The Return of Luke McGuire. Justine Davis

good ones.”

      David frowned. “What’s the diff?”

      At least he was listening, Luke thought. Now if only he could think of what to say. “Friends help you out. They don’t try and make trouble for you, or suck you into any. They don’t rag on you if you don’t want to do something.”

      David was watching him, his expression changing, a hint of disappointment coming into his eyes. “You sound like Mom, always lecturing me.”

      Luke sucked in a quick breath; that was not a comparison he relished. His mouth twisted. “Whew. Nice shot.”

      “I was waiting for ‘Friends don’t let friends drive drunk,’” David quoted.

      “Well, they don’t, but I’m sorry, Davie. I didn’t mean to lecture you. I used to hate it when she did it to me.”

      David smiled fleetingly at the old nickname that only Luke had ever used. “I know. I remember you fighting with her. I could hear you after I went to bed.”

      “I’ll bet. It got loud sometimes.”

      “I hated it.” David lowered his eyes and picked at the sole fry left in his meal. “Sometimes…I hate her.”

      Again, Luke didn’t know what to say. It hardly seemed right to encourage that, but how could he blame the kid when he felt the same way? “I understand,” he said finally. “But I think…she does love you. She’s just no good at showing it.”

      “I don’t think so,” David said solemnly. “She just hates me less than she hated you.”

      That was such a cogent assessment that Luke couldn’t counter it, wasn’t sure he wanted to. David lifted his gaze, his eyes, so much like his father’s, deeply troubled.

      “I can’t take it much longer, Luke,” he said, sounding much older than his fifteen years. “Everything’s falling apart since Dad died. He was what kept her from being really bad, but now she’s worse than ever, almost like she was right before you left.”

      Luke expelled an audible breath. “Is it all her, Davie? Or is she worried about you, what you’re doing these days, those new friends?”

      “She just doesn’t like them.”

      “Who does?”

      “Huh?”

      “Besides you, who does like them?”

      David looked puzzled. “I don’t know. Why?”

      “Just curious.”

      Silence reigned for a few minutes, and Luke let it, hoping the boy might be pondering that. But it seemed a lost cause when, after downing the last of his soda, David merely looked at him and said, “I like your earring. Wish I could get one, but Mom’d never let me get pierced, not even just an ear.”

      Luke fingered the small gold paddle that dangled from his left lobe. “This is about as far as I go. I’m a wuss about needles.”

      “You?” David said, clearly disbelieving. “You’re not a wuss about anything.”

      “Oh, yeah, I am. I’m no hero, bro.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly eleven. Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”

      David swore, crudely. “Stupid drawing lesson. Like a teacher’s gonna make me be able to draw when I can’t.”

      “Pretty bad, huh?”

      “I suck,” was the succinct answer. “And I hate all this stuff, drawing, piano, what a waste of a summer.”

      “Could be worse.”

      “Yeah? How?”

      “I don’t know. Ballroom dancing? Accordion lessons?”

      David laughed and for a moment was the boy Luke remembered. Luke smiled as he stood up. “Go. Don’t get me in any more trouble for making you late.”

      David got up, too, but hesitated, then said simply, “She knows.”

      “She does?”

      “Old lady Clancy called her.”

      “Figures.”

      “I don’t think she’s figured out yet that…you’re here because I asked you.”

      “Take my advice, don’t let her,” Luke told him. “Tell her I got…nostalgic.”

      David nodded slowly. “She said this morning that after my summer class I have to sit through her stupid lecture, waiting so she can drive me home. Like I can’t walk or ride my bike eight blocks.” He gave Luke a sideways glance. “I think she just doesn’t want me to see you, so she’s keeping me too busy. But I’ll dodge her somehow. I can’t be in any more trouble with her than I already am.”

      Luke considered that. “I think you probably can be,” he said frankly. But then he grinned at his brother. “But I can’t. Maybe we’ll just have to make it my fault.”

      David brightened considerably at that, then took off running toward the community center where summer classes were held. Luke thought about how his mother had never bothered with those for him. He’d told himself he was glad to have his summers free, to have a mother who didn’t care where he went or what he did as long as he didn’t cause her any problems.

      He sat there, staring out at the water, at the picturesque cove that had such appeal for people from all over but had never been anything to him except a place to hide in a crowd. He’d always enjoyed watching the surf, had been drawn to the water, but something had seemed missing to him. He’d kept coming back, because it was so close, but the sea and sand and surf just missed reaching that deep, hidden place in him.

      He wondered if David had such a place, a place he kept buried and safe, afraid he would never find what it was in the world that made his soul answer.

      He wondered if their mother would smother that place in him before the boy ever had a chance to even look.

      Amelia tried to contain her nervousness, but she was afraid she wasn’t doing a very good job. She tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, but her idealism couldn’t quite stretch to the idea that these new friends of David’s were here to pick up some summer reading.

      Especially given the way they strolled around the store not looking at any of the books, but just her. Especially given the way the one in the cargo pants with all the pockets flipped that knife around. A butterfly knife, the kind where the handle flipped closed around the blade, then reopened with a flick of the wrist, becoming deadly once more. She’d read about them when researching martial arts before deciding on kickboxing.

      Open and closed, he flicked it back and forth, with the appearance of idle habit and a smoothness that spoke of long experience. And if she confronted him, she was sure he would smile innocently and tell her it was just that, a habit, that it didn’t mean anything, and why was she so nervous?

      She gathered her nerve and tried to think. God, she hated being such a coward. The boy was back near the children’s section now, while the others were at various places, almost as if taking up stations. Almost as if they had a plan…

      She glanced at the phone. She could pretend to be making a call and dial 911 instead. But they really hadn’t done anything yet, although she was sure waving that knife around was against some kind of law. But it wasn’t like he’d threatened her or anything, she told herself; it was only because she was so spineless that it seemed threatening.

      Besides, they were David’s friends, even if she didn’t care for them, and he might never speak to her again if she called the police on them.

      The one with the knife turned and headed back, flipping that blade as if it were a part of him.

      It struck her then that perhaps she should try to treat these boys like she did all kids who came into her store. She could find the courage