His Brown-Eyed Girl. Liz Talley

Four

      LUCAS LEARNED the hard way that taking three kids to Home Depot was living hell on earth. As soon as they waltzed under the orange sign, Charlotte had to go to the bathroom. At first Lucas panicked. How was he supposed to take a little girl to a public restroom? Thankfully he spied something called a “family bathroom” and sent Chris in with her. Of course, Michael disappeared before he could be nabbed.

      After a full ten-minute wait while Charlotte did her business, Lucas met Chris’s demand—a sports drink as payment for taking care of his sister’s “business” in a place where “any of the hotties from my school could see.” The kid drank three sips then asked Lucas to carry it. Michael remained MIA while Lucas juggled locating the right wood screws with pushing Charlotte in a race-car cart. Charlotte insisted he make engine noises like her father. Lucas found the whole thing embarrassing, but if it kept her from climbing out and playing on the lawn furniture display then he’d gladly rumble like a NASCAR engine.

      He needed a drink...and it was only nine-thirty.

      Not the ideal way to spend a Saturday morning, especially after Addy had canceled their Wednesday dinner, sending over Aunt Flora’s gumbo without a word on why she couldn’t meet. Flora had taken Chris to karate on Thursday, and outside of catching a glimpse of Addy wrapping her orchids in what appeared to be wet newspaper, he hadn’t seen her.

      So much for finding a haven in the chaos. He’d been in survival mode for the past five days and now only wanted to get the damn greenhouse repaired and then get on with keeping the plates spinning, balancing on sticks he knew little about.

      At the truck, Michael finally appeared with earbuds in, frown on his face. “Where have you been?” Lucas asked, hefting the lumber into the back.

      “I’ve been sitting on that bench.” Michael pointed toward the front of the store.

      “With the smokers?”

      “I wasn’t smoking.”

      Charlotte skipped past the truck and climbed onto the cart return. “Jeez, Chris, pull your sister down. I told you to watch her. Chris?”

      “He’s over there looking at lawn mowers.” Michael flung an arm toward the side of the store.

      “Chris!”

      The ten-year-old froze, looked around to make sure no one had witnessed then jogged toward them.

      “Why did you yell at me across the parking lot?”

      “Because you are supposed to be watching your sister while I load this lumber, and I’m pretty sure there aren’t any ‘hotties’ at Home Depot on a Saturday morning.”

      Chris shot him a withering look. “Girls are prisoners just like me. We get dragged everywhere by our parents...even to Bed Bath & Beyond. No one cares what a kid wants. Besides, I’ve already seen Josie Dupont.”

      “You’re wasting your breath, plague. She’s too hot for you,” Michael muttered.

      Chris rolled his eyes. “This from the biggest social piranha at St. Mark’s.”

      “Shut the hell up.” Michael reached for Chris, but Lucas caught his arm.

      “Okay, I’ve had enough. Chris, fetch your sister and stop calling your brother an Amazonian fish.” Lucas heaved another load into the truck.

      “What?” Chris asked.

      “Look, stupid, if you’re going to insult me, at least use the correct terminology. It’s social pariah.” Michael’s voice dripped with venom...and a shade of hurt.

      Lucas turned Chris toward where his sister dangled. “Go.”

      Chris sighed and did as bid.

      Lucas faced Michael who had fixed his gaze on the cars whizzing down Veterans Boulevard. “What did he mean by that? You having trouble at school?”

      His oldest nephew stiffened. “What’s it to you?”

      Lucas looked at Michael. Dark hair swooping low across a forehead that bore the hallmark of being thirteen. Acne also marred his cheeks and chin, but not so much that it took away from his handsomeness. He was thin and gawky, but so were many boys that age. He looked like the quintessential young teen but with Ben’s smile and brown eyes. It was as if Lucas saw his own brother twenty-two years ago.

      “Just trying to hel—” Lucas bit down on his tongue because that sounded lame even to him. “Never mind. But if you want to talk or if anything is going on that can’t wait until your mother gets home, you know where I am.”

      “Yeah, I do. You’re sleeping in my parents’ bed. A virtual stranger who doesn’t know me or anything about my life.”

      Lucas nodded. “True, but I’m here.”

      “Yes. You’re here.” Without another word, Michael started to unload the cart.

      Such anger and frustration was to be expected when going through puberty. Lucas could remember how awkward the age was. One moment he wanted to hit his father, the next crawl into his lap and hide from the cruel world. So Lucas would give Michael space. No doubt he dealt with something at school, but the boy didn’t trust him enough to seek help or advice. Lucas would keep his eye on his nephew...in case he needed to intervene.

      After loading the truck, he drove through a doughnut place and picked up a couple dozen to pacify the kids. Screw never rewarding kids with food. This was survival for Lucas and he’d “pick his battles” like the article in the parenting magazine on the back of the toilet had suggested. Ben and Courtney had no hunting, fishing or sports magazines lying around their house, but obviously liked knowing the ten best snacks for their toddler.

      The entire way to Uptown, Michael was silent, noshing on doughnuts, earbuds in as Chris and Charlotte quietly worked on a sugar high Lucas knew he’d pay for later. Every time he glanced in his rearview mirror, he caught sight of the three-year-old, who looked like a commercial for everything cute. At one point she caught his eye and smiled, sugary doughnut gumming up her face, looking so like her mother he couldn’t help but soften.

      Which was strange since he’d spent years being angry at the woman who had ripped out his heart and left her high heels embedded within its depths.

      He remembered the first time he’d seen Courtney. She’d been eleven years old, all legs and glorious blond hair, dangling from a branch of an old oak tree in the front yard of the house her parents had moved into days before. Lucas had been cutting through on his way to his friend Matt’s house to shoot hoops when he’d seen her fall from the tree. He’d scrambled over some bushes, hopped the low fence and found her in a tangle, laughing like a loon. She’d looked up, grabbed the book that had also fallen and smiled. “This is exactly how these two met.”

      “Huh?”

      She pointed to the cover of a book that had a Native American woman entwined in a cowboy’s arms. “These two, Small Dove and Colt. She fell out of a tree and he caught her. Crazy, huh?”

      Lucas took several steps back wondering why a kid was reading a book that seemed to have sex in it. “I just came to see if you were okay.”

      She beamed at him. “You rescued me. You’re my siuleehu. That means soul mate in Cherokee.”

      He hadn’t known what to say to that. Or to her every time she boldly rode her bike to his house, stalking him with sunshine and silly smiles, all skinny-legged and browned by the sun. Then one day, she stopped following him. And six months later, he started following a new Courtney. One whose flat planes had developed into curvy wonderfulness, a girl who smelled like a meadow, wore lip gloss and tossed her golden hair over her shoulder. She’d been gorgeous, still funny but not so silly anymore.

      For ten years they’d played tag with each other, giving each other their first kiss, accompanying each other to school dances, taking long walks down shady streets, sneaking in kisses, practicing moves on each other