She looked at him, studied every inch of his face, and Newman suddenly felt naked, as if she could read every thought he held inside. Every fear and uncertainty.
“Maybe you just can’t fix this, Newman, did you think about that? How would that sit on your Superman complex?”
Newman looked around them, but no one was listening.
“I don’t have a Superman complex.”
She gave him another steady look, and he resisted shuffling his feet.
“You can’t help everyone, Newman. It’s just not possible, and you’ll burn yourself out trying.”
She walked away from him then, leaving him feeling raw, rubbed the wrong way, and not sure what the hell he was meant to do now. Picking up the phone he called Cubby again, to bring some food when he came.
Yes, he liked to help people. He just didn’t like the fact that Hope had poked at that place inside him and made him think about why he felt a need to. There was his dad and the shit he carried from him, he understood that, but hell, it wasn’t a problem… was it?
CHAPTER TWENTY
Newman walked down the road, intent on running home. He’d been at the Tucker house for hours. Hope had left an hour ago, and he’d wanted to follow, but had stayed in case he was needed. He’d stayed at Connor’s side while the man handled stuff. The funeral arrangements would be made when the rest of the Tucker family arrived.
It was approaching early evening, and he was sure he had a whole shitload of work to catch up on but didn’t have the enthusiasm to tackle it.
Reaching the end of Hope’s driveway, he found himself turning down it for no other reason than he wanted to see her, even though he knew his reception would not be a good one. The woman had him tied in knots, and for the life of him he couldn’t fathom why.
“Paul.”
His head snapped up and shoulders went back as he noted Militant heading toward her car, which was under a cover and stowed in the carport.
“Can I help you there, Ms. Lawrence?”
“You can. I’m going see HRH to work out how best the book club can help the Tucker family in their time of need.”
“Ah... HRH?” Newman took the cover off, wondering if he’d heard the words correctly.
“We’re not fools, Paul. We know what the children in this town, and some of the adults, call us. We just choose to ignore it, as we quite like our nicknames.”
He looked over the hood of her car to see if he was actually speaking to the right person. Yup, there she stood. Militant Lawrence. Mouth drawn into a line, red spikes in her hair quivering. Dressed in black.
“Okay.”
“I’ll be back later, as we are also researching a location for our next book club field trip.”
“I thought you didn’t like field trips?” Newman said before he could stop himself.Don’t engage!
“You’ve a smart mouth on you, young man. And perhaps I once did not like them, but I do now.”
He nodded.
“I, however, will be selecting the driver of our transportation this time.”
Annabelle had driven them last time, and Militant had sat on her shoulder watching the speed limit for the entire journey.
“I’m sure I’m busy that day.”
She snorted. “I did not ask you.”
“No, of course you didn’t,” he said quickly.
“Now, you will go into the house and see Hope. Don’t make her unhappy, she is already that. I expect it to be in the exact condition it is in when I return.”
