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That was a good question… one Addy didn’t have an answer to.
The early March sun roasted Lucas’s shoulders, causing sweat to sluice down his back. He shrugged out of the long-sleeved work shirt he’d donned that morning, electing to work in the thin undershirt. He’d found a table saw in Ben’s workshop and created a temporary workstation to cut the boards and hand off to a sullen Michael. Chris and Charlotte helped Addy and Aunt Flora replant the orchids in the new pots Addy had brought home. The three-year-old seemed to be wearing more soil than was in the pots and seemed happy digging around in the yard and checking on her worm farm.
“I think this ought to do it,” he said to Michael, handing off the last board. “I bought some premade shelving we’ll put together after we get these boards in place. The instructions are in the box if you want to get started.”
“I don’t. I need to shower. I’m going over to Jase’s house.” Michael set the board on his shoulder and walked back to the greenhouse, setting it carefully against the small Japanese maple sitting in the shade of the large house.
“Who’s Jase? And how come I don’t know anything about this?”
“It’s his birthday. Mom should have told you I had this planned,” Michael said, squaring his shoulders, ready to fight Lucas on the point.
“Fine. I’ll drop you so I can talk to his parents.”
Michael made a face. “Whatever.”
“That’s your favorite word, huh?” Lucas said, pointing toward the box. “If you’ll open that and lay out the parts according to the directions, I’ll put it together after I get back from taking you to your friend’s house.”
The boy sighed. “Whatever.”
“What’s eating you, Michael?”
The boy turned, his expression fierce. “What do you think?”
Lucas said nothing, merely studied the lanky boy with the crappy attitude. “I never sent you twenty bucks in a birthday card?”
The boy sneered. “Yeah, because that would have made this all better. Me getting a card from you.”
Okay, humor wasn’t going to work.
Lucas cast a glance to where Addy lugged a bag of soil to the patio, liking the way she looked in her faded jeans. Her aunt helped Chris to gently tuck the roots of a soft pink orchid into the terra cotta pot. “You don’t understand the big picture, kid. There’s a lot of choppy water under a bridge that burned years ago. I had my reasons for staying away from New Orleans.”
Michael set the box containing the shelves at his feet. “I’m sure those reasons are comforting to Grammy and Grampy when you’re not here at Christmas… or for anything else. I’m sure it’s totally cool to ignore the family you have.”
A punch to the stomach would have had the same effect. Lucas tried not to react to the guilt socking him over and over again. His mother had always said she understood, she’d always said he didn’t have to come for Thanksgiving, for his father’s heart catheterization, for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. And Lucas had stayed away because of his pride… because it still hurt when he thought about his kid brother Ben, about how guilty yet convicted Courtney had been the night she’d told him she was in love with his brother. “That’s not what I was doing.”
Michael glared at him before giving him a familiar sardonic Ben smile. “Okay. Sure.”
Something broke in Lucas and anger flooded him. How dare this brat accuse him of being the bad guy? Did he know what his mother and father had done? Did he know the hurt that had festered there for years?
The kid didn’t know shit about him.
But Michael obviously didn’t care because he continued. “Chris, Lottie, and I had nothing to do with whatever happened between you and Mom and Dad. Ever think of that? We meant nothing to you back then, so why should we care about you now? We were easy to write off. I’m going to help Addy. I’ll send Chris back to help you fixhismistake.”
Lucas’s fist curled so he gave his idle hand something to do, stooping and picking up the shelves. He didn’t know how to handle Michael. He’d given the kid a pass on his rudeness for the first couple of days because Courtney had left without telling them goodbye or diddly poop about their father, but his patience waned.
Still, Michael wasn’t wrong. The rift between Lucas and Ben wasn’t the kids’ fault. Lucas shouldn’t have spent the past thirteen years pretending the children didn’t exist. He’d just been at a loss for how to reach out to them when he still simmered with anger at their parents.
Or maybe it hadn’t been anger as much as it had been wounded pride. Like a sucking wound, the injury done to him had chafed and poisoned him against children who had nothing to do with what had happened all those years ago.
“Michael said I have to help you,” Chris said, rubbing at the smears of soil on his forehead. “What you want me to do?”
“Just hold the boards in place while I use the drill.”
“Can I use the drill?”
“We’ll see.”
Chris twisted his lips and pulled on the small gloves Lucas had bought him at the home improvement store. “That means no. Every kid knows that.”
