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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.
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.
