He stared at the grimy warehouse ceiling, unsure if the encroaching dimness was due to fading daylight or his eyelids drooping. He was tired, so tired.
He’d been unable to save his mother when he was a child, and he hoped by some grace of God he might be able to join her soon, to apologize for failing her so completely, to make her understand how he’d simply lost his way. He had failed so many people. A pang of sadness pierced his heart when he realized his own son Ben was going to grow up without a father, just like he had. Hopefully his son would fare better than he had. Perhaps it was a blessing for Ben that his fucked-up father was leaving him for good.
Finally succumbing to his fatigue, Logan allowed his eyes to flutter shut. All was quiet in the warehouse.
31. Until Morale Improves
Grant sighed heavily and felt hot tears well up in his eyes. Great. He was crying. Again. Some kind of mobster he made—no wonder Lo had called him a wuss when they were kids.
He was supposed to be preparing the ship for the day’s sold-out cruises, but instead he was standing by the controls, staring into space and thinking about Sophie, only Sophie. Her look of fear and mistrust, the betrayal evident in her clipped tone, the finality of her parting words—it all had haunted him for the past twenty-four hours.
Roger brusquely entered the bridge, and Grant quickly swiped at a wayward tear, hoping his boss hadn’t witnessed his little display of weakness. He pretended to clean the steering mechanism, methodically running a wet rag over the gleaming silver wheel.
Disdainfully studying his employee, Roger set a plastic bag on the counter and grumbled, “I see you’re still moping around, Madsen.”
He halted his cleaning charade and looked down, trying to prevent any more tears. “Sorry.”
Roger sighed. “Why don’t you talk to her, try to explain things?”
“I did try!” Grant insisted, lifting his chin and staring at Roger defiantly. “After work last night I took her purse to her apartment, and I freaking begged her roommate to let me talk to her. But Kirsten told me Sophie was at her father’s, which I know was a total lie.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Sophie hates her father; she would never go there. I’m sure she was hiding right inside the apartment, refusing to see me.” He sighed. “There’s nothing I can do. It’s over.”
Roger had no idea what to say, and Grant leaned down to extract the window-cleaning solution from the cupboard.
Perking up, Roger offered, “Screw Sophie. Why don’t you just go to your Uncle Angelo’s club and find some hoochie-mama to cuddle up with?”
Grant popped up immediately with a look of incredulous anger.
“Or not,” the older man amended.
“Please do not ever discuss my uncle, my dad, my brother …” Grant’s indignant voice trailed off, and he found himself fighting tears once again. He was so sick of his family, so sick of them ruining his life.
“When I first hired you, Joe told me you’d be fine if you just stayed away from your family,” Rog said sympathetically. “I didn’t understand that then, but I’m finally getting the picture now.”
“You probably shouldn’t have hired me in the first place.”
“You’re right,” Roger snapped. “I would never have hired you if I knew what a fucking Debbie Downer you’d turn out to be. I’m so sick of this mopey shit—all over a damn chick! Pull it together, Madsen.”
Grant sniffed. “Yes, sir.”
Emphatically pointing his index finger in the air, Roger continued. “That reminds me! I bought a sign announcing a new policy for all employees, effective immediately.” He shot a disappointed glance at Grant. “It was your sulking ass that prompted me to get this.”
Roger scooped his bagged purchase off the counter and turned to the console, taking out a hammer and nail before banging the drawer shut. Grant studied him curiously for a moment, but decided to get back to work.
Roger stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he nailed the plaque to the wall, then stood back to admire his handiwork.
“Let’s see if ROTC boy learned anything in college,” Roger called. “Come over here and read this.”
Dutifully Grant came over to the plaque, which was adorned with a skull and crossbones, and read aloud, “The beatings will continue until morale improves.”
Despite himself, he felt a slight grin coming on.
Roger smiled too. He’d finally succeeded in cheering up the morose boy. “Maybe that bruise on your face, which looks even worse today, by the way, will send a message to those lazy-asses Tommy and Dan.”
Grant absentmindedly drew his hand to his face, and his smile quickly faded. With another sigh, he grabbed the spray bottle and listlessly went back to clean the next window.
Roger turned and descended the stairs to see if Tommy and Dan had arrived yet. If those fucking sloths were late again, they were definitely in for quite a beating. The boss was going to improve morale around here if it killed him.
*
“Come, Lucky!” Lieutenant Jo Ann Jemison hollered, clapping her hands to emphasize the command. With his tongue lolling happily, the black Springer Spaniel-Collie mix came bounding out of the shallow waters of Lake Michigan, a piece of driftwood clutched in his teeth.
“Good boy!” Jo Ann cooed, grasping the end of the wet wood. But Lucky continued to hold on. Jo Ann frowned. “Lucky,” she admonished. “Drop.”
Mischievous black eyes stared back at her as the dog clamped down harder and swiftly wagged his tail.
“Drop!” Jo Ann ordered again, taking a sweeping look around her to make sure that none of her superiors was observing her utter lack of control. Jo Ann and Lucky were only a quarter-mile south of the Naval Station Great Lakes, and it would not be unusual to find a commander or two jogging along the lake before it became too hot later in the day.
His owner gave the stick one more jerk, and Lucky maintained his vice grip, adding a playful growl. Refusing a game of tug-of-war, which the dog seemed to crave, Jo Ann trotted ahead and strolled along the waves lapping the beach, pretending to ignore him. Lucky galloped to catch up and nuzzled her hand with his snout, offering her the wood once again.
Casually looking down, Jo Ann swiftly grabbed the wood from the unsuspecting dog and this time managed to swipe it clean. “Ha!” she cried, victoriously holding it high in the air, while Lucky danced at her feet. Grinning, Jo Ann tossed the driftwood into the lake, where it was followed immediately by the black-and-white dog. He pursued the wood with tenacious glee before locating the floating piece and clamping it into his mouth.