Espresso In The Morning

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 response 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.