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“I wasn’t smoking.”
Charlotte skipped past the truck and climbed onto the cart return. “Jeez, Chris, pull your sister down. I told you to watch her. Chris?”
“He’s over there looking at lawnmowers.” Michael flung an arm toward the side of the store.
“Chris!”
The ten-year-old froze, looked around to make sure no one had seen his uncle bellow at him and jogged back toward the truck.
“Why did you have to yell at me across the parking lot?”
“Because you are supposed to be watching your sister while I load this lumber, and I’m pretty sure there aren’t any ‘hotties’ at Home Depot on a Saturday morning.”
Chris shot him a withering look. “Girls are prisoners just like me. We get dragged everywhere by our parents… even Bed Bath & Beyond. No one cares what a kid wants. Besides, I’ve already seen Josie Dupont.”
“You’re wasting your breath, plague. She’s too hot for you,” Michael muttered.
Chris rolled his eyes. “This from the biggest social piranha at St. Marks.”
“Shut the hell up.” Michael reached for Chris, but Lucas caught his arm.
“Okay, I’ve had enough. Chris, fetch your sister and stop calling your brother an Amazonian fish.” Lucas heaved another load into the truck.
“What?” Chris asked.
“Look, stupid, if you’re going to insult me, at least use the correct terminology. It’s socialpariah.” Michael’s voice dripped with venom… and a shade of hurt.
Lucas turned Chris toward where his sister dangled. “Go.”
Chris sighed and did as bid.
Lucas turned back to Michael who had fixed his gaze on the cars whizzing down Veterans Highway. “What did he mean by that remark? You having trouble at school?”
His oldest nephew stiffened. “What’s it to you?”
Lucas looked hard at Michael. Dark hair swooping low across a forehead that bore the hallmark of being thirteen. Acne also marred his cheeks and chin, but not so much that it took away from his handsomeness. He was thin and gawky, but so were many boys at that age. He looked like the quintessential young teen but with Ben’s smile and brown eyes. It was as if Lucas looked upon his own brother twenty-three years ago.
“Just trying to hel-” Lucas bit down on his tongue because that sounded lame. “Nevermind. But if you want to talk or if anything is going on that can’t wait until your mother gets home, you know where I am.”
“Yeah, I do. You’re sleeping in my parents’ bed. A virtual stranger who doesn’t know me or anything about my life.”
Lucas nodded. “True, but I’m here.”
“Yes. You’re here.”
Without another word, Michael turned and started unloading the shopping cart.
Such anger and frustration in the child, but that was to be expected when going through puberty. Lucas could remember how awkward the age was. One moment he wanted to hit his father, the next crawl into his lap and hide from the cruel world. He’d give Michael space. No doubt he dealt with some nonsense at school, but the boy didn’t trust him enough to seek help or advice. Lucas would keep his eye on his nephew… just in case he needed to intervene.
Finally, after loading the truck, he drove through a donut place and picked up a couple dozen to pacify the kids. Screw never rewarding kids with food. This was survival for Lucas, and he’d “pick his battles” like the article in the parenting magazine on the back of the toilet had suggested. Yeah, Ben and Courtney had no hunting, fishing, or sports magazines lying around their house, but obviously liked knowing the ten best snacks for a toddler.
The entire way back to Uptown, Michael was silent, noshing on donuts, earbuds in, as Chris and Charlotte sat in the backseat quietly working on a sugar high he knew he’d pay for later. Every time he glanced in his rearview mirror, he caught sight of the three-year-old who looked like a commercial for everything cute imaginable. At one point, she caught his eye and smiled, sugary donut gumming up her face, but looking so like her mother, he couldn’t help but soften.
Which was strange since he’d spent years angry at the woman who’d ripped his heart out and left her high heels embedded within the depths.
He remembered the first time he’d seen Courtney. She’d been eleven years old, all legs and glorious blond hair, dangling from a branch of an old oak tree in the front yard of the house her parents had bought days before. Lucas had been cutting through behind his house on his way to his friend’s house to shoot hoops when he’d seen her fall from the tree. He’d scrambled over some bushes, hopped the low fence, and found her in a tangle, laughing like a loon. She’d looked up, grabbed the book that had fallen from her hand, and smiled. “This is exactly how these two met.”
“Huh?”
