Chapter 22
It was hot in Texas.
Much hotter than in Hope Harbor.
Martin swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and cranked up the air in his rental car.
But the heat blazing through the windshield on this Saturday morning wasn’t the only reason he was sweating.
Just like the day he’d gone to visit Diane at Anna Williams’s place, he was flying blind. Hopeful but clueless about the reception he’d get at the off-campus studio apartment Lucas now called home.
The truth was, after years of sporadic, tense contact, it was very possible his son would either shut the door in his face or tell him to take a hike, despite the long trek he’d made for this in-person visit.
“Your destination is on the right.”
At the voice from his phone, he slowed. Pulled up in front of a nondescript apartment building in a neighborhood that seemed a bit . . . tired would be a generous term.
Martin let out a slow breath.
What a contrast to the house in Hope Harbor with the pool and ocean view and expansive grounds that he’d built for his family after he’d gotten the mill back on the road to solid financial footing.
A house he now occupied alone.
The fact that his wife preferred to live in a one-room annex and his son in an apartment building with peeling paint was compelling evidence he was the cause of their departure. He was the only common denominator.
But maybe today he could start to make amends for his past transgressions with his son.
He turned off the engine, slid from behind the wheel into the blast-furnace that Austin called summer, and locked the door. There wasn’t much to steal in the car, but this neighborhood didn’t appear to be the sort of place where you should take a chance.
He walked to the entrance, pulse picking up, dread dogging his steps.
What if Lucas refused to talk to him, despite his long trip?
It was the same question that had looped through his mind since he’d decided to book his plane ticket.
Texting or calling to alert him of his visit, however, could have backfired. It was easier to cut someone off electronically than in person.
Besides, while it would be more awkward to apologize and plead his case face-to-face, it was the right way to handle this.
All he could do was hope Lucas would hear him out.
The odds weren’t in his favor, considering his son had ignored his prior text and call, but perhaps his willingness to make the effort to show up would count for something.
He entered the three-story apartment building. No obvious security, but at least the place was clean.
After giving the tiny elevator a once-over, he continued to the stairwell.
Maybe the exercise would dispel some of his tension, which had burgeoned while he sat idle on a plane for hours with nothing to do but worry about this meeting.
Plus, the climb would put off the moment of truth for another couple of minutes.
He took the stairs at a slow, methodical pace, yet his heart picked up speed with every step he climbed.
A phenomenon unrelated to his physical exertion.
It was fear, pure and simple.
At the top, he opened the door to the hallway. Walked down the length of the corridor, checking numbers as he went.
Lucas’s apartment was the last one on the right.
He stopped in front of the door. Raked his fingers through his hair. Called up his rusty praying skills and sent a silent plea heavenward for guidance.
Then he leaned forward, hand raised, to—
The knob rattled, and a second later the door swung open.
Lucas took a step forward. Jerked to a stop as his visitor’s presence registered.
Slowly Martin lowered his hand. Stuck his trembling fingers in his pocket. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“What . . . what are you doing here?” His son’s tone was wary, devoid of warmth or welcome.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
A muscle clenched in his son’s cheek. “Give it up, Dad. I’m not joining the mill.”
“I know. And that’s okay.”
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “Since when?”
“Since I saw the light. Can we talk?”
A few beats passed while his son studied him. “I have plans for the day.”
Not unexpected. Most young adults Lucas’s age didn’t let Saturdays go to waste.
“Can you squeeze in a coffee this morning? Or lunch? Or we could do dinner this evening. I’m also available tomorrow morning. My flight doesn’t leave until two.”
Lucas shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Did Mom put you up to this?”
“No. She doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Why are you here?”
That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have standing in a hall. “If you can carve twenty minutes out of your weekend for me, I’ll explain.”
Silence as Lucas regarded him.
A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and he reached up. Wiped it off. He’d beg, if necessary, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.
“Give me a minute.” Lucas moved back. Shut the door.
Martin drew a shaky breath.
At least his son hadn’t told him to get lost. It was possible he just needed a few minutes to process the arrival of his unexpected visitor.
One could hope, anyway.
Five eternal minutes later, his phone pinged.
He pulled it out and scanned the screen. Called up the text from Lucas.
I’ll meet you at The Ground Floor coffee shop in fifteen minutes. It’s a couple of blocks from here. That work?
Thank you, God!
Somehow he managed to thumb in a response despite a serious case of the shakes.
Yes. See you there.
He retraced his steps down the hall, googled the shop, and was waiting inside in a corner booth when Lucas entered fourteen minutes later.
After detouring to the counter, his son slid onto the bench seat across from him, a disposable cup in hand.
“I didn’t expect you to change your plans.” Martin wrapped his fingers around his own cup. “We could have gotten together later.”
“My friend was chill about it. And I would have been lousy company. I’d have spent the whole time wondering why you came.” Lucas rotated his cup on the table, watching him.
Hard as he tried to fill his lungs, they refused to cooperate. He’d have to stumble through and hope his air didn’t run out. “I’m here to acknowledge that I’ve made a lot of mistakes with you and your mom. Her walking out was a wake-up call. So was a conversation I had with Adam Stone.”
Lucas did a double take. “You talked to Adam?”
“Yes. The mill is donating lumber for sets for a Helping Hands show, and Adam’s in charge of the crew.
” Martin took a sip of the coffee that had grown cool as he’d waited for his son to arrive.
“He told me about the letter you sent him after all the trouble with the vandalism incidents, and he asked me to tell you hello. I’m impressed you contacted him. ”
Lucas shrugged, a hint of pink creeping across his cheeks. “It was the right thing to do. And he’s a good guy. Most people wouldn’t be as willing to forgive.”
“I know. But I’m hoping someday you’ll forgive me.
Let me have another chance to be the dad I should have been all along.
Because I love you. I always have. I’m also proud of the man you’ve become.
I admire you for following your dream and channeling your creativity into a career that allows you to use your gift. ”
Lucas squinted at him, his skepticism obvious. “Is this on the level?”
“Yes.”
He lasered him with a cynical gaze. “You must want Mom back really bad to fly all the way here just to give a pretty speech so you can tell her you tried to mend our fences.”
That hurt.
But it wasn’t undeserved.
“My trip here isn’t about your mom. It’s about you and me.”
“Right.” The word dripped with sarcasm.
Gut twisting, Martin regarded the clean-cut young man sitting across from him. The same man who’d once been a little boy with worshipful eyes who’d loved to play catch with his dad.
Until his dad suddenly didn’t have time for him anymore.
If fate was kind, somewhere deep inside the grown-up Lucas, that little boy still lived.
“Look, I don’t blame you for being suspicious.
” His voice choked, and he paused. Swallowed.
“I know I messed up big-time. All I’m asking for is an opportunity to prove things will be different going forward.
Let me visit you. Or come home for visits when your schedule allows.
We could text or email. Whatever works for you is fine with me, as long as we can reconnect and stay in touch on a regular basis. ”
Lucas’s features hardened. “You don’t have time for me, Dad. You haven’t for years. The mill always came first.”
“No. Not always.” Had Lucas forgotten about those games of catch, as well as the family picnics the three of them had gone on to Shore Acres State Park and the weekend camping trips they’d taken on occasion? “Not when you were younger.”
His features softened a tad. “I do remember you being around more when I was a kid. And being nicer. Then all of a sudden, you seemed mad and stressed 24/7. What happened?”
Martin took another swig of his now-cold coffee. Grimaced at the bitter taste it left on his tongue.
All these years, he’d sheltered Lucas and Diane from his problems at the mill.
Maybe it was time to be honest. Not to justify his bad behavior, but to make it clear there’d been a reason for the change in his personality.
Diane deserved the full explanation first, but until she was willing to talk to him, he could give Lucas the topline.
“That’s a valid question. One I hope to talk about with your mother too, if she’ll give me the opportunity. I’ll share more details with you after I have that conversation with her, but bottom line, when your grandfather turned over the mill to me, it was a mess. We were running on fumes.”
Lucas frowned. “I thought the business was always on solid ground.”