the car and I can’t help feeling like this was another act of rebellion because he’s mad at me. He took the candy bar for a little girl.”
Kate covered her eyes, her face heating at the mortifying memory. “He got busted stealing candy for one of Cole Trent’s daughters.”
“He stole something for the sheriff’s kid?” Gram made an odd noise that Kate belatedly identified as a snort of amusement.
“Gram! It’s not funny.”
“It sort of is. Cupid’s Bow is small, granted, but there are a couple thousand residents. Of all the people...” She tried unsuccessfully to smother another laugh. “The sheriff! Seriously?”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t joke about this. When we met him inside, we didn’t know he was a cop. Then he chased us out in the parking lot, understandably furious. I was so embarrassed.” And that was after she’d already enjoyed the super-fun humiliation of dumping her drink on him. “Frankly, I’m hoping to avoid Sheriff Trent for the next three or four...ever.”
Gram’s eyes widened. “Oh, but—surely your paths will cross again. Like I said, this is a small town. So, perhaps it would be best to get it over with sooner rather than later. Right?”
Definitely not. But since it seemed rude to argue, Kate smiled weakly. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Another way to view it was that Kate had enough on her plate already without worrying about alienating a blue-eyed pillar of the community.
* * *
CRAP. LUKE SULLIVAN scowled at the prolonged quiet on the other side of the bedroom door. They’re talking about me. He couldn’t make out any of his mom’s or great-grandmother’s words, but he knew the tense, muffled tone. His mother had used it with his therapist whenever she sent Luke out of the room so the two adults could confer privately. She’d used it a lot on the phone with her friends when she was complaining about Luke’s screw-ups.
Suddenly needing noise and lots of it, Luke shoved in his earbuds and cranked up the volume on a hip-hop song. It was enough to drown out the low drone of conversation in the kitchen, but it didn’t mute the thoughts bouncing around his brain. He didn’t want to be here, in this shoebox of a room that smelled faintly of paint fumes. He liked his great-grandmother, but this was her house, not his. He missed home.
And he missed his friends.
He knew his mom didn’t like them, had specifically heard her describe Bobby as a “hoodlum,” but she didn’t get it. When he hung out with Bobby and the other eighth graders, kids looked at him with respect. Bobby was a known badass. He wasn’t universally liked, but even being regarded with contempt was better than pity. Luke hated students and teachers and neighbors eyeing him like he was a pathetic baby bird who’d fallen out of its nest and effed up its wing.
He was sick of people asking if he was “okay,” like his father’s murder was something to get over, equal to bombing a math quiz. He was tired of his mom’s stubborn attempts to get him to hang out with his old friends. And her attempts to get him to draw again. What did she care? Comic books were dumb stories that had nothing to do with real life.
In the stories Luke used to doodle, his cyborg-enhanced alien helped people by stopping natural disasters and chasing off enemies. In real life, Luke couldn’t even help cheer up a little girl. Stealing the candy had been stupid, and he certainly hadn’t meant to get her in trouble. He hated seeing girls cry.
He knew his mom cried. After his dad got shot, she’d cried a lot. They both had. But then she’d pretended to stop. He wasn’t stupid, though. He noticed when her face was blotchy. Some nights when he couldn’t sleep, he could hear the muffled noise. He hated those nights. He hated that his dad had picked such a dangerous job. He hated that he’d had to leave the only place he’d ever lived. But there wasn’t anything Luke could do about those problems.
Frustration flooded him, and he clenched his fists.
Yeah, stealing the candy bar had been a dumbass thing to do but it had seemed like such a simple solution, an easy way to make that little girl stop crying. Finally, there’d been a problem that seemed fixable! But he hadn’t been able even to fix that. So how was he going to fix the rest of his life?
* * *
AFTERTHEACHESand pains caused by loading the car and hours of driving, Kate expected to toss and turn all night. Instead, only a few minutes after her head hit the pillow, she fell into a dreamless sleep. In the morning, she woke to a wave of déjà vu triggered by the scent of coffee. She herself had never developed a taste for it, but Damon hadn’t been able to form the words good morning without a mug in his hand.
To combat the Texas summer, Gram kept the air-conditioning chugging at a temperature low enough to cool the hardwood floors. Kate slid her feet into music-note slippers given to her by a student at Christmas and padded to the kitchen to help with breakfast. She wasn’t surprised that the door to Luke’s room was still closed; he rarely got out of bed without parental prompting.
Gram, a natural morning person, beamed at her. “Sleep well, dear?”
“Like a rock, actually.” It was the best night’s rest she’d had in recent memory.
“I was just about to scramble myself some eggs. Want some?”
“You made dinner last night. It only seems fair that I make breakfast,” Kate counteroffered.
“All right. Then I can work on my shopping list. I’m running into town to pick up a few last minute items for the cookout this afternoon.”
The two women ate breakfast in companionable silence. Afterward, Gram gathered her purse and keys, saying she wouldn’t be gone long. She was just missing a few ingredients for the desserts she planned to bake.
Alone in the quiet house, Kate began unpacking some of her belongings into the closet and bureau. She’d been too drained last night. After making a substantial dent—and finding a casual green-striped sundress that seemed appropriate for today—she headed for the bathroom and showered. She used the blow-dryer with the door open, hoping the noise would jumpstart the process of waking Luke. When she knocked on his door, however, there was no answer, not even a mumbled “go away.”
She toyed with letting him sleep longer, wondering if that would improve his disposition today, but decided she wanted this opportunity while they were alone in the house to break the news about the welcome party. He might not react with enthusiasm, and she didn’t want him hurting Gram’s feelings.
“Knock, knock,” she said as she pushed the door open.
He was out cold, his breathing slow and even, his shaggy hair going in all different directions, an uneven halo against the pale blue pillowcase. Without the scowl that was rapidly becoming his trademark, he looked a lot like he had as a little boy. Her heart constricted, a tight ball in her chest. She loved her son so much and wanted nothing more than to make his life better, easier. If only he could see that!
She sat on the edge of the bed, saying his name softly, then with more volume, jostling his shoulder.
One eyelid cracked open just enough for him to peer at her in displeasure. “Whaddayawant?”
“To make you breakfast. And to talk. We saved you some bacon,” she said coaxingly.
He hesitated, torn between two of his favorite activities—sleeping and eating. Playing video games was also in his top five, but she hadn’t hooked up his gaming system last night. Maybe that could be his reward for being well-behaved today.
“Why don’t you put on some clothes and brush your teeth,” she suggested, “and I’ll cook you some eggs. Scrambled with cheese?”
He shook his head. “Fried with the squishy yolk, so that the yellow runs everywhere when you cut it.”
“Okay.” She rose, leaving the room and giving him some privacy. But she hesitated in the hallway, listening to make sure he actually got