Good. He looked only half as idiotic as he felt.
He’d left his hair uncombed, both to increase the rumpled look and to hide the gray that had started taking hold. A day’s worth of stubble paraded across his jaw. The bags under his eyes were a by-product of flying across time zones, but they added to the seedy appearance. An earring would have been a nice touch, but he had his limits.
Black biking shorts and an electric blue muscle shirt completed the mugger-in-training look. All he needed was a motorcycle. But he’d spent years learning caution and common sense since leaving town, and he wasn’t about to abandon them completely. He’d settle for Rollerblades and hope they were enough to cause a stir.
Satisfied that he looked vaguely reminiscent of the delinquent teen he’d once been, he stepped over Charlie and crept down the stairs, hoping he could make his escape without his mother hearing. She would have to see him like this in time, but he didn’t want to ruin her breakfast.
“J.T.?”
He should have known. The minute he walked into town, his luck turned tail and hopped the next flight out.
He nearly tripped over the damned stealthy dog and steeled himself for the worst.
Iris Delaney stood in the hall, thinner than she’d ever been in his life, snug in a white housecoat festooned with the flowers she’d been named for. She had a mug cradled in her hands and an expression of sheer horror on her face.
Wait for it....
She opened and closed her mouth. Raised one hand to her lips. Lowered it again.
At last she spoke.
“Make me a happy woman. Tell me you’re going jogging and then you’ll shower and get dressed for real.”
“Sorry, Ma. What you see is what you get.”
“Do I dare ask why?”
She could ask, but he wasn’t sure he could explain. He knew that when he left town, he’d broken her heart. Her hurt was compounded when she realized that no matter what he did—graduating from university, getting his PhD, moving to Tucson to teach high school and the occasional university class—no one wanted to hear about it. She’d been deprived of both her son and her bragging rights. She didn’t need to know that he’d already been tried and condemned on his first day back.
“Let’s say I’m giving the people exactly what they want to see.” He kissed the top of her head and swiped her mug with every intention of helping himself. One whiff of the contents made him hand it back, fast.
“What the he—heck is that?”
Iris rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re leaving here dressed like a hoodlum but you won’t say hell in front of your mother?”
“I figured you’d wash my mouth out with soap. What is it?”
“Astragalus tea. Strengthens immunity and enhances body energy and defenses.”
So she was trying to build herself back up. Good.
“When was your last doctor’s appointment?”
“About three weeks ago. Maybe longer.” When he started to speak, she shushed him with a shake of her head. “Don’t fuss. I’m fine now.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“Mothers don’t like to worry their children.” She stared into her tea. He tipped her chin up so he could look her straight in the eye.
“And children don’t like being kept in the dark, Ma.”
“I’m not hiding anything.” She paused, before adding, “Not from you, I promise. Not anymore.”
He could live with that. If Iris wanted to keep the rest of the town from knowing the truth about her ongoing fight with seasonal affective disorder, well, that was her right. As long as she didn’t try to hide it from him. He never wanted to get another phone call like the one he’d received last winter—the call in which an artificially calm voice informed him that his mother had tried to kill herself.
But she was doing better now. She was gradually adjusting to life without his father. And it was summer, when the long light-filled days held her depression at bay. As long as he got her out of Comeback Cove before fall, she would be fine.
The trouble was that while Iris said she was ready to move, he had the feeling she was really hoping for some sort of reprieve. Something, perhaps, like convincing him to move back.
“So.” He sniffed the tea again, turned up his nose. “Where can I get a cup of real coffee these days?”
“The same place you always could. River Joe’s.” She looked him up and down. “You know it’s going to be crowded this time of day.”
It was a gentle hint that he might want to change. Little did she know that there was no way he was going to reveal the depths of his changes to this town. He could handle them rejecting the kid he’d been. The man he’d become, though—that was off-limits.
Besides, it was fun to put on the old ways and tweak folks a bit. He kind of missed letting his inner daredevil have his day.
“River Joe’s, huh?” A picture of the woman he’d spotted the previous evening flashed through his mind. Maybe the answer to her identity was closer than he’d expected.
He snagged his Rollerblades from beside the deacon’s bench in the front hall, then sat down and wriggled the first foot in. Keeping his voice casual, he asked, “Who’s running it these days?”
“Lydia Brewster.”
“Who’s she?”
“Buddy Brewster’s daughter-in-law.”
J.T. wound the laces around his hands, tugged and looked up. “Glenn’s wife? How did she end up with the shop?”
“Glenn’s widow, yes. She moved here with her children after Glenn and Buddy died.”
Memories raced through J.T.’s mind, outtakes from the one and only time Comeback Cove had gained national attention. There had been a tanker on the seaway—a common enough occurrence. But this tanker had been targeted by a nutcase with a statement to make and enough explosives to make sure he was heard. Buddy and Glenn had been out deer hunting when they stumbled across the man. They stopped him. But in the process they lost their own lives.
J.T. tied a quick bow and moved on to the next foot. “Must have been tough for her.”
“It was. I’m sure it still is.”
The slight catch in his mother’s voice was proof that she understood Lydia Brewster’s pain better than he ever would. He hunted for something to say that would keep them on even emotional ground. “What made her come here?”
“You say that like it’s a life sentence.”
“You mean it isn’t?”
“Maybe when you’re a child. But adults usually enjoy it.”
Any minute now, she’d start a commercial on the joys of life in Comeback Cove. “Lydia Brewster?” he prompted.
Iris sighed. “Well, she and Ruth were both hurting, as you can imagine. Ruth was all alone in that big house, and Lydia’s children were so small—the youngest was little more than a baby. She brought them here, and Ruth helped with the kids while Lyddie ran the store. It was good for both of them.”
It made sense. But he still couldn’t see how moving to the Cove could be in anyone’s best interests.
“This is her home now,” Iris continued, “and people are glad to have her. Losing Buddy and Glenn was terrible.