8. Luke
EIGHT
LUKE
“Why am I counting birdseed while you get the power tools?” I asked my brother as I stared at the list of departments I’d be responsible for inventorying today—lawn and garden, pet supplies, cleaning supplies, and all the miscellaneous bullshit. Meanwhile, Connor got tools, electrical, and paint.
Opal, my nine-year-old niece, giggled. The sound of her laughter always thawed a layer of ice around my otherwise frozen heart, but I kept my sour expression firmly in place out of spite.
I hadn’t had enough coffee for this. In fact, with Miss Mayhem showing up unannounced in my kitchen this morning, I was so distracted by those long, bare legs I forgot to even make coffee.
I was extra grouchy for it, too.
“Because I got here first so I made the assignments,” Connor said, setting the hand scanners on the front counter.
“I got here when you told me to be here.”
“C’mon, Luke. You know the rules. If you’re not fifteen minutes early—”
“—you’re late!” Opal finished.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in school today?” I asked her.
“In-service day.” My niece flashed me the cheesiest smile, her pigtails rocking back and forth while she did.
They weren’t braided—Connor tried his best, but he was terrible at it—but they were even.
She wore a light pink sweatshirt that read nine is a vibe, reminding me she just turned another year older. Time needed to slow the fuck down.
“Which section are you doing?” I asked Opal, running a finger down the list of departments on the list Connor put together. “And before you say none, I know you know how to count.”
“I’m doing candles,” she announced proudly.
“That’ll take you five minutes,” I countered. The candle section was hardly an endcap. “I think you need to do”—I pretended to skim the list again—“fertilizer.”
“Eww! No!” She giggled again, and it made my heart squeeze.
If things had gone differently three years ago, I might have a little girl of my own.
But Raquel had never wanted kids—something she only admitted in the note I discovered in her empty dressing room an hour before she was due to walk down the aisle.
Fuck, I hadn’t thought about that in . . . ages. Why was I thinking about it now? Oh right, because I had a runaway bride staying next door reminding me women were cruel.
“Luke?” Connor said with some exasperation, as though it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get my attention.
“Yeah?”
“You sure you don’t want to skip this one? We can handle it.”
“Let’s just get started.”
I yanked my clipboard out of Connor’s hand, my earlier grouchiness renewing.
Despite the exhaustion in my bones, I doubted I’d sleep much if I went home.
Not with buried memories dredging themselves up.
Fuck, I hoped the nightmares didn’t start again.
Just another reason having Maggie next door was the worst fucking idea I’d entertained in longer than I could remember. But what could I do about it now?
“There’s a new shipment in the back for lawn and garden,” Connor said, handing me a box cutter. I’d have to unpack it before I inventoried that section.
“That all?”
“One for pet supplies too.”
“The assignments make more sense now,” I grumbled, suspecting all the heavy lifting would fall to me today.
“Hey, I offered you the out.”
“Speaking of outs, where’s Dad?”
“Doctor’s appointment,” Connor said, his voice much too nonchalant for the alarm bells that instantly went off for me. But that was my brother—the peacekeeper, calm under pressure. It’s what once made him an outstanding soldier. But right now, his underreaction grated on my last tired nerve.
“Care to elaborate?” I asked through gritted teeth. Why the fuck was I always the last one to know about these things? It was as though my family kept me out of the loop until the last possible second on purpose. But what I didn’t understand was why.
“Opal, why don’t you get Uncle Luke a cup of coffee,” Connor said. “The bigger, the better. He’s extra grumpy today.”
Opal skipped off toward the office at the back where the ancient but reliable coffee maker lived, chanting, “Grumpy, grumpy, grumpy,” in a sing-songy voice as she went.
“It’s just a routine checkup,” Connor said when Opal was out of earshot.
“Bullshit.”
“He gets a physical every year.”
“Since when?”
“Since Mom . . .”
He didn’t have to finish that sentence. We both knew how it ended . . . since Mom died.
Mom had been in great physical health and was taken out on her way home from a bookstore convention in Denver by a daredevil driver who had twice the legal limit of alcohol in his system.
I’d turned down the trip because I wanted to get back to my duty station with a few days of leave to myself before I had to get back to work.
Never mind that I had everything pre-packed for our upcoming field exercise and there was no critical reason to return to base.
Instead of changing my flight and extending my stay to make the trip with her, she went alone.
A decision I would regret for the rest of my life.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I demanded.
“There’s nothing else to tell. Dad’s getting his annual physical, and he’d rather you didn’t bring it up when he gets in. It’s routine.”
“You sent Opal to the back of the store to tell me it’s nothing?”
“I sent her to fetch you coffee because I knew you’d overreact.”
“I’m not overreacting.”
“You squeeze that clipboard any harder, you’re going to snap it in half,” Connor said, his tone still as calm as when I arrived.
I set the clipboard on the counter and flexed my hand. “So, what’s the plan with this place, then?”
“With the hardware store?” Connor asked, eyebrows drawn.
I often wondered but had yet to question until now. Admittedly, it was out of left field. But now that I’d asked, I wanted to know the answer. I wanted a plan.
Mom had only been gone four years, and despite a period of uncertainty this past summer, her bookstore was now in the good hands of our sister. But we never discussed what would become of the hardware store once Dad could no longer handle managing it. Or, God forbid, something happened to him.
It seemed logical that Connor would take it over, but I didn’t know what plans my little brother had for his future.
To be fair, we hadn’t acted much like brothers lately.
I made it to most family dinners at the farm, helped Connor renovate his place when I had time, and attended every softball game Opal played, but it was no secret our relationship had an underlying current of strain.
But if I could make amends with Kira after what went down last summer, I could figure out how to have a normal relationship with my brother. He was the easy sibling to get along with. Couldn’t be that fucking hard, could it?
“Are you going to run this place if something happens to Dad—”
“For fuck’s sake, Luke. Would you stop trying to force me into retirement?” The sound of Dad’s voice startled me. How had I missed his heavy footsteps on the old, creaky floor behind me? Was I that exhausted, or was I wound so tightly that I missed him sneaking in the back door?
“There something you want to tell us?” I fired back, refusing to accept I was overreacting.
“Nope.”
“Here you go, Uncle Luke.” Opal offered up a store mug filled with steaming coffee the color of the caramels Walter always kept in his pocket, just the way I preferred it.
“Thanks, kiddo.”
I took a long, slow sip, feeling a second wind coming on as the sugary sweet nectar went down.
“We should get started,” Connor said, handing Opal his clipboard and a purple highlighter.
“This conversation isn’t over,” I said sternly, stuffing the box cutter in my jeans pocket before grabbing a hand scanner for myself.
“There’s no conversation,” Dad said firmly.
“Bullshit—”
“I have an appointment for a root canal next Thursday,” Dad snapped at me. “Do you want to come hold my hand for that? Or will you be too busy plotting ways to oust me from the store I built from the ground up?”
“For fuck’s sake,” I mumbled under my breath. The coffee, despite being a particularly strong batch, was no longer enough. “I’m not trying to oust you.” I scrubbed a hand down my face, wishing I had an emergency to get me out of what was going to be a long fucking day.
“Good,” Dad said, grabbing a scanner from the counter. “Keep it that way, because I’m not retiring until I’m good and ready.”
“C’mon, Dad—”
The bells chimed overhead, announcing a customer.
Dad took the opportunity to dismiss the conversation entirely and hurried away to greet Harold Foster, who might be here for wood screws or simply to bullshit.
Either way, it was clear we weren’t going to get anywhere today.
I’d have to wait to talk to Connor, away from the store.
“Do you need more coffee?” Opal asked, looking at my now empty mug. Guess I sucked that down fast. It was tempting, but I really wanted to sleep this afternoon once this was all finished.
“Maybe later, kiddo.”
“Opal, why don’t you help me with the power tools?” Connor said, handing her a hand scanner. “We should let Uncle Luke get to counting his birdseed.”
“Fuck off,” I said after Opal raced ahead of her dad, toward the tools section at the back of the store.
I took the aisle over, headed to the back to see what shipments had come in.
Before I could finish identifying all the boxes, my phone chimed.
It wasn’t the tone reserved for the vacation rental app, and I hated how I was instantly disappointed.
It made no fucking sense. The last person I wanted to deal with today was Miss Mayhem.
Mayor Rosalyn Chambers: Need to meet with you today. You free at 2pm? It’ll be quick.
I set the phone on top of a pallet of boxes and used both hands to rub the sleep from my eyes.
With any luck, I hoped to be finished with my portion of the inventory and in bed by two.
I planned to stay there until my shift started tomorrow.
I just needed one good stretch of sleep so I could lock in for the next couple of weeks.
With Golden Days just around the corner, the department was bound to be extra busy.
Quick meetings with the mayor could go on for an hour or more. Like my late mother, Rosalyn could chat one’s ear off for half a day if left unchecked. It’s why they’d been such close friends, I supposed. They were a lot alike.
Luke: Can it wait until Monday?
Mayor Rosalyn Chambers: No.
Mayor Rosalyn Chambers: If two doesn’t work, I can push it to 3:30.
I inhaled deeply, deciding a second cup of coffee might be necessary after all.
Luke: I’ll swing by your office at two.
Mayor Rosalyn Chambers: Thanks, Chief! Talk to you soon.
I exited the text conversation, and automatically clicked on the vacation rental app.
I was just being a good host, checking to see if my guest needed anything. If I was going to keep the property as a vacation rental for the foreseeable future, I wanted to stay in good standing.
That was it.
No ulterior motive.
I clicked on the messages icon.
Nothing.
That’s what I wanted, right? For Maggie Holland and her four-legged sidekick to keep to themselves and out of my way for the duration of their stay. So why was this the third time I’d checked the app for a new message since I left the house?