Adam pressed the off button on his cell, weighed the phone in his hand, and looked over at Clyde, who was nosing through some wood scraps in the corner of the workshop.
“Well . . . how about that, my friend?”
The pup turned toward him and wagged his tail.
“You think I should go into the furniture-making business?”
He gave a little woof that was hard to interpret and went back to foraging.
“Thanks. That helps a lot.” Grinning, he patted the pooch and wandered outside. Through the trees, the sun was beginning to dip toward the sea on this Wednesday night. Too early for the sunset show on the beach, which was fine. He needed some time to think through his surreal conversation with Rebecca Oliver.
He raked a hand through his hair, trying to process all the high-end interior designer had said. Not only hadn’t she given a hoot about his prison background, she’d gone so far as to say the notion of helping someone get a fresh start appealed to her—and would appeal to her clients too. Plus, her compliments about the rocking chairs had been lavish enough to make him blush.
As for the price she said her clients would pay for pieces like that—his head was still spinning.
She was even going to drive back to Hope Harbor next week to meet him and discuss a couple of projects.
Incredible.
And the ego boost had been just what he needed before he placed his next, more difficult call.
To Lexie.
He sat on a tree stump, sweat breaking out on his temples. The whole date thing had been driving him nuts since Saturday. Distracting him during the day, keeping him awake at night. Where did you begin when planning a date with a classy woman like her?
His stop at the Bandon library after work last night had solved that challenge, though. After a search on one of the public computers, he’d found several elegant, refined, upscale restaurants in Coos Bay. She would be comfortable at any of them. There was also less chance they’d run into anyone from Hope Harbor there. If their evening flopped, at least she wouldn’t have tongues wagging in town about her one date with an ex-con.
However . . . those expensive spots were going to set him back some serious money. Lexie was worth it, of course—but he wouldn’t be able to pull off too many dates like that back-to-back.
And he didn’t want to wait until he refilled the coffers to see her again. Assuming she wanted to see him again.
But maybe he should put that in God’s hands and see where the first date led. He might discover there were some activities she enjoyed that didn’t cost a lot.
Drawing in a lungful of air, he started to tap in her number.
Froze after three digits.
Something—or someone—was walking down the gravel road.
Moving quickly, he secured the shed door to keep Clyde inside, melted into the shadows behind a few trees at the edge of the clearing—and kept his phone at the ready in case he needed to call 911.
The volume of crunching gravel increased. Produced by a human, based on the steady, purposeful pace. The black-tailed deer that were frequent visitors tended to generate less noise and meander rather than follow a straight line.
He remained where he was, unmoving, every muscle poised for action. Like in the bad old days.
Once the lone figure came into view around the bend in the road, however, his taut posture relaxed.
It was Brian.
No danger here.
But why was the teen paying this unexpected visit?
And how had he gotten here? It was five miles, door-to-door.
Pocketing his phone, he moved out of the shadows.
The instant Brian spotted him, his step faltered. “Hi.” He lifted a tentative hand in greeting.
“Hi. Welcome.” He waited while the kid picked up his pace again and descended the slightly sloping road to join him in the clearing. “This is a surprise.”
“I would have called if I had your number.”
“No worries. I don’t keep my phone on, anyway. What’s up?”
“You said last Sunday you’d show me your woodworking stuff sometime. I finished my homework, so I decided to come over. If you’re busy, we could do it a different day.”
“No. This is fine. But . . . did you walk here?” He must have, with his mother working nights this week.
“Yeah.”
“That’s a long trip. Want a soda?”
“Sure . . . if it’s no bother.”
“I was going to have a drink myself.” Coffee, not soda—but caffeine was caffeine. “Come on in.” He strolled toward the cabin, stopping as a whimper came from inside the shed.
“Is that your dog?” Brian surveyed the structure.
“Yeah. He doesn’t like to be left out of activities, though he tends to stay on the sidelines.” Adam switched direction.
“Why does he do that?” Brian fell in behind him.
“I suspect his first owner abused him. It takes him a while to warm up to strangers. Let him set the pace if you value your fingers.”
Brian came to an abrupt halt. “I’ll wait here. I got bit by a stray dog once and had to get shots. It wasn’t fun.”
“I bet it wasn’t.”
Adam opened the door, and Clyde tumbled out—then scurried back and hid behind his leg once he saw the teen.
“Chill out, boy.” Adam patted the dog. “Brian’s a friend.”
“Is his head healed?”
“Yes. The vet gave him a clean bill of health the day he took out the stitches.” He walked toward the house and called over his shoulder, “You coming, Clyde?”
The dog sat on his haunches.
“I guess not. Let’s get those sodas.”
Keeping a wary eye on the canine, the boy followed him inside.
While Adam got their drinks, Brian sized up the place.
“Not very fancy, is it?” Adam retrieved two Sprites from the fridge.
“No—but it’s not rusty . . . and it’s private . . . and you’re by the ocean. That’s cool.”
Adam handed him a can of soda. “It works for me. Come on out and I’ll show you the shop.”
As they approached the shed, Clyde retreated a few yards.
“He’s really scared, isn’t he?” Brian’s pace slowed.
“That can happen if you’ve been mistreated. It can take a long time for trust to build up again.”
“Yeah. I get that. Do you think . . . is there a trick to making friends with him?”
“Slow and easy is the key. He’ll wander in while we’re in the shed. If he works his way over to you, let him sniff around. He’ll let you know if he wants to be petted.”
Once they were inside, Adam gave him a tour of the small space—workbench tools, reference books, in-progress pieces. Brian asked a few questions, but it didn’t take long to realize the kid hadn’t hiked to Sandpiper Cove to talk about woodworking.
He had something else on his mind.
Cutting the tour short, Adam motioned toward a roughed-in bench against the wall. “Why don’t we sit there while we finish our sodas? But watch for splinters.”
Brian followed him to the bench in silence, faint furrows creasing his brow.
The kid was definitely dealing with some knotty dilemma.
Since he’d trekked out here, he must want to talk—but it might take some subtle prompting to open the spigot.
“How’s your mom doing?” Adam swigged his soda, establishing a casual mood. That might be the safest topic—unless Brian and his mother had had an argument.
“Hanging in.” He toed a wood shaving. “She works too hard, and they don’t treat her great at the diner. She’s an awesome cook, but all they let her do is wait tables. We need the money, though. Dad bled us dry.” He stomped his heel on the shaving, cracking it into pieces.
The fact that Brian wasn’t happy about the situation with his father was old news. Whatever had triggered tonight’s hike was a new glitch.
“How’s school?”
The boy’s can crinkled beneath his fingers.
Bingo.
A few seconds ticked by while the teen watched Clyde peek at him from under the workbench and inch closer.
“I think he’s getting comfortable with me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe we’ll be friends before I leave.”
“That could happen.”
“I hope so. I could use another friend.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Now that I’m about to lose the ones I have at school.”
This was the crisis that had compelled him to make the long hike to Sandpiper Cove.
“Why would that happen?” Adam kept his tone conversational. If he pushed, the boy would shut down.
“They all take their cues from Lu . . . from the guy who invited me to sit with his group at lunch.”
Adam opened his mouth to ask if this was the so-called friend who’d convinced him that vandalism would be fun—and beat him up.
Shut it.
Phrasing it like that could put the kid on the defensive. Better to position it so Brian came to his own conclusions about his partner in crime.
“Is this the friend who hurt Clyde?”
At the mention of his name, the dog cocked his head, tongue hanging out. Adam snapped his fingers, and Clyde trotted over, staying on his far side but peeking around his legs at their visitor. As if he too wanted to know the answer to that question.
Brian regarded the lovable dog. “He didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“But he left him behind—bleeding and woozy.”
“Yeah.” Brian crumpled the empty can in his fingers. “I knew it was bad news when he stopped by my locker today.”
“What happened?”
“He’s got another idea for some entertainment. His phrase, not mine.”
Great.
Lexie would have another incident to investigate—and someone else in town would be left with a mess to clean up.
Unless Brian was willing to offer some details.
“When is this entertainment supposed to happen?” He maintained an even tone.
“I don’t know. We got interrupted. He said I had to let him know whether I was in by the end of the day.”
“Did you?”
“No. I avoided him—but that gave him his answer.”
“You ready to share his name yet?”
A few beats passed while Brian mulled that over.
“I . . . I don’t think so.” He blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Why does everything have to be hard?”
Because that’s how life works sometimes.
Adam had arrived at that simple truth after asking himself the same question too often to count through the years.
But it wasn’t what the kid needed to hear tonight.
Nor was pushing going to help him build rapport with the boy—his primary objective.
Better back off and focus on his main goal.
“That’s how I felt while I was in prison.” As well as many times before—and since—but that didn’t need to be said. “Life seemed totally unfair. Most of the bad stuff that had happened to me as a kid wasn’t my fault.”
“Yeah. I get that.”
“Except I used that as an excuse to abdicate responsibility.”
“What do you mean?” Brian gave him a wary look.
“I figured that if life was going to treat me like dirt, I’d do whatever I had to do to survive—right or wrong. So I made a lot of bad decisions . . . and always put the blame somewhere else if I got in trouble.”
“But . . . the bad stuff that happened wasn’t your fault, was it?”
“The circumstances weren’t, but the decisions were mine—and those have consequences. Once I accepted that life isn’t always fair, I learned to stick with my principles even on days when I’m discouraged or lonely or tempted to give up. I also learned that if you stay the course, sooner or later there will be an upswing.”
Brian used the side of his sport shoe to sweep some wood shavings into a pile. “There hasn’t been an upswing in my life in ages.”
That wasn’t true. The day his father had walked out, leaving him and his mother to flounder—but ultimately to create a new and better life—was a positive change, as far as Adam could see. They were better off without that user.
Yet often the good in traumatic events like that could only be appreciated in hindsight by those who were closest to the situation.
“Then I’d say you’re about due.” Adam angled toward the boy. “And just like we often create our own problems by making bad decisions, we can also create an upswing by making smart ones—like the one you made today to walk away from more vandalism.”
“Losing all my friends doesn’t sound like an upswing to me.”
“You haven’t lost all of them.” He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “One of your newest ones is sitting right here.”
The boy slanted him a look, swallowed, and went back to studying the floor. “Thanks.”
“I’m also available any time you want to talk.” He retrieved a pencil from his pocket and jotted his cell number on a scrap of paper. “I check my messages twice a day, and I always return calls.”
The boy took the slip. “I appreciate that.”
“This is what friends do. They support and encourage and want what’s best for the other person.” Hopefully the boy would see the contrast between this type of friendship and the kind the vandal at school was offering. “So . . . I haven’t had dessert yet. Want to join me on the beach for a brownie while I watch the sunset? It’s a nightly ritual here in the cove.”
“I like brownies. My mom used to make great ones, but she’s too busy to bake now.”
“These are store-bought—but they’re better than nothing.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
He rose . . . and Clyde scuttled back to huddle under the bench.
“He must still be scared.” Brian stood too.
“Be patient. He’ll come around.”
As they trooped back to the cabin, Clyde emerged from the workshop and once again dropped to his haunches outside the door.
He was in the same spot a few minutes later when they emerged with the brownies, the last can of soda from the fridge, and a cup of coffee . . . but he followed them down to the beach.
Adam didn’t broach any more heavy subjects for the next forty-five minutes, and neither did Brian. Yet as the sun dipped below the horizon, officially ending the day, the boy appeared to be calmer—and more at peace with his decision.
“I think that’s a wrap.” Adam picked up his empty mug from the sand beside him. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“I can walk.”
“Not on 101 in the dark. Too dangerous. That’s what sidelined my friend here a year and a half ago.” He patted Clyde, who was cuddled up beside him on the sand. “I found him in bad shape on the side of the road one night not long after I got here.”
“Sounds like he’s had his share of tough breaks too.”
“More than. But he keeps bouncing back—and responding to love.”
As if taking a cue, the dog lifted his head in the fading light, looked up at him—then rose and edged closer to Brian. He gave a tentative sniff . . . crept in another few inches and sniffed again . . . and repeated the process until he was almost nose to nose with the boy. Tongue hanging out, he watched the motionless teen.
“Do you think he wants me to pet him?” Brian’s lips barely stirred.
“That’s my take.”
“He won’t bite, will he?”
“Not if you’re slow and careful.” Adam repeated the same advice he’d given Matt not long ago on how to approach the dog.
Brian took it to heart. In fact, he moved at such a snail’s pace Adam had to struggle to rein in a smile.
But when he at last offered the dog his hand, Clyde gave his fingers a dry lick.
One more connection made tonight between two beings wary from previous hurts yet finding the courage to try again.
A lesson for him too perhaps.
Which reminded him—he owed Lexie a call.
“Ready to go home?” He emptied the dregs of his coffee into the sand.
“Could we sit here a little longer, now that Clyde’s warming up to me?”
“Sure.”
The little longer turned into an hour, but Adam didn’t mind. He had nothing pressing to do other than call Lexie, and teen and dog were enjoying themselves.
Finally Brian ruffled Clyde’s ears while the dog soaked up the attention. “I guess I better go home. It’s getting late.”
“Yeah. It’s after nine. Clyde, want to go for a ride?”
The dog yipped and wagged his tail.
“That means yes. Watch your step going through the woods in the dark.”
Once back at the clearing, they piled into the car for the quick drive to the trailer park.
As they pulled up in front of his address, the teen leaned around to give the dog another pat.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime.”
The boy grasped the door handle. Hesitated.
“Everything okay?” The area was too dimly lit to read his face, but Adam was picking up some odd vibes.
“Yeah.” He opened the door and stuck one leg out. “I just want to say thanks again and . . . and that I wish I’d had a dad like you.”
Before Adam could recover enough to respond, the boy sprang from the car, shut the door, and jogged toward the trailer. A moment later he disappeared inside.
Second after silent second passed as Adam sat frozen behind the wheel—until at last a cold nose against his neck nudged him into action.
Moving on autopilot, he put the car into drive, executed a U-turn, and bumped back toward the main road while Brian’s last comment replayed over and over again in his mind.
“I wish I’d had a dad like you.”
At the entrance to the trailer park, he braked, blinking to clear his blurry view of the dashboard.
Who could ever have predicted an outcome like this the night Lexie approached him about taking on the job of mentoring Brian? He had no fancy degrees or credentials that qualified him to work with a troubled teen. This could have been a disaster.
Yet from the beginning, she’d assured him that compassion and persistence were the keys to reaching the boy . . . and it appeared her instincts had been spot-on.
But he’d done more than reach him, based on that parting comment. He’d touched the kid deep inside in a way no one—least of all him—had expected. Never in his wildest dreams could he have envisioned being a father figure. How could he, when he’d had no role model to emulate?
Clyde nudged him again.
“Fine. I get the message.” He patted the canine and pulled onto the road to begin the drive to Sandpiper Cove.
Yet as the dark miles passed, one after another, light filled his heart—and his soul.
For Brian wasn’t the only one who’d benefitted from the arrangement Lexie had orchestrated. Not by a long shot.
One more blessing to add to his growing list.
He gave a contented sigh—and Clyde nuzzled his neck.
Keeping a firm grip on the wheel with one hand, he scratched behind the mutt’s ear with the other.
“You’re on that list too, boy. You were one of my first friends in this town . . . but now you’re one among many.”
And for a man whose best hope had once been to lead a quiet life of solitude in his adopted town, all the new connections—and possibilities—that were materializing boggled his mind.
He just hoped he didn’t wake up one morning to discover it had all been nothing more than a dream.