Chapter Sixteen
I am yours.
Luke navigated the hallway in the administrative office complex, sidestepping some boxes piled up against the wall. The replay of Greer’s words gave him a shot of joy, every damn time. Two men in blue overalls carried a desk from one room to the other, while another set of guys in white coveralls removed the pictures from the wall.
It looked empty without all the framed certificates and pictures of past fire chiefs.
“I’ve been looking at those same creepy faces for thirty years.” Barbara, one of the secretaries, chuckled as she greeted him at the desk. “I hope they replace them with something prettier. How can I help you?”
He scratched his temple, trying to get a grip on the nerves that wouldn’t go away. He’d come up here to turn in a supply order, but also had hopes of catching Chief Jeffers for a moment to thank him for the second-round interview…and maybe feel out what, or rather who, the final decision was. Now that he was here, he decided against it. No sense in adding fuel to the anxious fire inside him. The interview team said he’d hear something by five o’clock today, so he’d wait, and pray he didn’t get an ulcer.
Handing over the order slip, he wished Barbara a good day and headed out, glad to have the day off. He’d covertly spent the last three evenings with Greer. They’d watched movies, had dinner, done laundry. And he’d sat quietly in her little studio, checking baseball scores on his phone while she painted. She shooed him away each time he’d tried to get a good look at what she was creating, but he’d caught a glimpse of angel wings last night.
She was so serene and peaceful while she was painting. It pulled her into a separate world, one so deep inside her head that she seemed to forget that he was there. It warmed him to see her like that, to know she was loving what she was doing. He hadn’t brought up their relationship again, and neither had she. Maybe she was content to wait and see how his promotion went, after all. They’d been so content together, really, that talking about more didn’t seem necessary. They were already doing it.
She was going to need a hefty dose of that inner peace to get through her mother’s birthday party tomorrow.
He’d called his mother this morning to see if she and his dad were planning on attending. She’d quietly admitted that they’d like to go, but she had nothing to wear. She had plenty of clothes, and “I don’t have anything to wear” seemed to be a standard excuse for women anytime they went anywhere. But Luke heard what she didn’t say: she couldn’t afford to buy anything appropriate.
He’d be damned if she was going to miss another Worth shindig because of money.
Pulling into his parents’ driveway, he parked and let himself into the house.
“Ma? You ready?”
He wandered through the house—it was immaculate as usual—until he found her in the kitchen. On a stool. Reaching way above her five-foot-three frame to try and dust the top of the cabinets. He sighed and plucked the duster out of her hand.
“Get down before you fall and break a hip.”
She wacked him good-naturedly. “What are you doing here?”
He reached up and ran the duster over the tops of the cabinets. She always said he got his height from his grandfather. Six three and counting.
“Waiting for you to get ready to go.”
Her face scrunched. “Where?”
“Shopping, Ma. Let’s go. I’m itchy just thinking about it.”
She waved him off. “I don’t need anything. Go find something better to do on your day off.”
Luke set down the duster and put an arm around his mom. Her brown hair was pulled back into her everyday bun, the temples streaked grayer than he remembered. He pulled out his cell phone and sent Greer a covert message.
Ma needs one of them spa appointments for her hair. Today. Help?
She tried to take the duster, but he put it behind his back. “I’m doing exactly what I want to do today. Now, go put your orthopedic shoes on, get your purse, and let’s go.”
She huffed a laugh. “Orthopedic shoes? You brat!”
He chucked and endured another playful whack as she walked out of the room. His phone buzzed.
La Petite Rose on Fifth and Blackwood. Ten o’clock. It’s fancy.
I owe you one.
She sent a smiley face. I lost count a long time ago.
Luke grinned and met his mom at the door. She talked his ear off about a neighbor who had a new grandbaby, and a loose dog in the neighborhood that kept digging up her flowers. He listened quietly, warm from the sound of her voice. He didn’t spend enough time at home anymore. The seemingly nonstop string of shifts left him with little time to stop by for her homemade peanut-butter cookies, or to help his dad tinker in the garage.
They pulled into the Macy’s parking lot, and her jaw dropped.
“No, honey I can’t shop here.”
He undid his seat belt. “That’s okay. I can.”
She pulled the sides of her light jacket together and worried her lower lip between her teeth. Luke melted a little.
“Ma, I want to give you something nice. It makes me happy, okay? You want me to be happy, don’t you?”
She half-rolled her eyes. “You’re guilt-tripping me into letting you spend money on something I’ll wear once?”
“Is it working?”
“Lucas…”
If she was being this stubborn over a damn dress, how would she react when he gave her the fancy cruise tickets? He winked at her.
“You’ll wear it again. I promise.”
An hour in, he was slightly regretting that he didn’t ask Greer to do this shopping thing in his place. Women and shopping. Oh Christ. His mom lit up like a teenager as she riffled through the racks, chatting nearly nonstop about everything she saw.
She finally, finally, pulled out a couple to try on.
He gave her a push toward the fitting rooms. “Go, like the wind. Try them on. Please.”
“Okay,” she said excitedly. “Wait right here so you can help me pick.”
He’d rather stab himself in the eye with an ice pick right now. But he sat on a cushy bench thing and only cringed once as his mom dropped her suitcase-size purse onto his lap. Then, he waited. And waited.
“Are you remodeling in there? Baking a cake? Writing a novel?” he called out.
She snorted and slowly pulled the curtain aside. “Is orange a pastel?”
It didn’t matter. The dress was awful. The color was a weird mix of peachy-orange and bronze, maybe. It covered her body in a shimmery blob.
“Ma, no. You look like a construction cone.”
She shrugged and disappeared behind the curtain again. After a few minutes of rustling, he heard her sharp intake of breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just…well…” She stepped out of the dressing room.
Luke sat up straight. Huh. His mom actually had a figure.
The dress was a pale lilac and had a deep V-neck wrap top, and flouncy skirt with a peek of tulle beneath the hem. The fabric had a slight shimmer that would really sparkle in the sunlight. It complemented her tan skin, and heaven help his father, gave her a bit of a pinup look.
“Dad’s not going to know what to do with you in that dress.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He wagged his eyebrows. She blushed and shook her head. Smoothing her hands over her middle, she glanced down at herself.
“It looks okay?”
“You look stunning, Ma. Really. It’s perfect.”
She hugged him and turned to the curtain. She stopped as her fingers found the price tag hanging down. He tried to stop her from looking at it, but her face paled and the joy melted from her face.
“It’s…” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s two hundred dollars.”
He leaned in and whispered back. “I don’t care. Happy birthday. Merry Christmas. Blessed Easter. Happy Hanukkah—”
“Okay.” She laughed. “Okay.”
He paid with a hefty helping of satisfaction at making his mom happy. This was what he wanted—to be able to support the people he loved. And Greer? He wanted to give her the life she was used to. It filled him up in a way he couldn’t explain. It made him feel…useful, and in his mind, a man should feel proud of his ability to give to his loved ones.
They bought a matching lilac tie for his dad, who apparently had a suit that still fit him well. Luke drove her to the salon where she had her hair dyed a beautiful shade of walnut. The stylist gave her some makeup samples in spring colors—pink mostly—to coordinate with her dress. Which reminded him. He threw Greer a text.
Are you really wearing that pink dress tomorrow?
Her reply came immediately.
No, I’m wearing black.
He read that again. She couldn’t be serious. Her mother would come unglued.
Just tell me what color tie to wear.
Light pink.
God, what was with the pink? He waited for his mom to slip on her coat, and paid before they went out into the sunshine. His phone rang.
Thinking it was Greer calling to fill him in on what she was really wearing tomorrow, he answered it without looking at the number.
“Luke? Jim Cane. I’d like to talk about your application for director.”
His heart jumped into his throat. “Yes, sir.”
The air stilled around him as he listened. Cars went by on the street. His mom was talking rapid-fire, oblivious to the fact that he was on the phone. A child cried somewhere. Noise.
All fucking noise.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” The words were cardboard going over numb lips. Branches from the carefully trimmed tree in front of him swayed in the light wind. Back and forth. Back and forth.
“Everything okay?”
He snapped his attention to his mother and kicked down the daze that wanted to pull him to the ground. He put his phone in his pocket and opened the car door for her, feeling like the rusted Tin Man who had to fight for every movement.
“Perfect. Everything is perfect.”