Page 9 of The Fall Back Plan
Chapter Six
Lucas
Whenyouhaveaten-year-old at home, it doesn’t matter that you didn’t fall asleep until 3 AM; you still have to get up and take her to school.
Which I’ll do, without complaint. I knew what I was signing up for when I became my niece’s legal guardian. Pops and I go out of the way to give her a consistent routine, and that routine doesn’t care about traffic stops I make in the middle of the night, or if they keep me up for an extra hour.
My brain still isn’t done with the subject of Jolie McGraw, because she’s the first thing I think of when I wake up. That woman really stood on the gravel shoulder last night in high heels and recited geometry theorems with those freaking hand motions like we were back in high school.
That is one of those days I most regret. She’d come into the library, looking determined and maybe even proud of herself as she’d shown me the gestures she’d come up with to help me remember. But I wasn’t about to do them. It had made me feel like I was in kindergarten.
So instead of at least thanking her for trying, I’d acted like a bigger dirtbag than usual and told her she looked like a loser, and I would never care enough about math to do something that stupid looking. Her cheeks had scorched red as I turned to walk out of the library.
I’d been the worst.
Watching her do them last night, her face defiant, her motions sharp and almost angry, it had been hard not to smile. I’d had that coming for years.
It had also been impossible once again to ignore how well those years had treated her. She’d had her tooth fixed. In general, I like scars and marks that add character to a person’s face, but that missing tooth had been about more than the look. It had advertised her poverty in a solidly middle-class town.
Stuff like missing teeth goes uncorrected when you’re poor. I knew this because I’d been that poor before I’d gone to work in construction and then into law enforcement. Maybe I’d resented her back then for trying to make something of herself with her good grades, while I only came to school to escape the chaos at home.
Anyway, I’m glad Jolie fixed her teeth. I’d have done the same thing if it were me. Brooklyn would say Jolie is fancy now.
I smile again. I can say for dang sure that her shiny hair and carefully made-up face were not what I had expected to see looking down at me from that lifted good old boy truck.
It’s sexy when a woman drives a truck. But when Jolie climbed out of her brand-new one looking like she’d be equally at home stepping out of a top-of-the-line Mercedes?
Whew. That had been next level. Stopped my breath for a second until I could pull myself together.
She’s a contradiction, and everything about her appearance raises questions. Why is she back? Is she here to stay? Why all the secrecy around opening the bar?
Does she like a man in uniform?
I shake my head as I walk into the kitchen, the smell of strong coffee hitting me before I even reach the doorway. Brooklyn hasn’t come out of her room yet, but she will soon, and the morning can truly begin.
I like my time with Brooklyn before I take her to school. It used to be that she’d chatter to me all the way there; there’s less of that lately and more of morning grumpiness. But I still love the time.
In addition to the coffee, Pops has scrambled eggs and toast ready for us. Between my grandfather and me, we’re getting by with raising Brooklyn since my brother went to prison. Barely.
Anyway, it’s better than what my brother could do and far better than what he actually did. If Brooklyn had been mine to start with, I would never have done anything to risk losing her. But my brother had decided armed bank robbery was easier than holding down a factory job, and he’d given up the next fifteen years with her.
I accept the tumbler of black coffee Pops hands me and take a few fortifying sips before I tackle the most dangerous creature in the Smoky Mountains: a cranky tween.
Our place isn’t big; it’s the house Pops built for him and my grandmother who passed in an accident before I was born. He’d been left to raise two kids, my dad and my aunt, by himself. I’m certain a big reason he’s helping with Brooklyn is because he feels like he did such a poor job with his own kids. Grief had made him an absent father, even when he was there. More often than not, he was off overseeing the Oakley Orchards as the farm manager for two decades before a fall from a ladder sent him into early retirement twenty years ago. The Oakleys had paid off his mortgage as part of his retirement.
I cover utilities and property taxes, and while it’s a small place, it’s enough for the three of us. I’m sure Brooklyn would be happier not sharing a bathroom with her uncle and great-grandfather, but she has her own room. We fit. It works.
I knock on her door at the end of the hallway. “Brooklyn? You up?” I get a grunt. I use my police training to decide that this means yes. “We leave in twenty minutes. Come on and get your breakfast so Pops doesn’t worry.” Another grunt. I decide to go eat and give it a few minutes to see if she emerges. It’s hit-and-miss whether that will take more coaxing. I hope it’s a non-coaxing day.
Pop’s eyebrow goes up when I come back in. “Still sleeping?”
“I think she’s up. Probably.”
He nods. “What do you think is wrong with her?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. Is being ten a psychological condition?”
Now he grunts.
