The Return Of Luke Mcguire. Justine Davis

of course!” Her greeting was effusive and, for all Amelia could tell, genuine. “How nice to see you again. I’ve been meaning to stop in and see you.”

      Amelia blinked. She had? As far as she knew, the woman had never set foot in the store before; whatever her reading tastes were, if any, she satisfied them elsewhere.

      “I wanted to talk to you about carrying our new newsletter,” Jackie went on. “I understand you have several teenagers who come in regularly?”

      “Yes,” Amelia said, recovering. “Yes, I do.”

      “It’s free, of course. And I’m sure you’ll want to help in getting out such an important message.”

      Amelia couldn’t argue about the importance of the message, but she didn’t like the assumption that she would agree, sight unseen.

      “I’ll be happy to take a look at it and get back to you,” she said, refusing to be swept up by the woman’s polished energy. She might be a mouse, but she could be a stubborn one if she had to be.

      There was only the most minuscule of breaks in the woman’s demeanor, as if she’d heard a tiny blip she hadn’t expected. But she went on as if nothing had happened. “Fine. I’ll get one to you. I’m sure you’ll be able to find space for it.”

      Jackie turned to go, as if assuming Amelia had only approached her because she had willed it. As if Amelia couldn’t possibly have had a reason of her own.

      “Mrs. Hiller, I needed to talk to you.”

      She turned back. “Oh?” Not quite looking down her nose, she waited.

      “About David.”

      Jackie smiled. “Of course. I’ve also been meaning to tell you I appreciate the way you’ve encouraged him to read. I don’t approve of some of the things you’ve picked, but I suppose reading anything is better than nothing.”

      How on earth, Amelia wondered, did she make an expression of thanks insulting?

      “You’re right, it is better,” she said, carefully picking her words. “It’s important that kids learn to love reading, and the only way that happens is for them to read things that interest them.”

      She could see the disagreement rising to the other woman’s lips and continued quickly to forestall it.

      “But what I wanted to talk about is not David’s reading. It’s…his brother.”

      The practiced smile faltered. Something hot and annoyed flickered in the cool blue eyes, and Amelia wondered rather abruptly if the man on the motorcycle had blue eyes, too.

      “Why on earth,” Jackie finally said, “would you ask about him?”

      “I just…” Amelia stopped, wishing she’d thought this through before she’d done it; it was going to be very difficult not to give away David’s secret. But she didn’t have to; Jackie was on a roll.

      “That boy,” she said firmly, “was a hellion from the day he was born. I tried my best, but I’ve never seen a child who got into so much trouble so often and so young. I couldn’t turn my back for a minute or he’d be into mischief. And later it got worse. He became incorrigible. It’s a miracle we all survived.”

      “I see,” was all Amelia could manage.

      “Oh, I know what David’s probably told you. He’s built Luke up into some kind of idol, and he won’t see reason about it. I’ve had to be extra hard on David so he doesn’t turn out like Luke did.”

      “And how is that?” Amelia asked, curious to see how much truth there was to David’s assumption that his mother hated his brother.

      “Useless, troublesome, wicked and hideously embarrassing,” Jackie said baldly. “But he’s my cross to bear, much as I would like to deny he exists. And the sooner David gets over this silly moping around and mooning over a brother who isn’t worth it, the better.”

      Well. That answers that, Amelia thought. And felt another pang of sympathy for the much-maligned Luke. “I’m sure a lot of David’s mood is because of his father,” she said, purposely changing the subject.

      “It’s been six months,” Jackie said. “It’s time to move on.”

      Startled at the woman’s bluntness, Amelia said cautiously, “I don’t think that’s something you can put a timetable on. Everyone has to grieve in their own way.”

      If this was Jackie Hiller’s way of grieving, Amelia thought as the woman abruptly remembered an appointment and stated she had to go right now, it was rather odd. And the woman seemed to have no idea how deeply David felt the loss of his father.

      Amelia acknowledged the hasty goodbye and the promise to drop off the newsletter, and only after Jackie had taken a couple of steps did she think to call out to her.

      “Mrs. Hiller? What does Luke look like?”

      The woman’s expression was nothing less than sour. “He looks,” she said, “like his damned, black-Irish father.”

      The woman turned on her Ferragamo heel and walked swiftly away, as if in a hurry to leave the topic behind her in more ways than one.

      His damned, black-Irish father…

      The image of the man on the motorcycle came back even more vividly now. It all fit.

      As did something else. That man had been at least in his mid-twenties. Jacqueline Hiller looked to be in her late thirties, although she could be a well-maintained forty-something. Not that she would want to hear that, Amelia was certain. But that meant that if the man on the bike was indeed Luke McGuire, he must have been born when Jackie was very, very young. And that he’d still been at home when Jackie had begun her crusade.

      She wondered how it must feel to be the reason your mother campaigned like a zealot against teen pregnancy.

      “Look, Davie, I’m really sorry about your dad. He was a good guy.”

      David nodded, his mouth tightening.

      After one of the longest nights of his life, when his gut had tried hard to convince his head he should go home, Luke had waited down the street from the old house this morning until David had come out. And he had to admit, the boy’s joyous greeting had been gratifying. He’d barely recognized his little brother, but the boy had had no such problem. He supposed it was because he’d already been eighteen when he’d left and hadn’t changed all that much, whereas David had gone from small child to teenager.

      “He liked you,” David said.

      “I liked him, too.”

      “He never said bad things about you, even after you left. Not like Mom.”

      Luke sighed. “I’ve been gone eight years, and she’s still riding that old horse?”

      “Sometimes I tell her to shut up.”

      And I’ll bet that goes over like a busted paddle. “Hey,” he said aloud, gripping his brother’s shoulder, “don’t make trouble for yourself. You don’t have to defend me. Not to her.”

      “But if I don’t, nobody else will,” David said. Then, brightening, he added, “But you’re here now. You can tell her to shut up.”

      Luke laughed. “Yeah, I suppose I could.” He wouldn’t—it wasn’t worth it—but it seemed to make David feel better. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll wait a while. I’m not sure I want her to know I’m here yet.”

      “I didn’t tell her,” David said. “I didn’t even tell her you were coming.”

      “Were you so sure I would?”

      The boy nodded. “I knew you’d remember what it was like here. I did tell some people, though.”

      “Oh? Who?”