Espresso in the Morning

by Dorie Graham

  The older gentleman gripped the young woman’s hand. “You listen to Lucas, honey. He knows.”

  The gentleman’s wife leaned over him to address the young woman, saying, “Former marine, he served in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was an EMT and medevac pilot.”

  A chill passed through Claire. She rubbed her arms. She had no business listening. Again, she focused on the contract, but she read the same sentence three times and had no idea what it said.

  “He got shot down once,” the old guy said and gestured toward Lucas. “Tell her.”

  Claire held her breath, unable to take her attention off their conversation.

  “There isn’t much to say,” Lucas said, ducking his head, as though he didn’t want to tell the story. “We got hit hard. We’d already made two trips out with wounded and had more to go.”

  He shook his head. “I managed to land us in one piece, but the engine was toast. We had a kid—he couldn’t have been more than twenty. He should have been on some college campus, but there he was. He’d taken a frag to the head and several to his back. My copilot, he got out with this first lieutenant who’d lost an arm. They went for help, but the kid—we couldn’t move him.”

  He paused a moment. “I couldn’t leave him. You never know what you’re capable of until you’re in that situation.” Again he paused, while the dust motes circled. “I held them off until help reached us. It took them fourteen hours.”

  He stopped and all remained silent. Claire inhaled. What had happened during those fourteen hours? She closed her eyes.

  Fourteen hours. It must have seemed an eternity. Time had a way of stretching during trauma. She’d felt as if she’d been through a time warp that summer day a little over a year ago.

  “Like I said, the military isn’t for everyone.” Lucas’s voice kept her in the present. “It turns out I make a better coffee-shop owner than a marine.”

  The young woman leaned forward on the sofa. “I’m sure you made a great marine.”

  Claire’s gaze swept over the young woman. She tossed her hair and it flowed silkily around her shoulders. Something too much like jealousy swelled in Claire’s chest. What did she care if Lucas was interested in the young woman? It wasn’t like she wanted to date him.

  She had enough on her plate without having to worry with fitting another person into her life. No, dating wasn’t on Claire’s to-do list and wouldn’t be for a long time to come.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “SO, WHY are you hanging around with an old lady, when you could be having fun with someone your own age?” Adana Williams, Lucas’s mother, waved at her son with her paint roller late Friday afternoon. Baby-blue paint spattered the drop cloth below her.

  Lucas grinned and repositioned the ladder before climbing back up with his own paint-soaked roller. “What, and miss out on all this fun?” he asked. “What better way to spend a Friday afternoon than with my beautiful madre?”

  His mother shook her head as she rolled a streak of blue along the lower portion of the wall of the bedroom section of the efficiency she rented in a friend’s basement. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I love having you around, but I worry about you.”

  “No need to worry. I like spending time with you. Who else is going to do all your grunt work for you?”

  She frowned at him, though merriment shone in her deep brown eyes. She had her mother’s dark coloring, her South American heritage showing more than the European blood of her father. “I do my own grunt work,” she said. “You just help. Sometimes.”

  Laughter rumbled through him. “Like when I helped you move into this place last fall?”

  “Okay, maybe you did that one on your own. I had that bum knee,” she said. “I’m not saying I don’t need you at times and appreciate you always, love. I just don’t need you all the time. Between me and that coffee shop of yours when do you have any fun?”

  Lucas focused on coating the roller with fresh paint from the tray attached to the top of the ladder. He worked hard to keep The Coffee Stop afloat and to pass on what he could to his mother. She worked long hours as a receptionist, but she couldn’t seem to catch a break financially. Even though it didn’t bother her, he hated that she had to live like this.

  “I like being busy,” he said. “What kind of son would I be if I left you to do this by yourself? And I enjoy the shop and I do meet people there.”

  “What kind of people?” she asked.

  “All kinds. There’s the Grandbys, this sweet older couple who like tea and board games. They want to start holding backgammon tournaments in the shop,” he said with a grin. “They’ve talked me into some group deals for them, but they’ll bring in a lot of new business, so it’s a win-win situation there.”

  His mother rubbed at a dab of blue paint on her arm, saying, “But what about customers of the female persuasion? Any single young women frequenting that shop of yours?”

  An image of Claire Murphy sprang to Lucas’s mind, with her auburn hair and those brown eyes carrying the weight of the world. He shook his head and said, “None that I’m dating, if that’s what you’re after.”

  “No?” His mother regarded him with arched eyebrows. “That took a little long for you to answer. So, there’s at least one woman, but you don’t think you can date her. What makes her undateable? She’s not married, is she?”

  “I’m sure we can find something more interesting than my lack of a love life to talk about,” he said. “What about you? How is everything with Richard?”

  “He’s away on business, which is why he isn’t here helping me slap paint on the wall, but everything is wonderful so there’s not much to say. And I can’t imagine a more important conversation for a mother to have with her best-loved son—”

  “Only son,” he said. “Only child—”

  “—than one about why such a loving, healthy, single man should spend all of his time working or helping out his old-lady madre.”

  “Number one, you aren’t an old lady, that would be Grandma and even she puts the other abuelas to shame. Number two, I’m happy being single. If I’m meant to be with someone I’ll meet her during the normal course of my life.”

  His mother swept her arm, indicating the room. “Well, if this is the normal course of your life, you’re going to be single a long time, my son. I don’t have any young available women crowding into my home.” She shrugged. “Though maybe I can arrange something if you insist on hanging out here all the time.”

  Lucas laughed again. “You know I’d put a fast stop to that if I thought you were serious.”

  “So, tell me about the woman,” she said.

  “What woman?” he asked.

  “The one at your shop. The undateable one.”

  “Who says there’s a woman?” he asked.

  She gave him her sternest mom frown.

  He blew out a breath. “There’s this kid. His mother is beautiful, fit, physically healthy. I wouldn’t call her undateable, but I believe she’s...distressed in some way.”

  She stared at him. “Distressed?” she asked. “How so? That’s how you describe a scratched coffee table or dented washing machine. Though I suppose we’re all a little distressed these days.” She again raised the roller toward him. “She’s single?”

  “One question at a time,” he said as he paused to run the edger along the top of the wall. “Yes, she’s single—at least she says it’s just the two of them. She doesn’t wear a ring.”

  “Ah, so you are interested. Go on.”

  He traded the edger for the roller, glancing at his mother as he rolled it in the tray and asked, “What makes you think I’m interested?”

  “You checked for a ring.”

  He bit the inside of his lip. He could say he did that with all attractive women, but his mother knew him too well to buy that. “I didn’t need to check for a ring. She told me it was just the two of them. And if I did, maybe I was looking for the kid’s sake,” he said. “He’s about ten. He should have a man
in his life. I just kind of feel for him, you know?”

  “Because she’s distressed and that affects him?”

  “Well, they both seem a little worn-out, really, but her more so. He’s just getting hit with her flack, but it affects him, definitely.”

  “What’s wrong with her? Is she loco?”

  He blew out a breath. “I suspect she’s dealing with a case of PTSD, but I don’t really know. She startles, doesn’t sleep, seems to be hypervigilant. And I saw she was reading articles on it, which doesn’t mean anything, but something’s off. I’m just getting to know her.”

  “PTSD? Like Toby?” she asked, her tone softening.

  He nodded. “Yeah, like Toby.”

  “How long has it been, Lucas? Seems like it just happened yesterday.”

  “Two years ago last Friday,” he said without emotion.

  She nodded and rolled more paint on the wall, saying, “Two years already? I know it’s still hard for you.”

  “Yep.”

  “And I see why you might not want to date this woman.”

  He paused midstroke and said, “You think she reminds me of how I screwed up with Toby?”

  “Did you screw up with Toby?” she asked.

  He swiped the roller down the wall. “Maybe. Yes, definitely, when we were younger.”

  “Helping her won’t bring him back.”

  He turned to her. “I know that.”

  She met his gaze. “Do you?”

  “Yes. I just feel like she could use a friend.”

  “And you think you’d make a good friend for her?” she asked.

  “Yes, especially if she’s suffering from PTSD. I could help her. I studied it pretty in-depth after Toby...”

  “But why do you feel the need to help her?”

  He put the roller back in the tray and spread his arms wide. “Why does it matter? One minute you’re asking me why I don’t have a woman in my life and then when I tell you I’m getting to know one, you question it.”

  “Because I know you,” she said. “I know how you always feel responsible for other people, even at your own expense.”

  He stared at her. “What does that mean?”

  “When you were young, when your father was still with us, and you know how he liked his liquor—”

  “That’s all over and done with. Do we need to rehash it?” He picked up his roller and smashed it in the paint. He hated thinking about his father, how he’d hurt his mother and Lucas hadn’t been able to stop him.

  “The man was an idiot, a cruel idiot, but an idiot—”

  “Can we please not talk about him? What does he have to do with this, anyway?” Lucas asked.

  “Let me finish. You were seven when he left, so young and so angry.”

  “Madre—”

  “Lucas, listen to me. He’d come home stinking drunk and he’d get mad about a toy you’d left out or a mess you’d made, or something he made up in his head and he’d always yell at you while he struck me and then you took care of me afterward, bringing me the first-aid kit and ice. He made you feel like it was your fault. But it wasn’t.”

  Lucas’s throat tightened. He gripped the roller. His father had been a real bastard. It had been a relief when he’d left. “He never deserved you. I don’t know why you married him.”

  “I got you out of the deal, didn’t I?”

  He nodded, but didn’t reply. She thought he felt responsible, but he just felt angry. Even at seven he’d known his father’s actions were wrong. How could any of them be Lucas’s fault?

  “I just want you to think about why you’re befriending this woman, Lucas, that’s all. It can’t just be about her. It has to be about you, as well. You have to get something from the relationship.”

  He swiped at the wall. “I know that. Like I said, I’m just getting to know her. And she did help me today. I locked my keys in my car and she gave me a coat hanger.”

  “Well, good,” she said, “but you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I know what you mean.”

  They worked in silence for a while. His mother meant well, but she was wrong. Lucas wasn’t trying to save everyone because of some messed-up complex he had over having a sadistic drunk for a father.

  He just wanted to do the right thing.

  “You’re a good man, Lucas,” his mother said.

  He shook his head. It was impossible to ever be annoyed with her. “I try to be.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be my hijo if you weren’t. I’d disown you,” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” he said, smiling. “I’m your one and only. Besides, you love me.”

  “Yes, that is true and you are very lovable, once you get past your whole I-have-to-save-the-world thing.”

  “I have to save the world?” He regarded her, eyebrows raised.

  “Yes, even though it isn’t your place, because you aren’t responsible.”

  He groaned.

  “Just pointing it out, so you don’t forget.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ll forget that one.”

  “You might, once you get distracted,” she said.

  He climbed down and moved the ladder again before responding. “And how am I going to get distracted?”

  She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “I think a young troubled niño and his distressed madre will prove a very difficult distraction.”

  “Is that so?” he asked. “And I don’t know that the kid is troubled. He’s tired for sure, but troubled, I don’t know.”

  “Either way, you won’t be able to resist. You’re already getting sucked in. I can tell.”

  Lucas shook his head. He hadn’t even mentioned the secret espresso-machine deal. Was his mother right? Would he get sucked deeper into a relationship with Grey and Claire than he meant to? Lucas only wanted to help.

  And that did not mean he was trying to save anyone.

  “So what else is new?” she asked.

  “I made Ramsey a night manager. He’s been there for almost a year now and he makes a decent barista, especially for someone who didn’t know a latte from a cappuccino when he started. But besides that, he’s great with the other employees and I trust him completely with the books.”

  “Won’t he be headed to college at some point?”

  “I hope so.” He didn’t offer any further explanation. She’d ask, of course.

  “So why give him a promotion if he’s leaving?” she asked.

  “It will look better on his résumé and it frees me to do more long-term planning,” he said, which was true, but he was thinking about spending some time catching up on the latest treatments for PTSD.

  “And...?” she asked.

  “And what?”

  “And why else did you promote him? Really?”

  He lowered the roller and turned to her. “Because he’s the right guy for the job, okay? He has a future he’s planning for and I think he has potential.”

  “I see.” Satisfaction laced her tone. “Kind of like you when you were younger?”

  “Yes, only I wasn’t fortunate enough to have someone there to pull me out of it.”

  “Someone to save you, you mean?” She winked at him when he frowned at her. “Like I said, you’re a good man, Lucas.”

  “I’m a damn softy.”

  “Yes, but a lovable softy.” She lifted the paint can. “We’re almost out.”

  “I’ll go. I need to pick up a few things for The Stop at the building supply store.”

  “Thank you, my love. No hurry, though. Tomorrow is fine. I’m done for the day. It’s Friday night. You should be off having fun.” His mother set down the can and wiped her hands on a rag. “And, Lucas...”

  “Yes, Madre?”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to pull you out of it.”

  He climbed from the ladder and hugged her. “You did the best you could for a kid with sadistic-father issues.”
/>   She smacked his arm. “You turned out okay. Even though you’re still trying to save everyone.”

  “Well, I’d like to think so.”

  * * *

  CLAIRE PULLED INTO her mother’s driveway Friday afternoon. She handed Grey his duffel bag from the backseat. “Are you sure you packed everything you need?”

  “Yes, Mom, you checked it twice. I have clean underwear and my toothbrush.”

  “Good. It’s just that you don’t have extra stuff here, like you do at Aunt Becca’s.”

  “I know.” He scrunched his mouth to one side. “Maybe I should leave some extra stuff here.”

  She frowned. Did Grey want to start hanging out more at her mother’s? “Do you mean for more overnights?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Well, yeah, that would be cool. I was just thinking...you know...for after school instead of soccer.” He peered at her expectantly.

  “Oh.” She turned fully to him, scooting around in the driver’s seat. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I know I kind of left you hanging.”

  He nodded.

  “Well, I did talk to Gram and she said she’d love to have you in the afternoons.”

  Again, he nodded, but his gaze fell to the floor. He didn’t comment.

  “You were right, of course. She loves hanging out with you. She can’t get enough.”

  He remained silent, his gaze downcast.

  “I was thinking about what you said, though—about me working from home and staying with you after school.”

  “Really?” His gaze locked on hers. “You actually thought about it?” he asked.

  “I did, Grey, and...” She hesitated, almost afraid to say the words, but maybe it was time.

  “And?”

  “And I think we should give it a try,” she said, raising her hands in a wide gesture. “Worst-case scenario, we head to the coffee shop if I go batty. It’s actually kind of peaceful there—not sure why I like it—but you should be okay doing homework there.”

  He frowned. “But we’re going to try at home first?”

  She squeezed his arm. “Yes, honey, we’ll try it at home first, starting Monday. I’ll pick you up from school.”

  “Or I can ride the bus.”

  “Do you like riding the bus?” she asked.