The Return of Luke McGuire

Chapter 2

Santiago Beach hadn’t changed a bit, Luke thought. Oh, there was some new development around the edges, some new houses and the occasional strip mall, but the downtown district hadn’t changed at all. It was still the quaint, villagelike, tourist-attracting place, the main drag with the incredibly hokey name of Main Street, that had bored him to distraction. Everybody seemed to think living near the beach was the dream life for any kid, but it hadn’t been for him.

No, it hadn’t changed much at all. He had, though. He had to admit that. Not, he amended with an inward grin, that he resisted gunning the Harley’s engine on occasion, just to break the smothering quiet. That it also turned heads, made people either gape at him or eye him suspiciously—or even with shock, like the woman outside the bookstore—was just a side benefit.

But down deep, he was no longer the kid who had done that kind of thing just for thrills, just to build on the reputation that had already begun to snowball. Now he did it for…what? Nostalgia?

Lord, nostalgic at twenty-six, he thought with a rueful twist of his lips. Back then, at eighteen, you thought anybody on the far side of thirty was decrepit, and now you’re thinking people can still be young at forty.

He wondered if at thirty he would push that back to fifty, then at forty to sixty, continually pushing the boundaries back so that they were a safe distance away.

And he wondered if just coming back here was making him lose his mind. He never thought about this kind of thing at home. Of course, at home his thoughts were focused mainly on how to keep himself and everyone else alive through the next adventure. He rarely thought about Santiago Beach at all; in his mind, his past consisted of the last eight years.

But it was amazing to him how quickly he relapsed, just from seeing the old, familiar things, all in their old, familiar places. The faces might be different—although some had looked familiar—but the effect they had on him was the same. He immediately felt cramped, trapped, and he found himself wondering if his favorite secret hideout, the place no one had ever found, was still there.

The urge to turn the bike around and head for the high country was tremendous.

But he couldn’t. He had to find Davie first, make sure he was all right. He’d wrestled with it for days, but now that he’d decided, now that he’d arrived, he wasn’t going to turn tail and run until he’d done what he’d come here for. He really wasn’t that kid anymore, desperate and weary of fighting a battle he could never, ever win.

He’d learned well in the past eight years. He’d learned how to depend only on himself, learned how to take care of himself, and most of all, he’d learned how it felt to win. And he liked it.

He wasn’t going to let this place beat him again.

She wouldn’t have sought her out, Amelia thought, but now that Jackie Hiller was right here, she should say something. She would never betray David’s confidence, but she was worried. Especially if she was right about that dark, wild apparition she’d seen riding down Main Street.

The image, still so vivid in her mind, gave her a slight shiver. She knew she’d grown up within the boundaries of a strict childhood and been further limited by her own natural shyness; men like the one on that motorcycle had had no part in her life. But if that were indeed Luke McGuire, Amelia could easily see how David had built his half brother up into an almost mythological being in his mind.

She shook off the odd feeling. Jackie was coming out of the community center, and Amelia wondered if she had been giving one of her speeches. That was where Amelia had first met her a couple of years ago, at a meeting of the local Chamber of Commerce, where the woman had earnestly, passionately, almost too vehemently, pitched her views on the problem of teenage pregnancy. For a decade now she had been giving lectures at local schools and communities on the subject, and from what Amelia had heard, she was quite zealous in her crusade.

The woman was dressed impeccably, as usual; Amelia didn’t think she’d ever seen her without perfect makeup, tasteful gold jewelry and medium heels. Her dress was tailored yet feminine, and looked very expensive. Her hair was perfectly blond, exquisitely cut and looked equally expensive. In all, a package Amelia doubted she could ever put together; she had the money, but not the time. Not time she wanted to spend on that kind of production, anyway.

But that wasn’t what she was here for. Steeling herself, she waited until Jackie finished speaking to a woman outside the doors of the center, then approached.

“Mrs. Hiller?”

Jackie turned, an all-purpose smile on her face. It changed slightly when she saw Amelia, apparently recognizing her as someone she had met before.

“Amelia Blair. Of Blairs’ Books.”

“Ah, of course!” Her greeting was effusive and, for all Amelia could tell, genuine. “How nice to see you again. I’ve been meaning to stop in and see you.”

Amelia blinked. She had? As far as she knew, the woman had never set foot in the store before; whatever her reading tastes were, if any, she satisfied them elsewhere.

“I wanted to talk to you about carrying our new newsletter,” Jackie went on. “I understand you have several teenagers who come in regularly?”

“Yes,” Amelia said, recovering. “Yes, I do.”

“It’s free, of course. And I’m sure you’ll want to help in getting out such an important message.”

Amelia couldn’t argue about the importance of the message, but she didn’t like the assumption that she would agree, sight unseen.

“I’ll be happy to take a look at it and get back to you,” she said, refusing to be swept up by the woman’s polished energy. She might be a mouse, but she could be a stubborn one if she had to be.

There was only the most minuscule of breaks in the woman’s demeanor, as if she’d heard a tiny blip she hadn’t expected. But she went on as if nothing had happened. “Fine. I’ll get one to you. I’m sure you’ll be able to find space for it.”

Jackie turned to go, as if assuming Amelia had only approached her because she had willed it. As if Amelia couldn’t possibly have had a reason of her own.

“Mrs. Hiller, I needed to talk to you.”

She turned back. “Oh?” Not quite looking down her nose, she waited.

“About David.”

Jackie smiled. “Of course. I’ve also been meaning to tell you I appreciate the way you’ve encouraged him to read. I don’t approve of some of the things you’ve picked, but I suppose reading anything is better than nothing.”

How on earth, Amelia wondered, did she make an expression of thanks insulting?

“You’re right, it is better,” she said, carefully picking her words. “It’s important that kids learn to love reading, and the only way that happens is for them to read things that interest them.”

She could see the disagreement rising to the other woman’s lips and continued quickly to forestall it.

“But what I wanted to talk about is not David’s reading. It’s…his brother.”

The practiced smile faltered. Something hot and annoyed flickered in the cool blue eyes, and Amelia wondered rather abruptly if the man on the motorcycle had blue eyes, too.

“Why on earth,” Jackie finally said, “would you ask about him?”

“I just…” Amelia stopped, wishing she’d thought this through before she’d done it; it was going to be very difficult not to give away David’s secret. But she didn’t have to; Jackie was on a roll.

“That boy,” she said firmly, “was a hellion from the day he was born. I tried my best, but I’ve never seen a child who got into so much trouble so often and so young. I couldn’t turn my back for a minute or he’d be into mischief. And later it got worse. He became incorrigible. It’s a miracle we all survived.”

“I see,” was all Amelia could manage.

“Oh, I know what David’s probably told you. He’s built Luke up into some kind of idol, and he won’t see reason about it. I’ve had to be extra hard on David so he doesn’t turn out like Luke did.”

“And how is that?” Amelia asked, curious to see how much truth there was to David’s assumption that his mother hated his brother.

“Useless, troublesome, wicked and hideously embarrassing,” Jackie said baldly. “But he’s my cross to bear, much as I would like to deny he exists. And the sooner David gets over this silly moping around and mooning over a brother who isn’t worth it, the better.”

Well. That answers that, Amelia thought. And felt another pang of sympathy for the much-maligned Luke. “I’m sure a lot of David’s mood is because of his father,” she said, purposely changing the subject.

“It’s been six months,” Jackie said. “It’s time to move on.”

Startled at the woman’s bluntness, Amelia said cautiously, “I don’t think that’s something you can put a timetable on. Everyone has to grieve in their own way.”

If this was Jackie Hiller’s way of grieving, Amelia thought as the woman abruptly remembered an appointment and stated she had to go right now, it was rather odd. And the woman seemed to have no idea how deeply David felt the loss of his father.

Amelia acknowledged the hasty goodbye and the promise to drop off the newsletter, and only after Jackie had taken a couple of steps did she think to call out to her.

“Mrs. Hiller? What does Luke look like?”

The woman’s expression was nothing less than sour. “He looks,” she said, “like his damned, black-Irish father.”

The woman turned on her Ferragamo heel and walked swiftly away, as if in a hurry to leave the topic behind her in more ways than one.

His damned, black-Irish father…

The image of the man on the motorcycle came back even more vividly now. It all fit.

As did something else. That man had been at least in his mid-twenties. Jacqueline Hiller looked to be in her late thirties, although she could be a well-maintained forty-something. Not that she would want to hear that, Amelia was certain. But that meant that if the man on the bike was indeed Luke McGuire, he must have been born when Jackie was very, very young. And that he’d still been at home when Jackie had begun her crusade.

She wondered how it must feel to be the reason your mother campaigned like a zealot against teen pregnancy.

“Look, Davie, I’m really sorry about your dad. He was a good guy.”

David nodded, his mouth tightening.

After one of the longest nights of his life, when his gut had tried hard to convince his head he should go home, Luke had waited down the street from the old house this morning until David had come out. And he had to admit, the boy’s joyous greeting had been gratifying. He’d barely recognized his little brother, but the boy had had no such problem. He supposed it was because he’d already been eighteen when he’d left and hadn’t changed all that much, whereas David had gone from small child to teenager.

“He liked you,” David said.

“I liked him, too.”

“He never said bad things about you, even after you left. Not like Mom.”

Luke sighed. “I’ve been gone eight years, and she’s still riding that old horse?”

“Sometimes I tell her to shut up.”

And I’ll bet that goes over like a busted paddle. “Hey,” he said aloud, gripping his brother’s shoulder, “don’t make trouble for yourself. You don’t have to defend me. Not to her.”

“But if I don’t, nobody else will,” David said. Then, brightening, he added, “But you’re here now. You can tell her to shut up.”

Luke laughed. “Yeah, I suppose I could.” He wouldn’t—it wasn’t worth it—but it seemed to make David feel better. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll wait a while. I’m not sure I want her to know I’m here yet.”

“I didn’t tell her,” David said. “I didn’t even tell her you were coming.”

“Were you so sure I would?”

The boy nodded. “I knew you’d remember what it was like here. I did tell some people, though.”

“Oh? Who?”

“My friends, some of them. Snake, anyway.”

“Snake?”

“Yeah, like in the movie about New York being turned into a prison, remember?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“And Amelia.”

Luke lifted a brow. “Amelia? Who’s that, your girlfriend?”

David blushed. Luke’s mouth quirked; that was a stage he was glad to be long past. “Nah,” the boy said. “She’s too old. She’s thirty, I think.”

Ancient, Luke silently agreed with a rueful smile; his own thirtieth wasn’t all that far away.

“She’s a little quiet,” David went on. “You never know what she’s thinking. But she’s cool. Even takes kickboxing lessons. She runs the bookstore downtown.”

A memory flashed through his mind, of riding down Main Street last evening, just as it was starting to get dark. And of a woman, almost huddled in the doorway of the bookstore, as if she feared he would ride right up onto the sidewalk and grab her. That surely couldn’t be the “cool” Amelia….

“What happened to old man Wylie?”

“He retired. Amelia’s folks moved here and bought the store, and she worked there. Then they died, and now it’s hers. She’s cool,” he repeated. “She gets me good stuff to read, not that junk they make you read at school. You can talk to her, about anything and she really hears. And she talks to you, not at you.”

“Definitely cool, then,” Luke agreed; there had been a time in this town when he would have been pitifully grateful to find someone like that.

“She lets me talk about Dad,” David added, looking away and taking a surreptitious swipe at his eyes that Luke pretended not to see. “Mom doesn’t want me to ever bring him up. But Amelia says I should talk about him, that it’ll help.”

Another point for her, Luke thought. A big one.

David looked at his brother hopefully. “Want to meet her? I told her you’d come, but she wasn’t sure.”

Luke wasn’t sure he wanted to meet anybody in Santiago Beach, but the cool Amelia had a few things in her favor. She apparently listened to David, something their mother never did; he doubted that had changed much. She had acknowledged his right to grieve for his father, something else he apparently wasn’t getting at home. And most of all, she hadn’t lived here when Luke had, so she didn’t know him.

“All right,” he agreed at last, and David yelped happily. It was fairly close so they walked, although Luke guessed David was itching to ask for a ride on the bike. Later, he thought; that would be just about right to send the old lady— Lord, she had always hated being called that—over the edge.

David was so excited he couldn’t just walk; he ran ahead, heedless of the people dodging out of his way. Luke watched his not so little brother—the wiry David was only about four inches short of his own six feet—with a wry amusement. Once he’d been the same way, in a hurry in a slowed-down place. And if people had stared at him, or yelled at him, so much the better.

Nobody yelled at him today. No reason to; he was strolling along at the same snail’s pace as everyone else. But they still stared. About half of them, anyway. He’d shed his riding gear for an unobtrusive pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt, so he knew it wasn’t his clothes. And he didn’t recognize them all, the gapers, although some of them brought back flashes of unwelcome memory. But then, he supposed a lot more people in Santiago Beach had known him—or of him—than he’d known himself. It had been one of his missions in life back then, to make sure of that.

“C’mon, Luke! Hurry up!”

He watched as David waved him on, trying to get him to pick up his pace. He did, slightly, but these days he got most of his need for speed taken care of elsewhere.

He’d caught up to David when they reached the bookstore. He noticed the display in the front window: a beach scene with real sand, a surfboard propped in one corner, a towel, a bottle of suntan lotion, sunglasses and, of course, a book open beneath a small umbrella, with others stacked beside it. As if the reader had just paused for a cooling dip in the ocean.

He barely had time to admire the cleverness of it before David yanked the door open, and before even stepping inside, he was yelling.

“Amelia! He’s here! I told you he’d come, I told you!”

The woman behind the counter turned just as Luke stepped inside. It was her. The frightened rabbit of a woman who had been so intimidated by his mere presence last night.

Several things registered at once.

She wasn’t old.

She was average height, maybe five-five.

Her hair was an unremarkable medium brown, cut short and tucked tidily behind her ears.

She was dressed plainly, in black slacks and a white blouse with black piping, with a simple gold chain at her throat.

She had the biggest eyes he’d ever seen, the same medium brown as her hair.

And those eyes were staring at him as if he were some kind of apparition.

“It was you,” she whispered, in a voice so soft he was sure he wasn’t supposed to have heard it.

She’d known who he was last night? How?

Before he could ask, David had. “Whaddya mean?”

“I saw…him last night. On a…motorcycle.”

“Isn’t it cool?” David enthused.

“I suppose,” the woman said cautiously.

“I want to ride on it,” David said with a sideways glance at Luke.

“I’ll think about it,” Luke said, never taking his eyes off the woman who was looking at him with such…trepidation. There was something familiar about her expression, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. “If you remember why we’re here and introduce me.”

“Oh! Sorry. This is Amelia. Amelia, my brother, Luke.” Then he looked at Luke, puzzled. “Why’d I have to do that if she already knew who you were?”

“Because it’s good manners,” Amelia said. David grimaced.

“Because,” Luke said, “it shows you’re an adult, not a kid.”

“Oh.” That explanation clearly appealed to him. “Okay.”

“Amelia Blair, I presume,” Luke said, turning his attention back to her.

“I…yes.”

She lowered her eyes, sneaked another glance at him from beneath her lashes, then looked away. And suddenly he had it; she was looking at him like the good girls used to in high school, half-scared, half-fascinated. They had seemed to fall into two categories back then: those who were both frightened and intrigued in varying ratios, and those who simply looked down on him from the lofty height of their uprightness.

He’d tried to avoid all of them, although those who were intrigued had been, on occasion, persistent. But even then, he’d known they were after him for all the wrong reasons. He’d had his own battles to fight and had no interest in being a pawn in someone else’s.

Not, he thought as she stole another sideways look at him, that that would be a problem with the quiet Ms. Blair. She looked more likely to run from him than after him. Once he’d taken a twisted pleasure in the effect he had on good girls. Now he wasn’t sure how he felt. It was hard, he realized suddenly, to think that way again. To put himself back in the place he’d once lived, in the mind-set he’d once developed to survive. Maybe he’d come further than he’d thought.

Ms. Blair was too tense and far too serious. But she got points from him for caring about David and for thinking David needed more attention to his grief than he was getting.

“David’s been…telling me a lot about you,” she said, sounding more than a little awkward.

“Has he?” Luke said, wondering what the boy could possibly have said, after eight years with no contact at all between them.

“He told me you taught him to like to read.”

Startled, Luke looked at his brother. “You did,” David said. “When you used to come in and read to me. I read every night now.”

Reading had been his favorite—and sometimes his only—escape when he’d been under his mother’s roof. He’d tried to pass that along to David, but he’d had no idea it had worked so well. “I…that’s good,” he said, not sure what else to say.

“Amelia gets me the best books,” David said, smiling at her. “Sometimes she even loans her own to me, if I can’t buy them.”

“Speaking of which,” Amelia said, sounding glad to be back in familiar waters, “the newest in your science fiction series came in. I just put them up.”

“Cool!” David raced toward the back of the store without another word.

“So,” Luke said when David was out of earshot, “has David been the only one telling you about me?”

“I… What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “I’m disappointed, Ms. Blair. You mean I’m no longer the hot topic in Santiago Beach?”

She seemed to consider that. Then she surprised him, a tiny grin lurking at the corners of her mouth as she said, “I’m afraid you’ve lost a bit in the gossip standings after eight years.”

So the mouse had a sense of humor, he thought. But before he could comment, David was back, his book clutched in one hand, a crumpled five-dollar bill in the other. Amelia gave him his change and offered a bag, which David declined, stuffing the book in a pocket of his baggy pants.

“Come on, Luke, I want my friends to meet you.”

Luke, who was still looking at Amelia, noticed something change in her expression, saw two worry lines appear between her brows. Afraid he would be a bad influence on David’s friends? he wondered. If she was, she was also no doubt too polite to say so.

As David dragged him away, Luke found himself wondering just what his brother had told her about him that made her look so relieved as they began to leave. There had been a time when he had reveled in rattling the cages of people like the quiet, reserved Amelia Blair; now her wariness simply bothered him. He’d gotten out of the habit of dealing with it, and he didn’t like the idea of having to relearn how.