Up to the Challenge

Sid coughed something that sounded like “chickenshit.”

Ignoring his comment, she went back to the staff. “You’ve got two bussers. Mitch and Lot.”

“Lot? Who names their kid Lot?” Not that he’d thought about naming kids of his own, but what the hell?

“His name is Brandon Sandoval. Kids called him Sand in elementary school and that rolled into Sandlot. At some point the Sand part dropped and Lot stuck.”

Sid turned up the radio. An announcer was reporting on a hurricane working its way across the Atlantic.

“We’ve been lucky for two years,” Sid said, “but this one is making me nervous.”

“You think it’s headed our way?” Lucas hadn’t been in a hurricane since high school. “How much time do we have?”

“A week to ten days maybe. Might curve off, but I’m keeping my eye on the reports.” The station went back to music and Sid lowered the volume again.

“So four in the kitchen, two bussers, and three waitresses. Not much staff for this time of year.”

Sid shrugged. “Tom pulls in part-timers when necessary. Beth runs a section most weekend evenings, and I grab a tray now and then. Joe clears when it’s really busy.” She shot him one of those smiles that felt like a punch in the sternum. “We can handle it.”

Lucas leaned on his door and rested one arm across the back of the seat. “You mentioned having to be available to fix the other boats around the island.”

“If something breaks, they’ll call. I’ll let the guys know to dial Dempsey’s if they need me.” She leaned back, resting both hands at the base of the wheel. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and nothing will break for a while.”

Dark, silky curls brushed Lucas’s hand. He couldn’t resist rubbing a lock between his fingers. “Yeah. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The truck jerked.

“You all right?” he asked, bracing against the dash.

“Fine,” she said, cutting her eyes his way then back to the road. “Foot slipped.” She flipped the ponytail over her shoulder, out of his reach.

Interesting reaction. He wondered if her problem was being touched by him or by people in general. Might be worth exploring, if he ever felt suicidal.

CHAPTER THREE

Lucas struggled for a full minute to figure out where he was. Considering how much time he’d spent staring at the ceiling the night before, the fact he inhabited the guest room in his parents’ house, the room he’d occupied for a decade before going off to college, should have been obvious.

But the room looked nothing like it had when he’d been a teenager. The dark blue walls now a muted yellow. The red plaid comforter usurped by a flowery afghan with feminine details around the edges. Frilly curtains matched the bedding, while watercolor beach scenes dotted surfaces once covered by Lamborghini posters.

Lucas had to give his mother credit. She’d waited until his junior year of college to wipe him from the room. After Lucas made it clear there would be no moving back home after school, she’d attacked the decor with a vengeance.

After donning a T-shirt and shorts for his morning run, Lucas tied his running shoes and wondered if his mom hadn’t made the room as girly as possible out of spite, to prove she could move on too. Not that he doubted his mother loved him or would welcome him home any time, but Patty Dempsey was not the type to wallow or cajole. She preferred to adjust to the new reality and get on with things.

The way she had when Lucas’s father had been killed in a military training accident when Lucas was three. The same way she did when Beth Chandler went from being Lucas’s fiancee to moving in with his brother. A small part of Lucas wished his mother had thrown more of a fit. Made the happy couple miserable for a week or so. For his sake.

Then he gave himself a mental slap, put his inner four-year-old back in the closet, and followed his mother’s lead. Shit happens. Move on.

Only moving on was proving harder than expected. The events of the last six weeks had put too many questions in Lucas’s head. Was he really so blind? Would things be different if he’d stayed on the island instead of putting his career first? Could he have a personal life and the professional life he envisioned?

Stopping at the bottom porch step to stretch his hamstrings in the morning sunshine, Lucas assured himself that being partner and having a partner were not mutually exclusive. One he would likely have sooner than the other, but there was plenty of time to start a family after he’d achieved his career goal.

“Is that the prodigal lawyer returned to our humble island home?”

Lucas looked up to see a familiar face at the end of the drive.

“Only for a visit,” Lucas said, then with a smile added, “This island isn’t big enough for two lawyers.”

Arthur Berkowitz, Artie to his friends, had been the only lawyer on Anchor Island since before the Dempsey family arrived two decades before. Artie’s impassioned presentation on career day, during Lucas’s sophomore year of high school, had set him on the path to law school.

“How have you been, sir?”

Artie waved off the moniker. “None of that sir stuff. We’re on equal footing now, though I hear you’re aiming higher than this old codger ever dreamed.”

Lucas stood taller. “I have my eye on a partnership. Nothing you couldn’t have achieved if circumstances had been different.” In other words, if the man had practiced his trade somewhere other than this remote island.

“Maybe,” Artie said with a grin, his hanging jowls, loosened by age, making his narrow face seem longer. The few wisps of gray hair covering his balding skull danced in the breeze. “But I’d have been miserable with all that ass kissing and back stabbing.” He clenched his hands over a rounded stomach and rocked back on his heels. Lucas worried the shifting of all that weight might send him tipping over. “Anchor Island was always enough for me.”

“To each his own,” Lucas said, reluctant to defend his choices to the man he’d once considered a mentor. “I see Rufus is still hanging in there.”

As if recognizing his name, the basset hound at Artie’s side gave a mournful yowl.

“We’re a pair, the two of us.” Artie gave Rufus a pat on the head. “Two old dogs doing as little as possible.”

“Not taking on a lot of cases these days?” Lucas asked.

“None at all. Retired. Rufus and I are enjoying our golden years. Taking time to smell the flowers, one might say.”

Lucas had never thought much about Artie never marrying, but couldn’t avoid wondering if he faced a similar future. Spending his final years with only a dog for companionship. A morbid thought.

“Wait. You’re retired? Who took over the practice?”

Artie shrugged. “No one. I put out the word there’d be an opening here on the island, but there were no takers. Requires vision to recognize the benefits of a life this small. As you probably know, the word small doesn’t enter most lawyers’ vocabularies.”

Lucas couldn’t let that one pass. “Nothing wrong with wanting more than drawing up land deeds and writing wills.”

“Nothing wrong with that at all,” Artie agreed, though the glint in his eye suggested he didn’t agree at all. “I was sorry to hear about your father. Is that why you’re here? Hope he’s going to be all right.”

“Doctors expect a full recovery, but that’ll take time, so I’m here to help out.”

“You’re here for more than the weekend?”

“Six weeks minimum,” Lucas replied. “I’ll be running the restaurant during the day, with Joe taking over in the evenings.”

Artie’s sharp eyes narrowed. “Must throw a wrench into that partnership idea. Your firm good with you picking up and leaving like that?”