“Okay, I love you.” She pauses. “You’re staying out of trouble, right?”
Here we go again. “Yes, Mom.”
“I’m serious, Luke. Turbo-charging cars in your spare time is a stupid hobby for a guy with your conviction on his record.”
“I’m not keeping the cars,” I point out. “Just rebuilding them for other people. And I’ve only done a few.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Noted,” I say, eager to wrap up this line of discussion. “Love you, Ames. Kisses to Jessa and Cooper.”
“I love you, too,” she says. “Be good.”
“Yep.”
I click off the call, then get out and dust off my jeans. Guess I could have gone home and put on something more presentable, but Hazel’s invitation didn’t leave time for that. Besides, I’m a construction foreman. It’s not like she expects me to show up to this meeting in an Armani three-piece.
Ambling along the waterfront path, I take a few seconds to look over the lake. As a guy who grew up in landlocked Central Oregon, I still can’t get over the marvel of living in a place where the town’s namesake lake practically kisses the churning Pacific. There aren’t many places where you stand on a grassy-green lakeshore fishing for bass on a cool, misty morning, then turn and walk six hundred steps to the beach where you roll up your pantlegs to prowl velvety sand as you hunt for razor clams.
I dreamed about that sorta stuff when I was locked up.
And here I am now, foreman of a construction crew for the biggest development firm on the Oregon Coast. Look at me, marching down the hall to some fancy boardroom like a man who belongs here. Like a man who has every right to walk into Hazel Spencer’s space and ask if she’d like to grab beers later on. I don’t plan to start there, but if the vibe feels right, I’ll go with my gut here.
Clearing my throat, I rap twice at the boardroom entrance. I’m expecting her to greet me, to swing open the hand-carved walnut door and welcome me with a cool little smile that counters the warmth in those eyes like watercolor skies.
“Come in.” Her voice sounds crisp from inside the room.
Okay.
I push open the door, and the first thing I see is that we’re not alone. She might’ve asked me to come solo, but Hazel sure hasn’t. The back of my neck starts to tingle as I survey the faces around the teak table.
There’s a woman in front of a laptop, a neat stack of papers piled to her left and a buttoned-up look that matches her stiff, pinstriped suit.
The woman beside her wears pink-framed glasses and a starched white lab coat with a name stitched over her heart in bright pink. I can’t make it out, and I don’t want to look like I’m leering. Behind her big glasses, her eyes trail my forearm where I’m sporting a gash from a minor jobsite mishap. Hard to tell if she’s wanting to stitch me up or grope me.
Next to Lab Coat sits a third woman wearing the brand of perky-cool smile I recognize as the official expression of public relations professionals. I’ve seen her type on the set of Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge where my sister lives.
Swinging my gaze back to Hazel, I fight the uneasiness churning my gut. “What’s this about?”
“Mr. Lovelin.” The woman in the pinstriped suit points to a chair. “Please take a seat.”
“I’d rather not.” Dragging my gaze back to Hazel, I see she’s refusing to look at me. She’s shuffling papers and nibbling a hangnail. “Am I in trouble here?”
“Mr. Lovelin.” Pinstripes sounds pissy now. “If you’ll just have a seat?—”
“Thank you, but I’d like to stay standing until I know what’s going on here.” Call me paranoid, then blame it on months spent in prison. I like having a quick escape route. “Can somebody clue me in?”
Pinstripes frowns at the unexpected power struggle. “As soon as you’re seated, we’ll get down to business.”
“Doc?” I lock eyes with Lab Coat. “Is there some medical reason I need to sit?”
“I—” A pink flush floods from her throat to her face. “I don’t believe so, no.”
Perky-Cool Smile steps in next. “Let’s just take a breath.” She kicks up the super-smile wattage. “We’re all here to have a conversation. Just a calm, cooperative, adult conver?—”
“About what, exactly?” I look from Lab Coat to Pinstripes to Hazel. “Because I’m feeling kinda blindsided here, and the only person I know in this room can’t seem to look me in the eye. Can someone please say what’s going on here? Am I getting fired?” Jesus, it’s worse than that, isn’t it? “Do I need a lawyer?”
Pinstripes perks up at that. “I’m a lawyer. And if you refuse to be seated, I’ll treat you as a hostile respondent and simply jump right in. Mr. Lovelin, the document you see at the head of the table is your copy of a motion for voluntary relinquishment of parental rights. Starting on page two, you’ll see I’ve sticky-tabbed sections requiring your signature for?—”
