Espresso in the Morning Read online

  A bit of happiness rippled through Claire, even though the circumstances were sad. Grey so seldom sought her company lately, she was glad to have this opportunity to spend time with him...and with Lucas. She glanced at Lucas, gratitude filling her. “Of course it’s okay and I’ll think about an epitaph.”

  “Epitaph?” Grey asked.

  “That’s whatever we write on the headstone,” Lucas said. He gestured toward the grave site with his bouquet of flowers. “Do we know how we want to do this?”

  Grey looked to Claire and again she felt touched. It was good to have him looking at her for direction for a change. She didn’t know how much more disdain and anger she could take from him.

  “Why don’t we each take a turn saying something about Lady and then laying either flowers or her other gifts on her grave?”

  “Okay,” Grey said. “Can I do the toys and chew bone and the brush, too?”

  “Of course, honey.” She traded the items for the bouquet he’d carried from the car. “Do you want to go first?”

  Grey straightened. “Is that okay, Lucas, or do you want to go?”

  “Be my guest,” Lucas said.

  Grey stood before the grave. “Lady, we just met you and all we know about you is that somebody was really mean to you.” His voice caught and he paused. “They didn’t treat you like a lady at all, but that’s what you deserved. And that’s what we would have done if you hadn’t died.” Again, he faltered and stopped to compose himself.

  He knelt and laid out the rawhide bone, squeaky toy, brush and rubber ball. “These are for you and I’m sorry you can’t play with them.” He glanced again at Claire and then said, “But it’s our way of showing you we love you and we would have spoiled you if you were still here to make up for all the meanness you had to live through before. I hope you’re happy now.”

  He stood, then stepped back beside Claire. She squeezed his shoulder. “That was really nice, Grey.”

  “It was,” Lucas agreed. “Do you want to say anything?” he asked Claire.

  “Oh,” she said, glancing at Grey. “Okay, I can do that.”

  Bouquet in hand, she stepped forward. “Poor Lady, like Grey said, we’re so very sorry for all the abuse you suffered.” The chill of fear she’d experienced that day, when she thought of the type of person it would take to hurt an animal so badly, came over her again.

  Her fingers tingled. She knelt and placed the flowers beside the gifts Grey had set on the grave. “These are for you to show you how much we cared for you, even for just the short while you were with us.”

  As she rose, the ground seemed to shift beneath her and she willed the panic to subside. They were safe in Lucas’s backyard. No one would harm them here.

  Grey slipped his hand in hers and she bit her lip as tears rolled down her cheeks. She wouldn’t have guessed she’d get this emotional over the dog’s funeral or over her son’s quiet acceptance of her. It seemed she’d been craving the latter for so long.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Grey said.

  Lucas moved to the graveside. His voice was low and soothing as he said, “I had hoped you’d stick around with us awhile, girl. I did everything in my power to give you a fighting chance, but I think the fight had gone out of you long before we found you. I could tell, though, that you were a gentle soul and you deserved a better life. I hope you have that now, wherever you are. I hope we were able to provide you some comfort in your last days.”

  He knelt and laid the flowers with the other offerings, then he stood beside Grey and Claire. The wind ruffled the treetops around them, where birds sang in the late afternoon. After a period of quiet, Grey turned to Claire. “I know you have to take me to Aunt Becca’s now, but can I please have some time alone with Lady before we leave?”

  “Sure, if that’s all right with Lucas.”

  “Of course,” Lucas said. More quietly, he said to Claire, “And maybe we can have a moment.”

  She couldn’t find words to respond, but she nodded. He took her elbow and steered her away to give Grey privacy.

  “I called,” he said, without a trace of accusation.

  “I know, Lucas, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I was upset and I didn’t know what to say.”

  “Maybe you could have listened instead,” he said.

  “I’ll listen now.”

  He glanced away, then back. “You were right. I had a bad feeling about that damn gift from the start, but I kept telling myself, it’s just an espresso machine. What harm is there in that? I should have listened to that feeling and convinced Grey to get you something else. I should have known it would make you feel pressured to do something you’re not ready to do. If it helps, he planned to buy it before you and I even met.

  “I just want you to know I’m sorry, Claire. I would never willingly do anything to hurt you and I’m so very sorry my shortsightedness did that. I know you may feel you’re not ready for a relationship and I don’t know if you’d ever give me another shot, but I’ve missed you and Grey and I’d do anything to be back in your lives again.”

  The tears tracked unheeded down her cheeks. She was an emotional wreck, but somehow Lucas helped stabilize her in a way nothing else did. The tingling had left her fingers and the earth remained steady beneath her feet.

  Lucas swiped his thumb over her cheek. He pulled a glove from his pocket and dabbed at her tears. “So, do these tears mean you’re sad about Lady or are they happy tears that we get to hang out again? Does it mean you forgive me?”

  She inhaled. “I know how hard it is to talk Grey out of something. Of course I forgive you, if there’s really anything to forgive.” She frowned. “And if you forgive me. I’m sorry I overreacted.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You can’t help the way you felt.”

  “But I’m such a basket case. Are you sure you want this? Even if I’m a neurotic mess?”

  “Yes, I want this.” He cupped her face. “Right or wrong, I want to be with you, Claire. I want to be with you both.”

  Her heart leaped and she wanted to tell him she wanted that, too, but the words stuck in her throat and then he was kissing her and she lost herself in the warmth and security and fire that was Lucas.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  LUCAS ROLLED OVER and covered his head with the pillow. He’d hardly slept last night with metal music cranking from the stereo in the living room and old movies playing on the television all night. Now, some traffic reporter was going on about an accident on Interstate 285, while rap music from the radio next to the bed had joined the cacophony.

  How was a guy to get any rest?

  He finally groaned and sat up, blinking at the brightness of Claire’s white room. Her side of the bed was empty and she was nowhere to be seen.

  He switched off the rap alarm and dressed quickly, trying to shake off the grogginess. It had been two weeks since Lady’s funeral. He’d spent nearly every night here with Claire and Grey, but he was having trouble gaining his footing in the chaos that was Claire’s world.

  Grey’s voice mixed in with the jumble of the music and television. Lucas followed the sound to the kitchen. Claire stood at the counter, packing the insulated bag she used for their on-the-road food. She glanced at him as she turned Grey toward the hallway, her eyes wide with that look he was coming to understand signaled her need to flee.

  “Please, Grey, go get dressed. See, Lucas is awake and we need to hit the road,” she said.

  “But, Mom, Lucas is here and it’s the weekend. Why can’t we hang out again? He still hasn’t looked at the garbage disposal. Please? I don’t want to get dressed. I want to stay here.”

  “I’m not arguing about this. Get moving, now, please.”

  Grey frowned and headed toward his room. “I hate this. I should have stayed with Gram or Aunt Becca again.”

  Claire closed her eyes and squeezed her fists. Lucas kissed her cheek. “Good morning, sunshine.”

  She didn’t open her eyes. “Good morning.”


  “What’s wrong?” He wrapped his arms around her. “How long will Grey take to get dressed? Do I have time to drag you back to bed?”

  “I have to move the laundry along,” she said as she pulled away from him.

  He grabbed her arm. “Claire?”

  She stopped and finally looked at him. “Yes?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just haven’t had a chance to get to the laundry and if I don’t move it now it won’t be ready later,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said, letting her go. “I’ll help you.”

  She squeezed her hands into fists again. “No, it’s all right. I can manage the laundry on my own.”

  “Sweetheart, did I do something wrong?”

  “No.”

  “Are your hands okay?”

  She frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “You keep making those fists. Do you want to take a swing at me?”

  She pulled her hands, still fisted, to her chest. “No, why would I want to hit you?”

  “Because I seem to be annoying the hell out of you right now,” he said.

  She closed her eyes again and her entire body seemed to nearly tremble with tension. “No, it isn’t you...exactly.”

  He clasped her fists, still pressed to her chest. “It’s okay, Claire. You can talk to me. We’re in this together, remember?”

  “That’s the problem. I’m...not used to all of this...togetherness. It’s hard...for me.”

  “Breathe, sweetheart. Take your time. Just talk to me. Believe me, I’ve heard it all. Nothing you say can drive me away.”

  She slowly exhaled through her mouth. “I’m having...a...rough morning and I’m not used to...being around someone...so much.” She flexed her hands. “I had another...nightmare last night. My fingers are...tingling and the floor is slanting and my...head is pounding....” She paused and breathed again. “I don’t want...you to see me...lose it.”

  “You’re having an anxiety attack, right? And you’re worried about doing it in front of me.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. “It is...so much harder...with you here. I have to keep it...together all the time...and I can’t...do that.”

  “You don’t have to. You can lose it with me. I promise I can handle it,” he said as concern rippled through him.

  Her gaze locked with his. “But I...can’t. I need to leave...now.” She pushed away from him again and headed for the basement, running down the steps to get away from him.

  He followed her to the basement doorway, afraid she might fall in her state. He stopped at the top step. She made it to the bottom and sank to her knees, almost in the fetal position.

  He scrubbed his hands through his hair, torn between going to her to comfort her and the knowledge that she didn’t want him there. His stomach knotted as he stepped away to give her privacy. What horror had she suffered to put her in that state?

  How was he supposed to help her, if his very presence made it harder for her? He was in over his head with Claire. He needed to find a way to convince her to get professional help.

  * * *

  “OKAY, BOYS, Grey’s mom is here,” Marty’s mom said as she stood in the doorway to the den where Grey and Marty were playing a video game.

  “Hold on, Mom. We’ll be done in just a sec,” Marty said as he worked his controller.

  Grey jumped to his feet, his controller in hand. “Zombie to your left, Marty. I can’t get him.”

  “It won’t fire!” Marty jammed his thumbs into the buttons. “I’m out of ammo. Crap, he’s got me.”

  “Ugh, you’re toast, dude,” Grey said. “There’s too many of them. I’m trapped.”

  “Grey, what are you playing?” Mom asked from beside Marty’s mom.

  “Mom?” Grey glanced in her direction. His video character stalled. He tossed the controller onto the sofa. “They got me.”

  “You’re killing zombies, now?” Mom asked.

  “It’s just a game, Miss Claire,” Marty said. “We’ll be ready for the zombie apocalypse. Right, Grey?”

  “Sure,” Grey said. His mom wore her running clothes, with her hair in a sweaty ponytail. She looked wild and unkempt next to Marty’s mother in her jeans and sweater. Why did his mom have to always push it so hard?

  “Are you guys ready to go?” she asked.

  Guys?

  “Let me get my bag,” Marty said as he darted from the room.

  Grey stared after him. “Why is he getting a bag?”

  “I thought I told you, honey. Marty’s spending the night, while Cynthia goes out,” Mom said.

  Marty was going to spend the night? The high of the zombie apocalypse crashed and burned. They’d dragged Marty around with them before, but he’d never been to their house and now he was coming for the entire night?

  Hopefully he wasn’t expecting to get any sleep.

  “My mom has a hot date,” Marty said, grinning as he returned with a bulging backpack.

  Miss Cynthia ruffled his hair. “You like Reed, don’t you, Marty?”

  “He’s cool.” He turned to Grey’s mother. “I’m all set.”

  Moments later, Grey slipped into the backseat of the car. Marty took the front passenger seat. He jammed with Mom all the way home, head banging, like that was something he did all the time.

  Grey felt nauseous by the time they reached the house. The driveway was empty. “Where’s Lucas’s truck?” he asked.

  Mom pulled into the garage and killed the engine. Grey sucked in the brief respite from the noise before they walked into the house. She’d leave the TV and stereo on all the time, if Grey didn’t turn them off whenever they went out.

  She glanced at him, but her gaze didn’t quite connect with his. “He’s helping his mother with something. He said it would be late when he finished.”

  Grey stared at the back of her head as she pushed through the side door. She’d done something to run Lucas off again, hadn’t she? She’d finally found someone who, for whatever reason, put up with all her crazy and she kept driving him away.

  Cranking on the music and television on her way in as always, she showed Marty to Grey’s room, where, obviously she expected Marty to stay. He dropped his bag on Grey’s bed.

  “Mom, how are we both going to sleep in here?” Grey asked.

  His normal routine of shutting himself away in his room with his earplugs wouldn’t work with his friend here. Grey glanced at his bed. If only they’d go away and he could climb into his bed and cover himself with the comforter and a pillow or two. He was tired enough tonight to sleep through the chaos.

  “This is a good song,” Marty said, playing air guitar. He didn’t look like he was going to be ready to sleep anytime soon.

  “It’s a double bed, Grey. Can’t you share?” Mom asked.

  He was supposed to sleep in the same bed with Marty?

  Mom sighed. “Okay, we can pull out the sleeper sofa in the living room and you guys can hang out there and watch movies. Marty can sleep there. And, Grey, if you would rather sleep in your own bed, you can do that.”

  “Okay,” Grey said, turning to his friend. “Let’s go set up the sofa and see what’s on.”

  Marty nodded as he strutted his way into the living room after Grey, brandishing his air guitar. Half an hour later the metal music had moved to Mom’s bedroom and a disaster movie played on the television in the living room. Pajama-clad, he and Marty shared a bowl of popcorn as they watched a giant asteroid plummet toward the earth.

  While a top team of astronauts attempted to save the planet, Mom made her third circuit of the windows and doors. Grey’s stomach tightened. Maybe Marty hadn’t noticed.

  Marty leaned in close. “Why does your mom keep doing that? Does she have OCD? Is she a checker?”

  Grey was too embarrassed to look at his friend. “I don’t even know what that is. She just does it. I guess it makes her feel better to know we’re locked in safely for the night.”

  “But she keeps doing it. I
t’s obsessive compulsive something. I saw it on the Learning Channel. It’s when someone can’t stop doing the same thing over and over. Like some people keep washing their hands until they bleed and some people check stuff, like if the oven is off, that kind of thing, but they do it over and over again.”

  “I don’t know,” Grey said. Was that what was wrong with her? And here was Marty, just another ten-year-old kid, coming up with a theory when no one else would even admit there was anything wrong.

  But having Marty notice how odd she was sent waves of humiliation washing over Grey. Why couldn’t his mom just be normal?

  Mom passed back through the living room, earphones jamming. She stopped and pulled out one side and the sound of a reeling electric guitar spilled into the room.

  “Are you boys okay?” she asked.

  Marty jumped up, again strumming his air guitar. “This is another good song.”

  Mom laughed and jammed on her own air guitar. Grey stared at them. This was going to be such a long night. If he was smart, he’d ask Gram if he could stay with her next weekend. He was just so done with trying to get any rest at his own house.

  The front door opened and relief filled Grey as Lucas entered. So Mom hadn’t actually run him off. Hopefully, Lucas would keep her occupied and she wouldn’t do anything more abnormal tonight.

  Lucas greeted everyone, then he and Mom moved on to her room and Marty climbed back on the pull-out. He leaned toward Grey. “Your mom is cool and everything, but does she rock like that all the time?”

  Grey nodded, his gaze glued to the television where a giant tsunami threatened the entire East Coast. “Twenty-four seven. It never stops. And the only time we’re home for long, except to sleep, is when she’s locked in her room and doesn’t answer.”

  “Dude,” Marty said. “That just isn’t normal.”

  And there it was, out in the open.

  Grey turned to his friend, suppressing the strangest urge to hug him. “Dude, you are so right.”

  “What are you going to do?” Marty asked.

  Grey inhaled slowly as the tsunami broke over Manhattan. “I don’t know. Either get her to fix herself, or hope Lucas can do it, or get the heck out of here, I guess.”