He listened without interrupting as she described the events of the day, no less angry that Clyde had been hurt, but feeling more sympathy than he expected for the fifteen-year-old whose home situation sounded anything but ideal.

  Especially after Lexie told him she was handing Brian over to a juvenile court counselor.

  “I hope that works out for him.” In addition to his own experience, he’d heard too many horror stories from fellow inmates to have much confidence in the system.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think Brian is sorry he got involved in all this, and I know he feels bad about the damage and about Clyde. I’d like to give him every possible chance to straighten out.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “I had an idea this afternoon that I ran by the counselor who’s been assigned to the case. No names, just a concept. He thought it had merit—but it all hinges on you.”

  A quiver of unease snaked up his spine. “I’m trying to steer clear of anything related to crime.”

  “I can understand that—except this would put you on the other side of the law. Will you at least listen to my idea?”

  After all she and her family had done for Clyde—and him—he owed her that much. “I can listen.”

  She leaned close, her expression earnest. “I don’t know your whole story, Stone. Only what’s in the police record. I don’t have access to social service files from your younger days. But I suspect you may have come from a tough home situation.”

  “That would be an understatement.”

  “Brian isn’t in the best environment, either. I think his mother is trying, but his father took off six months ago. Between you and me, he sounds like a user—and a deadbeat. I don’t know if there was any physical abuse, but that’s not the only way to make someone’s life miserable.”

  She paused, as if waiting for him to offer some insights based on his own experience.

  Not happening.

  He never talked about his past except in vague detail, and he wasn’t about to spill his guts now.

  Lexie apparently got that message.

  “Bottom line, I don’t think there’s ever been a solid role model in Brian’s life.” She clasped her hands together as she continued. “Being new at school here, trying to break into established cliques, has been tough—and he ended up connecting with the wrong person. He’s teetering on the edge at this very minute. I can give him a second chance . . . but I can’t give him a role model or a father figure. Neither can the juvenile counselor. Nor can we talk to him, or offer any wisdom, with the voice of direct experience.”

  As Adam caught the drift of where this was leading, his jaw went slack. “You’re seeing me in that role?”

  “That’s part of our idea.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  “Let me get this straight.” He spoke slowly, trying to make sense of her suggestion. “You want to hook this kid up with a felon who spent five years in prison, has a juvenile record, came from a worse background than he has, and who’s only been walking the straight and narrow for eighteen months?”

  “The plan is more fleshed out than that, but you’ve nailed the gist of it.”

  The whole notion still wasn’t computing.

  “I can’t believe anyone in the juvenile system would agree to this.”

  “On paper, I don’t think they would have. With a personal recommendation from a police chief the counselor knows—it was an easy sell.”

  “You vouched for me?” Had he slipped into an alternate universe?

  “I’ve met you. I’ve watched you. I have sound instincts, and they’re telling me you’re a safe bet. But I’ve also talked to people in town who know you—BJ, Reverend Baker, Luis. The picture that emerges is one of a model citizen. A man who’s made mistakes but who’s doing everything he can to turn his life around. I imagine it’s a tough road—and I’d like to keep Brian from having to tread it. Who better to convince him to stay on this side of the law in the future than a man who crossed the line . . . and faced the consequences?”

  The tautness of her posture, the urgency in her tone, her obvious commitment to do the best she could for this troubled kid were compelling.

  Too bad someone hadn’t cared half as much for him in those early days, before he’d taken the wrong fork in the road.

  It was impossible to fault the logic of her plan . . . but the whole premise left him feeling as shaky and scared as he’d been the first time he’d broken the law.

  “I don’t have any experience at this kind of thing.”

  “The main job requirements are compassion and persistence. If you’re half as adept with Brian as you’ve been with Matt today, I think he’ll listen to what you have to say.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “We’ll have done our best to give him a chance—and that’s all anyone can do.” She leaned forward again. “During the meeting on Monday with Brian and his mother, the counselor will do a risk assessment screen and develop a case plan. Since there are no priors, I’m expecting the matter will be handled informally. That means there could be a fine, restitution for victims, letters of apology . . . along with community service.”

  “Where would I fit into all that?”

  “Two places—restitution and community service. Mom told me you agreed to repair the flower boxes on the wharf that were damaged in one of the vandalism incidents. If Brian was assigned to help you with that job, he’d be partially fulfilling both of those obligations . . . and learning some useful skills too. What do you think?”

  He had no idea.

  No one had ever asked for his help with anything this . . . important.

  What if he failed?

  But if he didn’t try, this kid might lose his one chance to have a decent life—and some of the blame would fall on him.

  His stomach knotted.

  As if he’d sensed his benefactor’s distress from the next room, Clyde trotted in and wedged himself next to his leg.

  When he reached down to pet the dog, his fingers were trembling.

  “You can do this, Stone.”

  At Lexie’s firm, quiet comment, he scrutinized her. If she had any doubts about her plan, he could see no signs of them.

  “I wish I had your confidence.”

  “I have plenty for both of us. But I can offer you a safety ne
t, if that helps. Should this become burdensome, or should you change your mind, we can regroup and modify the plan.”

  She was making it hard to say no.

  A suffocating sense of panic, the kind he’d always felt when he was cornered, closed in on him.

  “Do I have to decide now?”

  “No. The counselor does need some time to prepare a proposal before he meets with Brian and his mother, though, so the sooner you can give me an answer, the better.”

  “Can I call you tomorrow morning?”

  “That works.”

  A reprieve. Not much of one, but enough to get him back to Sandpiper Cove, where the fresh air might clear the muddle from his brain.

  “Thanks again for your help today with Clyde.” He rose.

  “It was a treat for Matt.” She stood too.

  “Are you leaving, Mr. Stone?” Matt stuck his head around the doorway.

  “Yes.”

  “Mamaw!” the boy hollered over his shoulder. “He’s leaving!”

  “Hey! No shouting in the house.” Lexie shot him a stern look.

  A home with no shouting?

  Out of his realm of experience.

  Annette appeared in the doorway, the box of dog supplies in her arms.

  “I can take those.” Adam started toward her.

  “You worry about Clyde. I’ve got this. Lexie, would you get the bag on the kitchen table? I made up a human doggie bag for you, Stone. We have a week’s worth of stew. I gave you a portion, along with some rolls and a few brownies.”

  “That’s very generous, but you’ve already been more than kind.”

  “Don’t argue with Mom about food.” Lexie grinned and set off for the kitchen. “She loves to feed people.”

  “Then I accept—with pleasure.” He bent and hefted Clyde into his arms.

  “Matt, would you open the door for our guest?” Annette motioned toward the foyer with the box.

  The tyke trotted ahead of them and pulled the door wide as Lexie appeared from the kitchen.

  “We’ll help you carry all this stuff out.” Annette started down the path, Lexie and Matt following in her wake.

  Adam closed the door behind him as best he could with his foot and brought up the rear of the parade to his car.

  After sitting Clyde on the backseat, he relieved Lexie of her bag and deposited it on the front passenger seat. They all followed him around to the trunk, where he stowed the box Annette was holding.

  “Thank you again for taking such great care of Clyde and for the wonderful dinner.” He closed the lid.

  “It was our pleasure. And you’re welcome for a meal anytime.” Annette held out her hand.

  He returned her firm clasp.

  “We could watch Clyde for you again sometime.” Matt peeked in the back window at the dog. “Me and him had a lot of fun. After he’s all better, we could play outside in the backyard. I bet he’d like that.”

  “I bet he would.” Adam fingered his car keys, making no promises. Tonight had been great—but social interaction wasn’t his forte. “Well . . .”

  “Say good night, Matt.” Annette took the boy’s hand.

  “Good night.”

  “We’ll see you inside, Lexie.” With that, she led the boy back up the path, through the door, and out of sight.

  “I’ll say good night too.” Lexie took a step back. “My cell number is on the card I gave you during my first trip to your place. That will be the best way to reach me tomorrow. Do you need another one?”

  “No. I kept the one you gave me.” It had been front and center on his kitchen counter since the night of her visit.

  “Okay. And please think hard about what I asked. It could transform a young boy’s life.”

  “I will.” He edged away, climbed behind the wheel, and put the car in gear.

  At the end of the cul-de-sac, he executed a wide turn and drove again past her house.

  She wasn’t standing in front anymore, but warm light spilled from the windows.

  A surge of yearning swept over him, so strong that for a moment his foot eased back on the gas pedal. What would it be like to call a place like this, filled with warmth and light and laughter and love, home?

  Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to press harder.

  This wasn’t where he belonged.

  He needed to be satisfied with the small, isolated cabin that was his lot—and the companionship of a loyal dog.

  Like he’d been before a lovely woman had unexpectedly entered his life and asked a favor that would pull him out of his isolation and stretch his comfort level to the limits.

  He’d bought himself a few hours to think it through—yet as he drove through the night toward Sandpiper Cove, he already knew that however daunting her request might be, come morning he was going to agree.

  Because saying no to a woman like Lexie Graham wasn’t an option.

  7

  Eleven forty-five—and no decision from Stone.

  Bummer.

  Lexie pulled out her phone and scrolled through her messages on the off chance she’d missed his call.

  Zilch.

  Sighing, she stowed her cell and shaded her eyes, watching from the bench she’d claimed on the wharf as Matt tried to lure two wary seagulls close enough to take some bread from his fingers.

  His quest appeared to be as fruitless as her efforts to persuade Stone to bond with a juvenile delinquent.

  “Morning, Lexie.”

  She swiveled around. Charley lifted a hand in greeting and strolled down the wharf toward her, attired in his usual jeans and a Ducks baseball cap.

  “Good morning. Tell me you’re opening up. Matt and I were hoping to have fish tacos for lunch.”

  “That’s my plan. Mind if I sit for a few minutes first?”

  “Not at all.” She slid over to open up more space for the tall, spare man who’d been a town fixture for as long as she could remember. “How’s everything going?”

  “No complaints.”

  His standard answer. Charley took life as it came, made the best of everything, and always maintained a placid demeanor.

  “You know . . . you should teach a master class on finding inner harmony. You’d make a fortune.”

  “Fortunes are overrated—and there’s no secret to inner harmony.” The noonday sun highlighted the lines creasing his weathered face as he did a slow sweep of the tranquil harbor. “You just have to keep your priorities straight.”

  Easier said than done—but she wasn’t up for a philosophical discussion this morning.

  “What are you working on at the studio?” Sometimes it was hard to believe the humble, low-key taco maker was an acclaimed artist whose work sold for hefty prices all over the country.

  “A seascape. It’s coming along . . . but I got a sudden urge to cook. As my grandmother always used to say, listen to your inner voice—if you’ve been raised well, it will never lead you astray. So here I am.” He motioned toward Matt. “The little one is growing fast.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She watched her son, who was persisting in his attempt to befriend the pair of seagulls . . . and showing remarkable patience. The result of Stone’s tutoring with Clyde, perhaps?

  Very possible.

  Matt seemed totally enamored with the man who’d shared their table last night. Despite the bad home situation Stone had alluded to, which likely hadn’t offered a role-model father, he’d managed to bond with her son and . . .

  “I imagine it is difficult to raise a young boy alone. It’s always best to have a father in the home.”

  She blinked.

  How odd for Charley to bring up that subject while Stone’s image was front and center in her mind.

  “My mom’s a great help.”

  “I have no doubt of that. Annette is a wonderful woman. Still . . . it’s not the same as having a father in the picture.”

  Coming from anyone else, that comment would have raised her hackles. But somehow, delivered
by Charley in his gentle, sympathetic manner, it didn’t put her on the defensive.

  “It is what it is.”

  “Things can change.”

  “I hope not. Change is too disruptive. I’m fine with the status quo.”

  “Not all change is bad. Some of it transforms. But we can’t recognize possibilities unless we’re open to them . . . and they can often come in unexpected forms. How’s Clyde doing?”

  It took her a moment to switch gears after his abrupt change of subject.

  “Fine, as far as I know.” She cocked her head. “How did you know about that?”

  He treated her to a flash of brilliant white teeth. “In a town this size, there are few secrets.” A sudden flap of wings drew his attention, and he leaned forward to look past her. “Floyd . . . Gladys . . . make friends with Matt. He won’t hurt you.”

  Stifling a smile, Lexie checked on the pair of seagulls. Leave it to Charley to know the name of every Hope Harbor resident—human and nonhuman. Not that the gulls would pay one bit of attention to . . .

  Wings tucked, the two birds hopped closer to Matt and began taking scraps of bread from his fingers, much to her son’s delight.

  “How did you get them to do that?” Lexie stared at the gulls.

  “The simple act of paying attention and offering reassurance can often have a remarkable impact on behavior. Now tell me about the vandalism. You’ve solved the case?”

  “Uh . . . I think so. Part of it, anyway.” She continued to watch the suddenly cooperative birds.

  Weird.

  “It’s a shame when someone young starts down a wrong path.”

  She transferred her attention to Charley. “I didn’t mention an age.”

  “Isn’t vandalism often the work of troubled teens?”

  “Yes.”

  “A logical assumption, then. I imagine Adam would attest to the folly of such behavior.”

  This conversation was all over the place.

  “You mean Stone?”

  “Adam Stone—yes.”

  “You’re the only person I know who uses his first name.”

  “Stone doesn’t suit him. It might have once, but not anymore. It’s too tough . . . too hard . . . too coarse. That name doesn’t fit a man whose rough edges have been smoothed and refined—and it cements an incorrect image.”