Espresso In The Morning

CHAPTER FIVE

“DESTINATION ON YOUR left.” The monotone of the GPS was barely audible above the musical notes of Staind as Claire cruised along Edgewood Avenue in Atlanta that afternoon.

She peered at the building to her left. Rows of windows overlooked the street, concrete and glass in the heart of downtown. She found the entrance to the parking garage, her stomach knotting as she finally pulled into a spot.

She smoothed her skirt as she waited for the elevator at one end of the garage. When the doors opened, she saw a man in jeans standing to one side, his width taking half the space.

Her heart sped up as she hesitated, her fingers tingling. He pressed the button to stop the doors from closing. “Are you coming?”

Without speaking, she stepped in beside him, her gaze riveted on the panel of buttons, her pulse kicking up at his proximity. She hated this, how nothing more than sharing an elevator could send her anxiety through the roof. Within moments the door opened and she hurried into the lobby, the wide space and flurry of activity soothing her nerves.

I am safe. I am strong. No one can hurt me.

Five minutes later she stood in front of the receptionist’s counter at the Big Brothers and Big Sisters Association of Greater Atlanta. A young man with spiked hair greeted her.

“I’m Claire Murphy,” she said. “I’m here to see Doug Straighter.”

“I’ll let Mr. Straighter know you’re here.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then settled in one of the chairs in the waiting area, shaking the tingling from her hands. The quiet of the place pressed in around her and her heartbeat accelerated again. Pain squeezed up the back of her head, thudding along her skull.

A few moments later a stocky, gray-haired man emerged from a side door. “Ms. Murphy, I’m Doug Straighter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

His deep voice rumbled through her. She shivered and rubbed her arms as she stood. He extended his hand and she took it, even as her instincts urged her to withdraw.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” she said.

“Come on back and we’ll see what we can do for you and your son.”

He led her down a short hall to an open area with tables and chairs. A younger man with a wiry build moved toward the door as they entered. His gaze swept over Claire and she stiffened, the hairs on her arms prickling.

“George.” Straighter shook the man’s hand. “Good to see you. How’s life treating you these days?”

The new man nodded, though his attention remained on Claire. He said, “No complaints. How about you, Doug? How’s the family?”

“Enjoying the cooler weather,” Straighter said. He smiled and waved as the younger man continued toward the door. “You have a good one, George.”

“You, too,” the man said. His gaze swept over Claire once more before he departed.

With that, Claire stood alone with Doug Straighter, the director of the Atlanta BBBS. A big man, he stood over a foot taller than her. He pulled out a chair at one of the tables and gestured for her to sit. Once she was settled, he took the seat to her right.

“George is a great example of what we do here,” he said, motioning toward the door. “He came here as a troubled kid fifteen years ago and now he’s one of our best ‘Bigs.’”

Claire nodded, her head throbbing. Whatever trouble the younger man had been in, it seemed to still emanate from him. A car backfired on the street and she jumped.

She clasped her hands, silently chastising herself as the urge to bolt overwhelmed her. This was an important meeting. She had to find a way to get through it for Grey’s sake.

“It seems a little deserted here today. Is it always like this?” she asked.

“Ah, we have events sometimes where we all meet here, but most of the fun happens out in the real world, one-on-one with the kids and their Big Brothers and Sisters.”

He shifted and his knee knocked her chair. She jumped, her cheeks warming at her own reaction. She said, “So, what kind of people volunteer to be Big Brothers and Sisters? I saw on your website that you screen candidates.”

“We do a thorough background check. We get people of all types, from guys like George—a former street kid turned entrepreneur—to retirees. We even have a former pro basketball player and a former Miss Georgia.”

He paused and the buzzing of the overhead light filled the silence. Claire broke into a sweat, her chest tightening with the pounding of her heart. Her seat seemed to shift beneath her. She squeezed her eyes shut and the pressure in her head intensified. Suddenly, she was transported back to that afternoon, a little over a year ago, and the quiet of her house....

The silence blanketed her. The scent of musk drifted in the air as a floorboard creaked behind her. The cold blade of a knife pressed to her throat....

“I’m sorry,” she said as the urge to flee drove her to her feet, and she gripped her purse to her chest. The floor seemed to pitch as she tried to remain upright.

“Ms. Murphy, is everything all right? You don’t look well,” Doug Straighter said as he stood beside her. He reached for her as though to steady her.

She recoiled from his hand. “I’m...fine. I have another appointment I forgot about.”

“Well, I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk about your son. We can reschedule if you’d like.”

She swallowed hard, the need for fresh air overwhelming her. “Yes, I’ll reschedule,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She fled without looking back.

* * *

SOME TIME LATER, Claire turned the corner to Becca’s house. She’d made it to her car before the anxiety attack hit her full force and she’d dropped to her knees, right in the parking garage. Shame burned through her. Thankfully, no one had witnessed her breakdown and she’d eventually struggled into the car, where she sat, panicking for who knew how long before she was calm enough to drive.

She pulled to the curb in front of her sister’s house. Her mother’s car, an old Buick, sat in the driveway. The knot in Claire’s stomach tightened. She still hadn’t decided what to do with Grey instead of soccer practice. Could she handle working from home with him there?

Besides having to be home for a longer period of time, she’d also have to turn down her music. He’d need the quiet to do homework. Maybe she should talk to her mom about keeping him, but facing her mother while feeling like a complete failure held little appeal.

Janet Bradington, Claire’s mother, greeted her moments later as she pushed through the sunroom door. “You’re early,” she said.

Claire pasted on a smile. She’d had her commute through Atlanta’s late-afternoon traffic to recover, but she couldn’t quell her disappointment over blowing her appointment with BBBS. Grey still needed a good male role model and she wasn’t any closer to finding him one than she’d been that morning.

“My appointment finished earlier than expected. Where’s Grey?” she asked.

Her mother nodded toward the open bank of windows. “He’s down by the creek with Becca and Amanda,” she said. “It’s too muddy for me. I just took them some lemonade. Would you like some?”

“No, I’m good, thanks. Did he do his homework?”

“He did it first thing. He said you’re okay with him staying Friday night,” her mother said.

Claire shrugged. “Sure. You two will have fun.”

She inhaled. Maybe she could get some of her running friends to go out with her after their run that evening. At the very least, she’d be able to crank her music all night without worrying about disturbing Grey.

“I’m looking forward to having him to myself,” her mother said and nodded to the chair beside her. “Why don’t you take a load off? You look like you’re about to fall over. Grey, too. Don’t the two of you believe in sleep?”

“We sleep,” Claire said as she sank into the chair. She should get Grey and leave, but unfortunately her mother was right. Fatigue pulled at her. Maybe she could rest just for a minute.