been genuinely hungry because, rather than flashing one of his mutinous scowls, he dashed down the hallway.
“It’s gratifying to cook for someone other than just myself,” Gram said, a trace of sadness beneath her smile.
Kate’s heart squeezed, but she kept her tone light. “As much food as Luke puts away, you may get tired of it pretty quickly. I insist you let me help with meals. And everything else—cleaning, gardening, whatever needs to be done. I know how seriously you take hospitality, but Luke and I are roommates, not guests who have to be waited on hand and foot.”
Gram’s eyes twinkled. “Well...now that you mention it, I suppose I could use your help with a welcome party I’m hosting. Tomorrow.”
“You planned a party tomorrow?” So much for settling in slowly. Kate had hoped to sleep late, then spend the day unpacking.
“Party is probably too grandiose a term. It’s just a neighborhood cookout. I invited some friends, like the Rosses, who live down the road. You remember they used to let you ride their horses? And I figured you’d want to see Crystal Tucker. Wait—she’s Crystal Walsh now, isn’t she?” Gram shook her head. “Seems like just yesterday the two of you were sharing cotton candy at the Watermelon Festival, a couple of kids with pigtails and sticky hands. Now you’re all grown up with kids of your own!”
Kate and Crystal had bonded quickly after meeting at the community pool and renewed their friendship every summer. An only child, Kate had loved having a playmate in town. Crystal, the middle kid between two sisters, relished the comparative peace and quiet at the Denby farm. The last time they’d seen each other was Jim Denby’s funeral, but Crystal, heavily pregnant with twin boys, hadn’t been able to stay long. It would be nice to catch up with her. Kate tried to recall the age of Crystal’s oldest son, hoping the boy could be a potential friend for Luke. He needed a wholesome peer group—the sooner, the better.
With that goal in mind, she gave her grandmother a grateful smile. “I hate for you to go to trouble on our account, but I’m really glad you’re throwing the welcome party. I’m sure it will be exactly what we need.”
* * *
KATEWASGLADher son had the good sense not to show up at the dinner table wearing earbuds—a mandate she’d had to repeat at least once a week back in Houston—but he wasn’t the most effusive dinner companion. He wolfed down two servings of stew while barely looking up from his plate, then asked to be excused.
She sighed, wishing he showed more curiosity about their new surroundings and learning about Cupid’s Bow. Let him go. It had been a long day, and no doubt tomorrow would bring fresh battles. “You’re excused, but make sure you rinse your dishes.”
He did as asked, then paused in the doorway that led to the hall. “Dinner was awesome,” he mumbled in Gram’s general direction, the words all strung together. Then he disappeared around the corner.
Kate shook her head. “Well, that was a start, I guess. We’ll work on eye contact later.”
Gram smiled. “He’s had a tough time of it. You both have.”
“I know.” Lord, did she know. “But that doesn’t give him a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card. Losing his dad can’t become a habitual excuse for bad choices.” She ran a hand through her hair, recalling the incident at the gas station. She’d meant get-out-of-jail in a figurative sense, but if her son didn’t get off his current path...
“Katie?” Gram’s tone was thick with concern.
Glancing toward the empty doorway, Kate lowered her voice. “We had a mishap on the way to the farm...and by mishap, I mean petty larceny. He stole from Rick Jacobs, got caught shoplifting a candy bar at the gas station. Luke didn’t even want it. We’d been arguing in the car and I can’t help feeling like this was another act of rebellion because he’s mad at me. He took the candy bar for a little girl.”
Kate covered her eyes, her face heating at the mortifying memory. “He got busted stealing candy for one of Cole Trent’s daughters.”
“He stole something for the sheriff’s kid?” Gram made an odd noise that Kate belatedly identified as a snort of amusement.
“Gram! It’s not funny.”
“It sort of is. Cupid’s Bow is small, granted, but there are a couple thousand residents. Of all the people...” She tried unsuccessfully to smother another laugh. “The sheriff! Seriously?”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t joke about this. When we met him inside, we didn’t know he was a cop. Then he chased us out in the parking lot, understandably furious. I was so embarrassed.” And that was after she’d already enjoyed the super-fun humiliation of dumping her drink on him. “Frankly, I’m hoping to avoid Sheriff Trent for the next three or four...ever.”
Gram’s eyes widened. “Oh, but—surely your paths will cross again. Like I said, this is a small town. So, perhaps it would be best to get it over with sooner rather than later. Right?”
Definitely not. But since it seemed rude to argue, Kate smiled weakly. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Another way to view it was that Kate had enough on her plate already without worrying about alienating a blue-eyed pillar of the community.
* * *
CRAP. LUKE SULLIVAN scowled at the prolonged quiet on the other side of the bedroom door. They’re talking about me. He couldn’t make out any of his mom’s or great-grandmother’s words, but he knew the tense, muffled tone. His mother had used it with his therapist whenever she sent Luke out of the room so the two adults could confer privately. She’d used it a lot on the phone with her friends when she was complaining about Luke’s screw-ups.
Suddenly needing noise and lots of it, Luke shoved in his earbuds and cranked up the volume on a hip-hop song. It was enough to drown out the low drone of conversation in the kitchen, but it didn’t mute the thoughts bouncing around his brain. He didn’t want to be here, in this shoebox of a room that smelled faintly of paint fumes. He liked his great-grandmother, but this was her house, not his. He missed home.
And he missed his friends.
He knew his mom didn’t like them, had specifically heard her describe Bobby as a “hoodlum,” but she didn’t get it. When he hung out with Bobby and the other eighth graders, kids looked at him with respect. Bobby was a known badass. He wasn’t universally liked, but even being regarded with contempt was better than pity. Luke hated students and teachers and neighbors eyeing him like he was a pathetic baby bird who’d fallen out of its nest and effed up its wing.
He was sick of people asking if he was “okay,” like his father’s murder was something to get over, equal to bombing a math quiz. He was tired of his mom’s stubborn attempts to get him to hang out with his old friends. And her attempts to get him to draw again. What did she care? Comic books were dumb stories that had nothing to do with real life.
In the stories Luke used to doodle, his cyborg-enhanced alien helped people by stopping natural disasters and chasing off enemies. In real life, Luke couldn’t even help cheer up a little girl. Stealing the candy had been stupid, and he certainly hadn’t meant to get her in trouble. He hated seeing girls cry.
He knew his mom cried. After his dad got shot, she’d cried a lot. They both had. But then she’d pretended to stop. He wasn’t stupid, though.
