Page 29 of Lemon Crush

“We can never repay her,” she told me, looking close to tearsherself. “All the trouble she went through so we could make this happen, taking time off work to show us around...”

Natasha was the daughter of one of our mother’s oldest friends. She’d fallen in love with a man named Flavio and never returned stateside. She’d also stayed in contact with Mom after her parents passed, and when one of her rental condos was unexpectedly available, she’d asked if Mom wanted to come and help go through some of her mother’s old things and help her husband get his family tree started. Of course, Mom had taken her up on it.

The condo wasn’t a “favor” because Mom was helping her. Natasha knew how to get around the Retta rules, too.

“Nat loved her, Morgan,” I reminded her. “She doesn’t need to be paid back for that.”

“I know, but—” She glanced away for a moment. “We have to go. Don’t forget to check on the dogs. And stock up on water, batteries and canned food in case the power goes out. It might get bad for a few days.”

“I’ll fill the tub with hurricane hooch and buy some pizza in your honor. Now go relax. You’ve done the hard part and what comes next is the best tribute I can think of. You know how she loved a good cruise. But don’t leave her in the casino with a cup full of coins or we’ll never find her again.”

Mom had been a sucker for the slots.

Morgan laughed softly and we shared wobbly smiles. “I won’t,” she promised. “I also won’t be able to talk to you like this once we’re onboard. But I’ll call when we hit port to make sure you’re okay. Take care of my sister for me.”

“You do the same. I love you.”

I disconnected the call and closed my laptop, wiping the remnants of my tears with the back of my hand. My throat hurt. My heart hurt. And there was no way I was going to be able to write anything else today.

Pushing myself shakily to my feet, I headed back downstairs to the kitchen, needing to move. Merlin lifted his head from the couch and sighed deeply, as if sensing my mood, then started to follow.

“I think I’ll skip coffee and make some cool drinks to bring on my backyard mission,” I informed him, determined to invite myself to the party I could already hear underway. If Morgan could face what she had today, I could face this.

“I don’t have their beloved Mountain Dew, but I’ve got lemonade and tea, and I know they like Arnold Palmers.”

Merlin brushed by my leg, pausing to lean on me. Was he…trying to comfort me?

I managed not to react in case I made him self-conscious and ruined the moment.

“We’re getting in that race today, old man.”

Renting the apartment wasn’t enough. Ordering the gear wasn’t enough. The race was scheduled near the end of October, which wasn’t that far away. If I was going to get on that team, and if that team was going to have the right car, I needed to get things rolling as soon as possible.

I’d been wandering the halls, dreading my inevitable slide into neurotic squalor for well over a year. Now I had a renter, I was writing, and I was bringing refreshments to the guests in my backyard while planning to take control of their man-meeting.

“Are you okay?”

No, but I would be. I was about to honor my mother by invading a good old boys’ club in her memory.

She’d be so proud.

7

AUGUST

When I came outsidewith my tray, with Merlin bringing up the rear, Wade, Rick and Lucy were lounging in the shallow end of the pool. Fortunately for Lucy, it was shaded by the canopy of tall pine trees surrounding the yard. The others had skin that could survive the scorching, cloudless day, but the husky redhead was paler than I was, with a similar tendency to burn in direct sunlight.

They were all so busy giving each other shit, they didn’t notice me walking over to the patio table and setting down the icy pitcher and four empty glasses. Which meant I could listen unobserved and continue admiring Wade in his shirtless glory.

He was as relaxed as I’d ever seen him, his eyes closed and his head resting on the edge of the pool. His dark hair was slicked back and droplets of water beaded on his broad chest and shoulders. I had to pry my hungry eyes away before I gave in to the temptation to forget why I’d come out here in the first place. I was here because of his guests. Not him.

Rick Oliver and Lionel “Lucy” Babineaux, Gene’s two best friends5-ever, were sprawled in similar poses on the pool steps.The trio had met each other at boot camp, where Lucy had gotten his moniker from an obnoxious drill instructor who’d objected to both his bright red hair and the humor he’d used to stick up for Rick during some verbal altercation.“You two think you’re funny? This isn’t an episode ofI Love Lucy, ladies.”

When Lucy leaned into his new nickname, it had stuck, and so had they. Long story short, they’d all fallen in bro-love and followed Gene home to Texas. It was an origin story they told nearly every time they got together, as if they’d invented friendship. It was sweet.

Sorry, I meantimpressive. It was impressive and inspirational to manly Marines everywhere.

But also sweet.

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