Lucy glanced at the bathroom, desperate for a shower to wash away the night terrors. She looked back at the note. No time written on it. What if Megan called when Lucy was in the shower? It wasn’t being overprotective to ask her to pick up something to go along with the coffee, right?
She grimaced at her own indecision. Give her a hostage taker or serial killer and she could make a dozen life-and-death decisions in the time it took to chamber a round in her forty caliber Glock. But deal with her daughter who’d just turned fourteen and who seesawed back and forth between acting like a child and an adult and Lucy found herself second-guessing every move she made.
It’d been the same way with her own mother when Lucy was Megan’s age. Although as a child, Lucy hadn’t had to deal with the stresses Megan faced—parents whose jobs meant that, despite their best efforts, they were often absent, both physically and emotionally, and a world where violence had trespassed into their own home.
She sighed and returned to her bed, sinking onto the mattress as she reached for her phone. Megan picked up on the third ring.
“Hey, it’s me,” Lucy said.
“Did you get my note?” The sound of china rattling and reggae music filled the background.
“Yes, wasn’t sure how long you’d be.”
“Mateo is getting our food now—he knows the chef, there’s this Cuban pastry he says is amazing. I’ll bring you back some when we’re done and then he’s going to give me a surfing lesson.”
Lucy blinked, looked around the room. No, this was real. Her fourteen-year-old daughter out with a man—boy—stranger.
“Back up,” she snapped. “Who’s Mateo? Details. Name, age, address.” Juvie record, social, GPA…
Megan was so much like her father—a born extrovert, interested in everyone she met, and she never met anyone who wasn’t a best friend within five minutes. You can’t change who she is, Nick reminded her. At least the voice in her head channeling her husband did.
“Mateo Romero. Sixteen. He’s in school and he works for his uncle’s landscaping firm—hard worker, today is his only day off. He does the hotel’s garden and they like him enough to let him use their pool and gym. He’s a surfer and he’s going to teach me. Not too much today because high tide has already passed for the morning, but after breakfast, we’re going to hang out on the beach and he’s going to show me the basics. Then tomorrow, he’ll take me out for real.” The words bubbled out of Megan without giving Lucy a chance to protest.
“We’ve been here less than twelve hours and you’ve already picked up a guy?” Lucy asked. She hated her tone—it was an exact copy of the way her own mother had sounded when Lucy was a teen and pushing boundaries. Ugh. Not what this week was supposed to be about. This was meant to be the break she and Megan needed to get back on even footing instead of the constant bickering that had become habit.
“What’s wrong with that?” Megan sniped. “Want me to get one for you, too?”
“Megan Constance Callahan, don’t you take that attitude with me. You may think that turning fourteen is the equivalent of turning forty, but—”
“No…” She surprised Lucy with her contrite tone. “You’re right, Mom. I’m sorry. I was just so excited and it’s so beautiful here and I really like Mateo—you will, too, I promise—and I really, really, really want to learn how to surf.”
Lucy’s sigh was a mix of exasperation and exhaustion. “You finish your breakfast, bring my coffee and Mateo back, and I’ll meet you both on the beach in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks, Mom!”
“No promises,” Lucy warned, but it was too late, Megan had already hung up. Lucy stared at her phone for a long moment before phoning home. “Do you have any idea what your daughter did now?”
Chapter 3
Megan had been dreading Lucy’s interrogation of Mateo, but for once, her mom acted semi-normal instead of being overbearing and overprotective—she didn’t even “accidentally” let Mateo see the semiautomatic she carried in her bag.
Turned out Mateo had never heard of Lucy, which helped. He was even more wonderful than Megan had dreamed he’d be, talking about how his mother left Honduras alone and pregnant with him, made her way to America so her son could be born here, became a citizen, married, and helped his aunt and uncle to also emigrate. The way his eyes gleamed when he told stories about his younger cousins—all of whom he was fiercely proud and protective of—and the sorrow when he told them about his stepfather—the only father he’d known—dying when a drunk driver hit him as he crossed the highway to help an elderly couple with a flat tire.
But what really sealed the deal was when, after spending the morning showing Megan some of the basics of handling the board in the water and walking with her on the beach, Mateo excused himself to return home.
“Sunday dinner is family time,” he explained. “My uncle’s landscaping business runs six days a week. My mother and aunt’s condo rental business means cleaning and check ins on Saturday and Sunday, so we’re all always working or in school. Except for Sunday dinner.”