by Irene Hannon
Chapter Six
It was going to be worse than she’d thought.
As Heather spotted her nephew among the arriving passengers the next day at the airport, her stomach dropped. His hair was the same striking shade of sun-ripened wheat she remembered. And he still had the amazing blue eyes they’d all marveled at when he was a toddler.
But everything else had changed.
The eager, innocent little boy who’d had such fun chasing sand crabs during family visits had disappeared. In his place was a tall, gangly adolescent wearing sloppy, oversize clothes and a defiant scowl that screamed, “I don’t want to be here, and someone’s gonna pay!”
Namely, her.
Trying not to panic, she forced her stiff lips into a smile, lifted a hand and waved.
Their gazes connected. Held for a moment. But he didn’t return her greeting or her smile. Instead, he slowed his pace, shifted his backpack into a different position and ignored her as he approached.
Her stomach clenched. Every instinct in her body told her to turn around and run. Far and fast. But common sense held her in place. She’d agreed to take him in. She couldn’t give up before they’d even said hello.
“Hi, Brian.” As he shuffled to a stop in front of her, she realized they were at eye level. “Wow. You’ve really gotten tall.”
“Isn’t that what growing up is all about?”
Sarcasm dripped off his words, and a chill ran through her. Susan had said he’d developed an attitude, but Heather had hoped it wouldn’t carry over to Nantucket.
No such luck. He’d obviously put her in the enemy camp, beside his mother.
“Well, let’s get your luggage and head home. Are you hungry?”
“I had a burger in the airport in Boston.”
“How about a piece of chocolate cake, then? I baked the one you liked so much when you were here last time.” She kept her smile pasted in place and managed to maintain an upbeat tone.
“I don’t eat much sweet stuff anymore. Do you have any chips?”
“No. But we can get some.”
“Whatever.”
Although Heather tried her best to draw him out during the short drive back to the house, her efforts produced no more than monosyllabic responses. The guest room she’d readied for him was met with nothing more than a cursory sweep as he dropped his backpack onto the floor, sat on the edge of the bed and withdrew a laptop from a side compartment of his suitcase.
Heather watched as he booted up, her panic accelerating. She hadn’t expected Brian to be happy about the trip. But neither had she expected him to be rude, disrespectful and obnoxious.
All at once he uttered a word that made her blink. The kind of word that had been forbidden when she was growing up.
“Brian.”
He ignored her.
She tried again. “Brian…I don’t tolerate that kind of language in this house. And I’m sure your mother doesn’t allow it at home, either.”
Bent over his computer, he scowled and shoved his too-long bangs aside. “It’s not working.”
“What’s not working?”
“The Internet.”
“You’re not plugged in.”
“To what?”
“The modem.”
He gaped at her. “You don’t have Wi-Fi?”
“No.”
He uttered the word again.
“Brian…” Heather tried to hold on to her temper. “I said we don’t use that word in this house.”
He smirked at her. “So what are you going to do? Send me home?”
Checkmate, she thought grimly. He’d like nothing better than to be sent back to the friends Susan wanted to purge from his life.
Turning on her heel, she headed for the door.
“Hey…how am I going to check my e-mail?”
“According to your mother, you’re not supposed to have any contact with anyone at home except her.” She spoke over her shoulder as she walked.
He said the word again. Three times, in rapid succession. Then he slammed the cover down on his computer. “That stinks! This whole trip stinks.”
“Yeah. I already got that message.” She paused on the threshold. “But we’re stuck with each other for the next three weeks. You can have some fun…or you can sulk. It’s your choice. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Easing the door shut behind her, Heather closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath. Three more weeks of this.
Brian was right.
It stunk.
The gate to Heather’s garden was open.
Frowning, J.C. applied the hand brakes on his bike as he approached the entrance to her side yard. Edith had told him about the care Heather lavished on her garden, how she regarded it as a private sanctuary. He’d never seen the gate open.
As he tightened his grip on the brakes, he realized the gate was listing slightly on its hinges. In the distance, he spotted Heather walking toward him down the brick path, juggling a variety of tools.
And she didn’t look happy.
Coming to a full stop, he straddled the bike, balancing it as she approached. Her step faltered when she caught sight of him, but then she picked up her pace again.
“Problem with the gate?”
She stopped just inside the opening to deposit her tools on the ground. Since their last encounter at the trivia fund-raiser three days ago, faint shadows had appeared under her eyes. The kind produced by worry and sleeplessness. No doubt due to her nephew’s arrival, J.C. concluded.
Rubbing her palms on her jeans, she surveyed the gate with disgust. “Yeah. It didn’t appreciate being kicked.”
Not liking the sound of that, J.C. got off the bike. “Who kicked it?”
“My nephew.” Distress flared in her eyes, and she folded her arms tight across her chest. “I caught him heading out this way a little while ago, and he wasn’t happy about being told to stay on the premises unless he’s with an adult.”
“Where is he now?”
“Where he’s been since he arrived. Up in his room. Listening to music on his iPod or playing computer games on his laptop. He only comes out to eat—generally when I’m not around.”
“Sounds like it’s been a rough beginning.”
“Yeah.”
She angled away from him on the pretext of sorting through her tools, but he caught the suspicious sheen in her eyes. And it shook him. He’d pegged Heather as a woman who always maintained control. If the situation with her nephew had rattled her this much, it must be a lot worse than he’d thought.
J.C. didn’t want to get involved in a messy family dispute. The Lord knew he’d botched enough of those with his own siblings. But he couldn’t walk away, either. When a person was in distress, there was only one option. You went to their aid. It was how he operated on the job—and off.
Resigned, he set the bike’s kickstand and joined her. “Let me take a look.”
He half expected her to balk, but to his surprise she backed off instead.
Bending down, he examined the damage, giving her a chance to pull herself together. There was a bit of rot in the weathered wood around the hinge, he noted. But still…the kid must be pretty strong to have jimmied the nail loose with a kick or two. And people who lashed out in anger made him uneasy. No matter their age.
“Do you have a hammer there?” He gestured toward the tools.
“Yes. But I can fix this. You don’t need to bother.”
She sounded more composed now, though he still detected a hint of shakiness in her words.
“I’m down here already. Besides, it’s a two-person job.” He adjusted the gate. “If you can hold this in place. I’ll drive the nail back in.”
She complied without further argument, and several strong whacks with the hammer corrected the problem.
Rising, J.C. indicated the hinge. “There’s some rot down there. You’re going to need to replace that board pretty soon.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She held out her h
and for the hammer.
He handed it over.
This was his chance to leave. To walk away from her problems.
But he couldn’t move. Her obvious worry and stress held him in place—as did a compelling need to relieve them. “So does your nephew intend to spend the entire three weeks in his room?”
Her shoulders drooped a fraction. “It would appear that way. I tried to get him to go to the beach with me yesterday, but he had no interest. I call him for meals, but he doesn’t show up. He prefers to forage in the kitchen when I’m not around.”
“What does his mother say?”
Heather shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans and toed a stray leaf off the path. “I haven’t given her all the details. She’s dealing with a lot of stuff right now, and I’d rather try to make this work before raising alarm bells.”
“So what’s your plan?”
She lifted her head, her expression bleak. “I wish I had one. I don’t know a thing about thirteen-year-old boys.” She drew in a long, slow breath. Let it out. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Surprise robbed J.C. of speech. Heather didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who often admitted she was in over her head or asked for help. So her tentative appeal for assistance underscored her desperation. And he wished he could offer her some counsel. But he’d failed with his own teenage brother. Any advice he gave might make things worse instead of better.
When the silence between them lengthened, a pink tinge colored her cheeks, and she bent down to retrieve the rest of her tools. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up. You probably have to get to work.”
As she started to turn away, J.C. realized she’d interpreted his reticence as indifference. He couldn’t let that impression go uncorrected.
Reaching out, he touched her arm, stopping her. “I’m on nights this week. I have a few minutes.”
She checked him out over her shoulder. He returned her gaze steadily, and at last she turned back toward him. “I just assumed you’d run into a lot of troubled kids in your line of work. And that you might have some ideas about how I could try to connect with him.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he propped a shoulder against the gate. Although she’d dropped her guard a little, she hadn’t invited him into her private haven, he noted. But she wasn’t edging away, either. And they were talking. That was an improvement.
“Most of the kids I see on the job have done far worse things than Brian. But a lot of them start this way. And anger is often the root cause. During adolescence, kids are testing their limits, anyway, and if they’re mad at the world or feel they’ve been treated unfairly by life, they’re apt to push those limits hard. And to get in a lot more trouble than the average teenager, moving from minor pranks to increasingly serious offenses. Your nephew may be heading down that road.”
“So how do I get him on a different road? While he’s here, anyway.”
“You could try some tough love. Lay down the ground rules, stick to them, build in consequences if they’re broken.” He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “But to be honest, that doesn’t always work.” He’d tried it with Nathan, on the advice of a school counselor. Instead of setting his brother on the right path, it had made him more resentful and rebellious. The same could happen with Brian.
“That’s kind of hard to do when you’re not even a parent.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She tilted her head and studied him. “You sound as if you’re speaking from experience.”
J.C. swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat. He didn’t talk much about his background. It was too painful. But if it helped Heather get through these next three weeks…
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he balled them into fists. “I am. I was responsible for my brother and sister from the time I was eighteen and they were fifteen and thirteen. And I didn’t do the best job of raising them.”
A flicker of empathy softened her features. “What happened to your parents?”
“My father disappeared when I was sixteen. No one missed him.” He did his best to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but some crept in despite his efforts. “Two years later, my mother was hit by a car. I got to the E.R. before she died, in time to promise her I’d take care of my siblings.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility to put on an eighteen-year-old.”
He shrugged. “There wasn’t anyone else. And I didn’t mind. For me, family always came first. But good intentions don’t always lead to good results. Marci’s okay now, but Nathan…” He shook his head. “He has a long way to go. That’s why I may not be the best person to advise you on Brian.”
“But you were only a teenager yourself when you took on the care of your family, J.C. Not much older than your brother. And I’m assuming you became the breadwinner, too. While going to college?”
“Yeah.” Her gentle words, and the tender compassion in her eyes, were playing havoc with his self-control. In all these years, no one except Marci had ever bothered to think about the toll that being a full-time student, a full-time employee and a full-time parent had exacted on him. Not that he’d ever expected any accolades for doing what had to be done. But it was nice to have his efforts acknowledged. Especially by this woman.
For the first time since they’d met, Heather reached out to him instead of drawing away, briefly touching his arm with her slender fingers. He could feel their warmth through the cotton of his shirt—and it radiated to his heart. As did the admiration in her eyes.
“I have a feeling you did the best you could with limited tools, J.C. And I also suspect you’ve learned a lot through the years. So I appreciate your help.”
As the spot where her hand had connected with his arm began to cool, he tried to regain his balance. He’d planned to offer Heather a few thoughts, then step away from her messy situation. And he could still do that.
Couldn’t he?
One look into her tender eyes gave him his answer.
Resigned, he withdrew a grocery receipt and a pen from his pocket and scribbled down some numbers. “I’ll tell you what. If anything comes up with Brian and you’d like to talk about it, call my cell—anytime.” He held out the slip of paper.
She inspected the flimsy sheet as a few heartbeats of silence passed. Then she reached out and took it. “Thank you.”
“And keep remembering he’s only here for three weeks.”
The whisper of a smile tugged at her lips. “Why does that feel like an eternity right now?”
One corner of his mouth hitched up. “You’ll get through it.” He was tempted to lay his hand against the gentle sweep of her cheek in a gesture of reassurance—and caring. But there was no way he wanted to put the fragile connection they’d just established at risk. Instead, he checked his watch and eased away. “I need to get ready for work. And I’m serious about that.” He gestured to the slip of paper in her hand. “Call me if I can help.”
Lifting a hand in farewell, he retreated to the street for the short ride back to his cottage.
Minutes later, as he stashed his bike in Chester’s garage and headed down the flagstone path toward his front door, a light came on in Heather’s room. Tonight the shade was up, and as he caught a glimpse of her moving past the window, he was reminded of the night of the cat invasion, when she’d been only a shadowed silhouette, unreachable behind the closed shade.
Things had changed, thanks to the arrival of a nephew who’d disrupted her neat, orderly world and pushed her to seek input from a man she’d gone out of her way to avoid. And J.C. had mixed feelings about that.
On one hand, he was sorry for the stress it was causing her.
But on a selfish level, he was glad it had also prompted her to dismantle a few of the barriers around her heart.
The room was a pigsty.
Heather had waited until she heard Brian’s door open before heading upstairs to follow J.C.’s advice from last night and demonstrate some tough lov
e. She hadn’t wanted to risk having the teen ignore her knock. This way, he’d find her waiting in the doorway when he returned from the bathroom.
But she hadn’t expected to find this…mess. The room was trashed. Literally. Trying to tamp down her anger, she scanned the candy wrappers, empty soda cans, dirty plates and glasses, crushed potato chips and the half-eaten piece of the chocolate cake he’d claimed he didn’t want but that had been disappearing from the kitchen in hefty chunks since his arrival.
Her lips setting into a grim line, she folded her arms across her chest, turned her back on the room and blocked the doorway.
One minute later, the bathroom door opened. Brian took three steps down the hall. Spotted her. Stopped.
“What’s going on?” He gave her a wary look.
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
She jerked a finger over her shoulder. “About that disaster area, for one thing.”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy pants and glared at her. “I like it the way it is.”
“I don’t. And this is my house. So we’re going to talk about some ground rules. First, you’re going to clean up the room and keep it that way. Second, if you want to eat, you eat in the kitchen. Third, I don’t like freeloaders. Starting this afternoon, you’re going to help with cleanup after my tea guests leave. We’ll also build in some beach time and do other fun things, if you want to. The last part’s your choice. The first part isn’t.”
She saw the sudden stubborn jut of his jaw and braced herself. She’d expected him to balk—and she was prepared.
“What if I don’t want to do any of that?”
She closed the distance between them and folded her arms across her chest. “Then I am going to shadow you twenty-four-seven.”
His mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. I’m going to stick so close to you that you won’t be able to breathe without smelling my shampoo.”
“You can’t do that. You have to run this tea place.”
“I have an assistant. And Edith will fill in for me if necessary.”