Espresso In The Morning

Her eyebrows arched. “Not bad. Things are definitely picking up.”

“I’d think that would be a good indicator for the state of the economy.” He shrugged. “People shipping things means other people are buying them, right?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Do you do this full-time?” He indicated her laptop.

“I do,” she said.

“And do you work regular hours, like a nine-to-five job?” he asked.

He had no idea what he was babbling about, or why he was grilling her. What he really wanted to ask her was if all their running around was good for Grey, because, obviously, Grey didn’t think so. Lucas didn’t know her well enough to go there, though. He still wasn’t sure why he even cared, but the memory of the hope in her son’s eyes kept him where he was.

“Some days. Not always,” she said. She unfolded her arms, though her posture remained stiff. “I teach kickboxing a couple of afternoons a week, so I work around that. It depends on what’s happening. I work on reports some evenings.” She smiled tightly. “Depending on what time we get done with soccer or rock climbing.”

“Wow, sounds like you two do keep pretty busy. And when do you sleep?”

She gestured with her hand. “Oh, sleep is overrated.”

Bingo. She didn’t sleep. Toby had slept all the time. Neither was a good scenario.

He said, “I think sleep is very important.”

Her gaze again drifted out the window beside her. “Well, lots of things are important.”

He nodded. He’d pressed her enough. “I should get back to work.”

Her eyebrows arched again. She checked her laptop monitor then said, “I hadn’t realized it was this late. I need to finish up so I can get to my class.”

“Sure, I didn’t mean to keep you. It was nice chatting with you, Claire. I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yes...thanks...Lucas,” she said and for a moment her gaze caught his.

He thought she might say more, but then her gaze flicked away. Her shoulders rounded as though a weight pressed down on her. An air of loneliness descended on her as she turned back to her laptop.

Lucas headed to his office. Why had he let the kid get to him? Was that really loneliness he sensed in Claire? Or was that loneliness a symptom of something more troubling? As much as he hated to interfere, he felt compelled to help in some way.

Did the kid even want him to? Well, maybe not him, specifically, but someone. Surely, on some level, Grey suspected something was up with his mother.

You could have prevented this.

Maybe Louisa hadn’t been right about Toby. Lucas hadn’t really understood what his friend had been going through then, but now he recognized the signs. He didn’t know Grey and Claire, but he was drawn to them. Maybe it was Claire’s isolation that called to him. Toby had pushed everyone away for weeks before he’d blown out his brains. Would there be any harm in Lucas befriending this woman and her son? What if Claire had isolated herself to the point of not having anyone to talk to? If he acted as a sounding board, she might eventually admit that keeping Grey constantly on the go wasn’t the best for him.

Maybe sometimes we could have breakfast at home, instead.

Grey’s haunted plea drifted to him again as he peered out of his open office door to where Claire was packing up her laptop. Maybe the problem wasn’t complicated at all. Maybe all Claire needed was a friend.

CHAPTER FOUR

DUSK APPROACHED AS Grey pushed himself off the ground, feeling both exhausted and angry. Nate Patterson hooted his exultation over once again getting the ball past him. Hell, it was happening more and more these days. Grey should be used to it.

But he wasn’t.

Nate trotted toward him. Grey brushed the dirt from his hand then extended it, though he couldn’t bring himself to smile.

“Nice dive, Murphy,” Nate said and pumped his hand with genuine enthusiasm.

Grey pressed his lips together, for fear the anger might spurt from him in a less-than-sportsmanlike manner. He nodded and Nate sped away, whooping with his teammates as the ending whistle shrilled.

At least the torment of this game was over. After a short pep talk from their coach, Grey headed across the soccer field toward the parking lot, scanning it for his mom. Too bad she’d missed another of his magnificent fails. If she’d seen how he’d sucked throughout that game, she’d understand his decision.

He was done.

The sun streamed down, glinting off metal and drawing his attention. His mom was standing on the far hill nearest the parking lot, something bulky slung across her shoulder. As she drew closer, he groaned. She was carrying a golf bag and clubs. She had to be kidding.

When she was within hearing distance, she smiled and waved. “Hi, honey!”

He shuffled toward her, shaking his head, refusing to ask the obvious.

She waved to his coach in the distance, and then ruffled his hair. He ducked away, hurrying toward the car.

“Hey, don’t I get a hello?” she asked. She caught him in a few quick strides. For a small woman, she moved quickly.

“Hello,” he said, keeping his attention on the parking lot. The sooner he got them to the car, the sooner they’d get home, where he could shut himself into his room and try to block out the noise.

“How was the game? I’m sorry I missed it. I had a lost shipment....”

Couldn’t she just drive them home for once and not expect him to talk?

“Look what I got,” she said. “Saw them at a yard sale earlier and had to stop. We can fit in a little golf on Sundays, before rock climbing.”

He shook his head and kept walking. What the hell did she expect him to say?

“Grey?” She touched his arm.

He twisted out of reach and increased his pace.

“Hey, what’s up?” She stopped.

He stopped, without turning around, closed his eyes and said, “I’m done.”

Mom moved in front of him, shifting the golf bag on her shoulder. “What do you mean, you’re done? Did the game not go well?”

Grey was too tired to be polite. “What don’t you get? I’m done, finished,” he said and swept his arms wide. “I’m through with all of it.”

Her mouth and eyebrows puckered like she was trying to understand. “You don’t want to play soccer anymore?”

“No,” he said. He had trouble keeping his voice level. His throat tightened. “I hate it.”