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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.
“Well, not enough by the look of either of you. I get at least seven and a half hours of sleep every night. My doctor says I’m as healthy as a woman ten years younger.”
“Good for you, Mother,” Claire said and propped her feet on the coffee table before her. She closed her eyes.
“Honestly, hon, I’m worried about both of you.”
Claire sighed and opened her eyes. “We’re fine.” She leaned toward her mother. “I do have a favor to ask, though. If it’s too much I understand, but we have a little change in his schedule and I’m not sure what to do about it.”
Her mother nodded. “He mentioned he wants to quit soccer. I can’t say that I’m surprised. You two can’t keep on the go all the time. I can only imagine how exhausting it is. I can’t comprehend why you would do that to yourself, let alone to your son.”
Claire tightened her jaw in frustration. No matter how old she got, she’d always be an irresponsible kid to her mother, one who never made the right choices—one whose troubles were always her own fault.
“We’re okay, and, yes, he wants to quit soccer,” she said. “But I have to work and he can’t be home alone. I feel like we can’t ask any more of Becca. You know how Kyle is. Grey’s staying longer in the afternoons would be a disruption for them.”
“Why can’t you work from home?”
Claire waved her hand. Her mother had already proven she would never understand—or accept—the truth. “I might try it, but would you be able to watch him if it turns out I can’t work while he’s there? It’s after school Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. If it’s too much trouble for you to get him from school, I’d run him over to you, then pick him up afterward. I know it’s a lot to ask, but you were saying you don’t see enough of him. I just wanted to see if it’s an option.”
Her mother sat in silence, frowning. At last she nodded. “Of course Grey is always welcome with me. I’m doing a little more consulting these days, though. I can work around his schedule for the most part, but I can’t get him until later in the day. He can still go to Becca’s and I can pick him up from there. Just let me know what you decide.”
“Thank you, Mother, I really appreciate it.”
“I’d be happy to see more of him. He’s at a good age,” she said, smiling. “I can even watch him evenings and weekends. You should be going out more, Claire, dating. It isn’t right for you to be single. Both you and Grey could use some male interaction. For obviously different reasons, of course.”
Claire pressed her lips together. “No, I’m not interested in dating and, yes, I agree Grey needs a good male role model,” she said. “I’m working on it. I’m checking into getting him a Big Brother.”
“Really?” Her mother leaned back, arms folded.
“Yes.” Claire said. Would she ever be able to set up another meeting? “Really. Why, what’s wrong with that? I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Nothing, sweetheart—a Big Brother could be a good thing. I just don’t know why Grey needs someone who isn’t family or a friend. What about Kyle? Can’t he spend more time with him? Or how about Ned, my next-door neighbor? His kids are grown and he has more time on his hands than he knows what to do with.”
Why did her mother find fault with everything she did? If Becca had suggested the BBBS, would her mother have been open to it? Claire shouldn’t be resentful when her mother was trying to help. But still...
“I’m perfectly comfortable with the Big Brother program,” she said. “They’re people who volunteer their time to be with kids. They’re well screened. Which is more than I can say for your choice of friends.”
Her mother stiffened at the reference to her former friend, the man she’d admired so much that she’d refused to believe Claire after the attack.
“Phil Adams was an upstanding citizen. He sat on the board of the homeowners association for years and city council wouldn’t have been the same without him.”
Claire stood. “Well, you and I have very different opinions on what constitutes an upstanding citizen, Mother.” She headed toward the screen door. “I’ll drop Grey by after school on Friday.”
CHAPTER SIX
“KEN, IT looks like we’re going to run short on a few supplies before the next shipment,” Lucas said to the older gentleman. “I’m going to make a quick run to get what we need to tide us over.”
“No problem,” Ken said. “I’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone.”
Slipping his jacket on, Lucas pushed through the front door, into the sunlit day. As he patted his pockets for his keys, a familiar brunette rolled into the parking space beside him.
He’d been thinking about Claire since their conversation the other morning. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from giving his opinion about Grey’s need for a role model. And, of course, he’d pushed again about the downtime. As he thought about it, his whole approach to her was colored by Grey’s desire to de-stress their life, but Claire still had no idea Lucas knew about that. She no doubt thought of him as a creep, who stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong. He’d been looking for an opportunity to smooth things over with her ever since.
She slipped out of her car and, thankfully, acknowledged him with a little wave. He returned the wave and smiled. “Welcome back.”
Now that she was here, he had no idea how to dig himself out of the hole he’d dug with her. She stepped onto the sidewalk in front of The Coffee Stop.
“You’re not working this afternoon?” she asked.
At least she was still speaking to him. He again patted his pockets for his elusive keys. “I’m making a quick supply run.”
She nodded and adjusted the shoulder strap of her computer bag. “Well, I’m going to get some work done.”
“Claire,” he said and she paused. “I just want to say I shouldn’t have butted in the other day. You know, harping on you about your schedule and suggesting the Big Brother thing for Grey. I was out of line.”
Again, she nodded, but then stepped closer to him. “It’s okay. You made some valid points.” Her cheeks pinked. “I’m going to look into the Big Brother program. It was a good suggestion.”
She glanced through his car window as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets, still searching for his keys. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
His keys dangled from the ignition.
“Well, that’s no good,” he said and jiggled the door handle to no avail. He walked around the car, checking all the doors. But all of them were locked.
“Do you have a spare set?” she asked.
“I must have had one at some point, but I have no idea where it would be. I guess I’ll call a locksmith.”
She pulled out her own keys. “I think I have a coat hanger in my car, if you want to give that a try first.”
“I guess it couldn’t hurt.”
She opened the passenger door beside him and felt around under the seat, but came up empty-handed. “Hold on.”
She moved to the back door and tried again from that angle. “I’m pretty sure it’s under here.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t mind calling a locksmith.”
“No, I’m sure I have one. It was from some dry cleaning and Grey stuck it under there. Let’s move the seat up.” She climbed into the backseat and leaned over the front, searching for the lever on the left side of the seat.
“Let me get this out of the way,” she said as she grabbed a book bag from between the seats and slung it into the passenger seat.
The contents spilled across the blue upholstery, displaying printed pages marked with yellow highlighter. Lucas hurried to gather the documents, but paused as his gaze fell on one of the highlighted phrases.
PTSD Symptoms: Traumatic Flashbacks
“I’ll get that,” Claire said as she grabbed the papers from his hands.
Before he could comment, she’d shoved everything back into the book bag and resumed fumbling with the lever.
“Let me,” he said and she moved aside to let him pull the lever. The seat slid forward and she was finally able to extract the sought-after hanger.
She didn’t meet his gaze as she handed it to him. “I knew I had one.”
“Claire—” He had so much he wanted to ask her, but the last thing he wanted was to push her again. Was she researching PTSD for herself?
“Why don’t you just keep that?” she said as she closed the back door of her car. “I don’t need it.”
“Okay, thanks.” He wanted to reach out to her, tell her he understood too well what she was suffering—if that was what she was suffering—but at the same time his stomach tightened at the memory of Toby, gaunt and emotionless.
“I’d better get to work. I have a deadline on a contract,” she said, still not making eye contact.
“Sure,” he said. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”
She nodded as she inhaled and straightened. Her gaze met his and as before, it seemed she might say more, but she merely nodded again, and headed into the coffe shop.
* * *
THE SMOOTH TONES of jazz floated through the air a short while later as Claire tried to relax into her favorite chair at The Coffee Stop. She glanced around once more to see if Lucas had returned.
What did it matter that he’d seen the articles she’d printed on PTSD? She had nothing to hide. She was just getting to know the man and if he decided not to pursue their friendship because of them, then she’d count her blessings.
But what if he mentioned the articles around Grey? Even as the question shot through her mind, she chided herself on how foolish she was being.
Lucas probably hadn’t given the papers a second thought. If he had, wouldn’t he have asked her then? She should have said something at the time, though what that would have been, she couldn’t fathom.
She should have just told him she was researching PTSD for herself. There was no shame in that. She’d already picked up a few techniques to help her nip flashbacks in the bud. Not that she’d perfected any of them, but she was trying.
She inhaled and tried to focus on her latest contract. What did it matter to her what Lucas thought? A little voice whispered that it did matter, because on some level, she was starting to like the man.
It had been too long since she’d had a real friend to confide in. If Lucas knew about her PTSD and accepted her, in spite of that, maybe he’d be someone she could talk to. Heaven knew she couldn’t talk to her mother or perfect Becca.
Her gaze wandered around the space, which was sprinkled with other patrons. Sometimes, if she were completely honest, she just felt lonely. Is that why she liked it here?
The music was usually too mellow for her tastes. The clientele seemed to be more on the quiet side. The afternoon barista was a kid who, like the guy from the BBBS, seemed to radiate a troubled vibe. Yet, people always occupied the upholstered chairs and sofas, as well as the traditional café-style tables and chairs. In its own laidback way the shop provided enough distraction to keep her from jumping out of her skin. There was something of a community feeling here, even if she only felt remotely connected to it.
Besides, somehow she managed to complete her work here, where she struggled to do so in other places.
Why can’t you work at home?
Grey’s question still haunted her. But just the thought of a quiet afternoon at home sent fear swirling through her, as though that one day had conditioned her to react to those particular circumstances.
Dust motes circled in the beam of sunshine streaming through the window by her seat. They swirled and dropped in a peaceful dance to the strains of a saxophone and horns. The tinkling of the front door drew her attention.
The older couple, who usually sat together on the overstuffed sofa at the back, entered. A younger woman, perhaps their daughter, strode arm in arm with the man.
“Lucas,” the older woman said and motioned Lucas out from behind the counter.
Claire straightened at the sight of him. He must have returned through a back door. The usual adrenaline spiked through her at the sight of his strength. But with Lucas the adrenaline didn’t signal something unpleasant, as it did with other strong men. He’d been on her mind since their conversation the other day.
Something about him, the way he blatantly addressed her most pressing issues, the way he apologized for doing so, the way his gaze seemed to see right into her, commanded her respect, even as he pushed her out of her comfort zone.
Lucas glanced her way as he strode to meet the couple and their guest. For the briefest second, his gaze touched hers and her heart raced, sending warmth bursting in her cheeks.
She lowered her eyes, forcing herself to focus on the contract on her laptop monitor. What the hell was wrong with her?
“Lucy here just enlisted. She’s headed for boot camp in a couple of weeks,” the older gentleman said. He had settled on the sofa between the two women, his arm around the younger one, as if he were afraid to let her go.
Again, Lucas’s gaze wandered to Claire. This time she didn’t look away, though her heart hammered so hard it surely showed through her blouse. The green of his eyes seemed to darken, as though a shadow passed over him.
His voice was low, but distinguishable, even across the room. “It takes the right kind of person to make it in the military.”
The older gentleman gripped the young woman’s hand. “You listen to Lucas, honey. He knows.”
The gentleman’s wife leaned over him to address the young woman, saying, “Former marine, he served in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was an EMT and medevac pilot.”
A chill passed through Claire. She rubbed her arms. She had no business listening. Again, she focused on the contract, but she read the same sentence three times and had no idea what it said.
“He got shot down once,” the old guy said and gestured toward Lucas. “Tell her.”
Claire held her breath, unable to take her attention off their conversation.
“There isn’t much to say,” Lucas said, ducking his head, as though he didn’t want to tell the story. “We got hit hard. We’d already made two trips out with wounded and had more to go.”
He shook his head. “I managed to land us in one piece, but the engine was toast. We had a kid—he couldn’t have been more than twenty. He should have been on some college campus, but there he was. He’d taken a frag to the head and several to his back. My copilot, he got out with this first lieutenant who’d lost an arm. They went for help, but the kid—we couldn’t move him.”
He paused a moment. “I couldn’t leave him. You never know what you’re capable of until you’re in that situation.” Again he paused, while the dust motes circled. “I held them off until help reached us. It took them fourteen hours.”
He stopped and all remained silent. Claire inhaled. What had happened during those fourteen hours? She closed her eyes.
Fourteen hours. It must have seemed an eternity. Time had a way of stretching during trauma. She’d felt as if she’d been through a time warp that summer day a little over a year ago.
“Like I said, the military isn’t for everyone.” Lucas’s voice kept her in the present. “It turns out I make a better coffee-shop owner than a marine.”
The young woman leaned forward on the sofa. “I’m sure you made a great marine.”
Claire’s gaze swept over the young woman. She tossed her hair and it flowed silkily around her shoulders. Something too much like jealousy swelled in Claire’s chest. What did she care if Lucas was interested in the young woman? It wasn’t like she wanted to date him.
She had enough on her plate without having to worry with fitting another person into her life. No, dating wasn’t on Claire’s to-do list and wouldn’t be for a long time to come.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“SO, WHY are you hanging around with an old lady, when you could be having fun with someone your own age?” Adana Williams, Lucas’s mother, waved at her son with her paint roller late Friday afternoon. Baby-blue paint spattered the drop cloth below her.
Lucas grinned and repositioned the ladder before climbing back up with his own paint-soaked roller. “What, and miss out on all this fun?” he asked. “What better way to spend a Friday afternoon than with my beautiful madre?”
His mother shook her head as she rolled a streak of blue along the lower portion of the wall of the bedroom section of the efficiency she rented in a friend’s basement. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I love having you around, but I worry about you.”
“No need to worry. I like spending time with you. Who else is going to do all your grunt work for you?”
She frowned at him, though merriment shone in her deep brown eyes. She had her mother’s dark coloring, her South American heritage showing more than the European blood of her father. “I do my own grunt work,” she said. “You just help. Sometimes.”
Laughter rumbled through him. “Like when I helped you move into this place last fall?”
“Okay, maybe you did that one on your own. I had that bum knee,” she said. “I’m not saying I don’t need you at times and appreciate you always, love. I just don’t need you all the time. Between me and that coffee shop of yours when do you have any fun?”
Lucas focused on coating the roller with fresh paint from the tray attached to the top of the ladder. He worked hard to keep The Coffee Stop afloat and to pass on what he could to his mother. She worked long hours as a receptionist, but she couldn’t seem to catch a break financially. Even though it didn’t bother her, he hated that she had to live like this.
“I like being busy,” he said. “What kind of son would I be if I left you to do this by yourself? And I enjoy the shop and I do meet people there.”
“What kind of people?” she asked.
“All kinds. There’s the Grandbys, this sweet older couple who like tea and board games. They want to start holding backgammon tournaments in the shop,” he said with a grin. “They’ve talked me into some group deals for them, but they’ll bring in a lot of new business, so it’s a win-win situation there.”
His mother rubbed at a dab of blue paint on her arm, saying, “But what about customers of the female persuasion? Any single young women frequenting that shop of yours?”
An image of Claire Murphy sprang to Lucas’s mind, with her auburn hair and those brown eyes carrying the weight of the world. He shook his head and said, “None that I’m dating, if that’s what you’re after.”
“No?” His mother regarded him with arched eyebrows. “That took a little long for you to answer. So, there’s at least one woman, but you don’t think you can date her. What makes her undateable? She’s not married, is she?”
“I’m sure we can find something more interesting than my lack of a love life to talk about,” he said. “What about you? How is everything with Richard?”
“He’s away on business, which is why he isn’t here helping me slap paint on the wall, but everything is wonderful so there’s not much to say. And I can’t imagine a more important conversation for a mother to have with her best-loved son—”
“Only son,” he said. “Only child—”
“—than one about why such a loving, healthy, single man should spend all of his time working or helping out his old-lady madre.”
“Number one, you aren’t an old lady, that would be Grandma and even she puts the other abuelas to shame. Number two, I’m happy being single. If I’m meant to be with someone I’ll meet her during the normal course of my life.”
His mother swept her arm, indicating the room. “Well, if this is the normal course of your life, you’re going to be single a long time, my son. I don’t have any young available women crowding into my home.” She shrugged. “Though maybe I can arrange something if you insist on hanging out here all the time.”
Lucas laughed again. “You know I’d put a fast stop to that if I thought you were serious.”
“So, tell me about the woman,” she said.
“What woman?” he asked.
“The one at your shop. The undateable one.”