“You can’t expect Jocelyn to run a meet on her own,” Mr. Grady said. “She’s got a couple of assistant coaches, but they’ll all have their hands full. We need another body, and you make the most sense.”
Lucas shook his head, took another bite of rice with vegetables and, by the way his jaw worked overtime, ground the food into pulp.
Jocelyn chewed her bottom lip, then flashed her cheerleading smile. “Mr. Grady.”
“Call me Kieran, would you, please?”
“Uh, Kieran.” It came out completely unnatural. “I think I can find more help. Maybe Jack …”
“Jack volunteers for the fire department on Saturdays,” Anne spoke up. “He wouldn’t be available for the weekend meets.”
“Well, maybe he could help at the weekday practices.” Jocelyn’s smile was quickly fading, but she wasn’t going to let Lucas get put on the spot. Not because of her own failings. Not because she was being a wuss about running the team on her own. Not because she still felt guilty about losing her track scholarship.
“Lucas, honey,” Mrs. Grady said. “You used to love track. Maybe you’d enjoy sharing your experiences with the kids. And Jocelyn could use your help. Please think about it.”
“Yup. Sure, Mom,” he said, short, clipped words heralding the closure of the subject.
Stilted silence followed. Jocelyn’s smile faded to nonexistent. I should be able to handle things myself. But was she even worthy of being a coach? What was the old saying: “Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach”?
Lucas took a long draw of his ice water. “Well, I’m not sure what you want me to do for the fund-raiser, Jocelyn, but once Annie leaves on Saturday, I don’t know how available I’ll be for much of anything.”
“You’re leaving, Anne?” Beverly said, concern drawing her brows together.
Anne flashed a thanks-a-lot look at Lucas, who pulled in his chin and raised his shoulders. Clearly, he didn’t know she hadn’t told anyone about leaving.
“Well, yes, Mom. We agreed from the beginning I’d go home once Lucas got discharged.”
Beverly’s bright expression deflated on the spot. “You’ve been such a big help around here,” Beverly said. “And who’s going to do my hair?”
That lightened the atmosphere and got a chuckle out of Lucas. “Don’t look at me.”
“Maybe you could teach me,” Jocelyn said. She felt a bit foolish making the offer, especially when everyone, most especially Mrs. Grady, checked out her simple ponytail at once.
“How are you with a blow-dryer and hair spray?” Anne asked, an impish flint in her light brown eyes.
“It really is all about the cut,” Beverly said. “And fortunately, I’ve got a good one.”
“See?” Anne said. “All you’ll need to do is wash, comb and fluff.”
“Well, because Mrs. Grady’s hair isn’t long enough for a ponytail, I guess I can learn to dry, fluff and spray.”
“If you’re going to be my hairdresser, you’re going to have to learn to call me Beverly.”
Jocelyn grinned. “Beverly.” Would she ever feel comfortable saying Kieran and Beverly?
“What about Jack?” Kieran said. “Does he know you’re leaving?”
“Dad, just drop it, would you?” Anne stood and picked up her plate, then her mother’s, and headed to the sink.
With Jocelyn’s help, Jack had convinced Anne to go out with him since she’d been home, and he’d been looking very happy the last couple of weeks. In Anne’s defense, she did have a nursing job in Portland, Oregon to get back to—but Jocelyn was pretty sure Jack had bigger plans in mind.
No one looked more disappointed than Beverly. “It’s been so great having you around, Anne. We just hate to see you go—that’s all.”
Jocelyn noticed the expression on Lucas’s face, like he wasn’t good enough to take Anne’s place. She remembered that look from high school. Then he changed. Got tough. Used to brag about being a slacker.
She never believed him. Not for a second.
Wednesday morning, after Lucas helped Kieran get washed and dressed, he jumped into the shower. Midway through, a pounding on the door cut short the soothing hot ribbons of water streaming over his tense shoulders and back.
“Jack isn’t answering my calls,” Kieran shouted through the closed door. “We need to find another way to get to the doctor’s appointment.”
Lucas shut off the water, grabbed the bath towel and wrapped it around his waist in the thick-with-steam bathroom, then opened the door. “Why don’t you give him another call in a minute or two? Maybe he’s already on the road.”
Today’s appointment was important. It would clarify for Kieran when his leg cast might come off and, for a normally hyperactive guy, he was looking for a light at the end of this recovery. If he missed the appointment, it might be another month before he could reschedule.
His parents both owned hybrids, cars that had lots of attributes but weren’t made for people with full leg casts. Especially six-foot-four people with full leg casts. Anne had mentioned that Jack had been providing his 1980s van for Kieran’s transportation.
Lucas turned to wipe steam off the mirror.
“What the land’s end is that?” Kieran said, as if he’d noticed a gaping wound on Lucas.
At first it didn’t register, then it hit him. He’d turned his back on his father and exposed the tattoos. “Oh, these?” He played dumb and glanced over his shoulder as if he’d forgotten the raven on the backside of each shoulder blade existed.
“For cryin’ out loud, are you serious? What got into you? Next you’re going to tell me you’ve taken up smoking again.”
Lucas had actually put a lot of thought into his choice of tattoos. The ravens were Hugin and Munin, “thought” and “memory.” According to Norse mythology, each morning Odin sent the birds out to the world to report back what they saw. Lucas preferred to think of his ravens as thought and reason—because he didn’t put much stock in memories.
Sometimes, those ravens were the only things that kept him from having lousy judgment. Still, he saw that old and familiar look in his father’s eyes. Slacker. Only slackers get tats.
Yeah? Well, you don’t know everything, dear old Dad. But it wouldn’t be worth the breath to explain how it felt to have men’s lives balanced in your hands or how a wrong decision could cost a limb or eyesight or, worse yet, death. Dad wouldn’t get it.
“For your information, I didn’t start smoking again, and these are the only tattoos I have.”
It’s not like it’s a dragon or demon or snake winding up my neck. They’re ravens—just black birds. Okay, more like crows on steroids.
“The damn things nearly cover your back. Your mother will burst into tears when she sees them.”
“Are you going to call Jack or what?”
On edge over the possibility of missing his appointment, Kieran momentarily put his judgment about tattoos aside, flipped open his cell and put his special electric wheelchair in reverse. At least for now, Lucas had gotten him off his back. Literally.
Ten minutes later, Kieran still hadn’t reached Jack. Lucas ran next door.
He rapped on Jocelyn’s door, and moments later she answered, looking surprised. “Hi, Lucas. What’s up?”
She was dressed