Page 2 of Summer Holiday Lifeline

“Hey.” He stopped in the kitchen doorway to watch Jet rifle through the fridge.

Jet ignored him.

“Jet.”

More of nothing from the teenager.

“Jet, come on. Would you look at me?”

Jet straightened, an energy drink in one hand and a juice box in the other. “What?” He slammed the fridge, then winced at the sounds of falling bottles inside. He didn’t open it to find out what had spilled, though. Just leaned on the door, arms crossed.

“You don’t think I’ve tried to talk to Shelly about the drawings? All it does is make her furious. Your mom was so good with her. She knew how to keep her calm.” Myles shrugged. “I don’t know much about kids, I’ll be honest. But I’m trying here.”

Jet huffed.

“And about your mom, that wasn’t my decision, it was hers. I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t my place to go behind her back. Believe me, I tried—a lot—to talk her into telling you guys. I thought you had a right to know. I thought you had a right to share her last days as a family. Together. To say goodbye properly. But she wouldn’t.” He scrubbed a thumb over a smudged print on the side of the fridge. “I can’t change any of that.”

Jet had moved his glare to the floor, and Myles could see his rapid blinking. He knew the kid needed a hug. He knew Jet might take a swing if he got too close.

“I’m ready!” Shelly came careening into the room from the backyard, and directly into Jet’s legs, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing.

He patted her back, and she took off again. “Gotta find shoes!” she called back breathlessly, and Myles gaped at the dew-wet, sandy footprints left behind by her socked feet.

The tiniest mutt Myles had ever known came scrambling inside in her wake, tripped over his own feet to slide on his chest across the floor until he came to a stop against Jet’s foot.

“OMG. Dude.” Jet lifted him back onto his feet. “Could you be more of a dork?” He clipped the leash from the hook by the back door to MJ’s collar, then stood. “I’ll go help her find her shoes.” Scooping up the dog, he angled past Myles out of the room, then called for Shelly as he headed for the front of the house.

Myles followed more slowly. His own green army-issue duffel, depressingly flaccid though it held every stitch of clothing he owned, sat next to Shelly’s bright case. He placed the cane Ozzy had carved for him from a crooked tree branch against the wall next to the small pile.

The smooth wood of the handle had darkened over time and with use, but he remembered the day Ozzy had proudly handed it over. That had been a good day. No matter what—or who—had come and gone from his life since then, that cane helped him remember there were good days.

There could be more good days.

Because he and Ozzy hadn’t exactly parted on friendly terms, he’d figured on a lukewarm reception at best from Lucky because Lucky had given Ozzy refuge. Myles should have known better. Lucky had never been a lukewarm kind of person. He’d more than come through for Ozzy, and he’d now done the same for Micky.

He hoped it wouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks, but when he glanced across the room to Jet’s separate pile—because heaven forbid anything of Jet’s should look like it belonged anywhere close to anything of Myles’s—he had to wonder. Jet’s huge-wheeled suitcase with its many pockets and extendable handle sat next to two totes filled with carefully packed sneakers. The kid had more sneakers than Myles had hang-ups.

And, really, that was a lot.

“You ready?” Perhaps his oldest friend, Patricia, bustled in from the kitchen, brushing her hands together as she moved through the living room.

Myles grimaced at the black dots of garden soil, invisible against her dark skin but vibrant against the white entrance tiles, that she left in her wake.

“Yeah.” He opened the hall closet. “Let me just—” The door snapped shut, almost nipping his fingers, and he yanked it back open to grab a broom.

Patricia took it from his hand. “Stop it.”

“It’ll only take⁠—”

“Stop. Myles, leave it. I’ll clean it up.”

“I—”

“Hey. You’re about to go on vacation where you won’t have to clean up after yourself or anyone else for the next six weeks.”

“Two.”

“To-ma-to, to-mah-to.” She grinned, showing off the spectacularly white, straight teeth of someone who grew up with a dentist parent. “Start now.”