Espresso In The Morning

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.”

“We both needed to get away.”

“Because of you. Because you dragged him into that gang in the first place.”

Lucas gripped the neck of the beer bottle. “I never meant for him to get hurt.”

“Hurt?” The accusation burned in her eyes. “He was literally broken, in both body and spirit. He didn’t walk for months. If you had left him alone, maybe we could have avoided this.”

Lucas stared at her, unable to dispute her claim. He’d gotten into some stupid stuff in high school and Toby had gone along with him, not always willingly. Sometimes he went just to keep Lucas out of worse trouble than he’d be in on his own. Neither of them had come out of that time unscathed. But Toby had been scarred in a way Lucas hadn’t realized until it was too late.

Then, in the marines, Lucas had been an EMT and medevac pilot, not a shrink. Guilt still churned in his gut. He’d missed the signs. He’d gotten caught up in a stupid love affair during that last leave. Who was the woman? He couldn’t remember her name or even picture her face.

“I’m sorry.” No matter how many times he uttered them, the words fell flat. He left, fleeing the accusation in her eyes.

Nothing had changed in the past two years. Louisa was right. If anyone could have helped her brother, it should have been Lucas.

CHAPTER THREE

CLAIRE GAZED AT her sleeping son on Friday afternoon, overwhelmed with regret. Becca and Amanda’s voices drifted to her from one of the back rooms. Claire brushed the hair from Grey’s forehead. She hated to wake him. He’d been exhausted again that morning, but now his young face had softened. Surely, she’d known such peace once. It seemed so long ago.

What she wouldn’t give to feel that again.

The quiet of her sister’s house pressed in around her. “Grey? Grey, honey, time to go.”

When he didn’t respond, she gently shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes. She folded her arms as a floorboard in the hallway creaked.

It’s only Becca.

She pressed her lips together as her son groaned in disappointment. Heaven knew he needed the rest, but they had to get out of there.

“Hurry up. We’ll be late for soccer practice,” she said and grabbed his backpack from the floor. “Did you finish your homework?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Grey reached for his bag, but she threw it across her shoulder, and headed for the door.

He hurried after her, half running to keep up. She didn’t breathe until they reached the car. He slipped into the passenger seat beside her as she cranked the engine and the radio exploded with the screeching of an electric guitar.

He winced, and then turned down the volume a notch. Claire frowned, but didn’t turn it back up. At least they’d escaped Becca’s tomblike home.

“Why don’t you like quiet?” he asked, annoyance coloring his tone.

She shrugged and said, “Quiet is overrated.”

“No, it isn’t. It isn’t normal to always crank your music, to have the TV and the DVD player and the computer going at the same time. You don’t sleep. You don’t like quiet. We’re never home. It’s soccer, or kickboxing or wall-climbing. It isn’t normal. We didn’t used to do all that. What happened? Why does it have to be so crazy now?”

She didn’t answer, just bobbed her head along to the music, her attention on the road. The “normal” Grey wanted no longer existed for her, though she’d give anything to have it back again. Why couldn’t he accept their life without all these questions? She didn’t have answers, not ones she could share.

This wasn’t easy for either of them. All Grey wanted was a normal life, a regular mom. Claire wasn’t like other moms, though. Not anymore.

And she’d never been like Becca.

Becca would never make such wild accusations.

“I want to know about my father. Where is he? What’s he doing?” Grey asked.

She strummed her fingers to the acid beat and sped through a yellow light. “You know as much as I do.”

“Why don’t I ever hear from him?”

Shit. Why now? “What difference does it make? He’s gone and you don’t need to worry about him.”

“It makes a difference to me. Why won’t you talk about him?”

She braked at a light and turned to him as the electric guitar squealed to a stop and the radio announcer came on. “There’s nothing to talk about, Grey,” she said. “I’m sorry you don’t have a dad, but we’re fine on our own. None of that matters. The past is past. Let’s focus on today. Are you ready for this game? Who are you playing tonight? Oh, and we need to talk about this weekend.”

“I don’t care about the game,” Grey said. “I want to know about my dad. Did I do something to make him leave? Did you?”

“Grey.” The knot in her stomach tightened. “It’s nothing like that. He left, but not because you did anything wrong. He just didn’t deserve you.”

“So he left because of you.”

“Yes,” she said. The light changed, so she accelerated through the intersection. “He left because of me.”

Grey turned from her, fuming. She clenched the steering wheel, hating the sick feeling in her gut, hating having her son mad at her, hating that she couldn’t give him normal, hating that he missed his dad. Hadn’t they been fine?

She provided adequately for them. Their house needed fixing up, but she gave Grey lots of attention. Why wasn’t that enough? Did it matter so much that he didn’t have a father?

* * *

ON MONDAY MORNING The Coffee Stop regulars lounged about as Lucas emerged from the back to fill his own mug. Ken talked quietly with an older gentleman at the end of the counter. Lucas stretched as he surveyed the seating area.

The sweet old couple, who’d talked him into expanding his tea assortment, sat focused on the cribbage board they’d donated to the growing stock of board games he kept under one of the big oak coffee tables. Whatever it took to keep people lingering and buying more coffee and the occasional panini was fine with Lucas. Comb-over guy slouched in the corner of the long leather sofa, his feet propped on the other table, his bony fingers curled around his pencil as he scribbled in the daily crossword.

The customer of most interest, as always, was the woman by the window, staring vacantly out, laptop keyboard silent—Grey’s mom. The boy’s bright smile flashed through Lucas’s mind and he shook his head.