A Home Come True. Cheryl Harper
he went home, he’d never taste one greasy bite of this chicken. The bag would be snatched out of his hand before he shut the front door behind him. “Scavengers. Every single one of them.”
He’d made the move to help his foster brother, who needed a new start and his mother was struggling to find her way, too. Still, that didn’t mean it was easy sharing this space.
Parking in front of the empty gas station to have his dinner might answer his question about whether the station had a panic button. He’d have the awkward job of explaining to his new coworkers why he was there instead of home.
Or he could drive. Luke reversed out of the parking spot and eased out onto the road that went past Paws for Love animal shelter. He was in no hurry. Luke turned up the radio so that classic rock filled his ears, cracked his window to let the sweet smell of autumn in Texas flow in and took the first piece of chicken out of the bag.
As an officer of the law, he understood that any distraction while driving was a bad idea. As a hungry man with nowhere to go but home, he knew he needed the time by himself and the chicken, so he meandered the roads around Holly Heights until the food was gone and he could no longer postpone the inevitable.
The first uptick in his blood pressure came as he tried to park in his own driveway. He’d chosen this house because it had four bedrooms, the yard his mother had been dying to have her whole life and a peekaboo view of Holly Creek. He’d thought the water would be relaxing, but keeping his four-year-old niece away from it was a constant job.
Dodging three different bicycles, all left to fall where they were abandoned, made it impossible to get the Mustang anywhere on the pavement that belonged to him. Since the house he’d chosen was at the dead end of a quiet subdivision, there was plenty of space in the street.
It was a good thing comfort in Holly Heights cost about half of what making do did in Austin. Even after selling the house he’d called home, getting enough space for his family had been a stretch.
He’d bought the car at sixteen and then taken ten years to restore it—he hated parking it in the street.
Luke stretched as he got out of the car in order to make sure whatever tension he could chase away was gone before he stepped inside.
His mother didn’t need to hear the irritation in his voice. He could pretend to be easygoing.
When the door swung open before he had a chance to use his key, Luke nearly tumbled inside, but caught himself on the doorjamb. His sister’s little girl, Mari, was staring at him, one finger in her mouth. Since she was wearing a tutu and carrying a lightsaber, he had a feeling she’d had a good day.
“Hola, Mari,” Luke said as he scooped her up. She was usually one of his favorite people in the house.
Mari didn’t answer. She rarely did, but she pressed both hands to his cheeks and leaned forward to kiss his nose. Her usual, sweet greeting.
Luke squeezed her tightly and then set her down. “Where is your abuela?” In the Hollister family, everyone spoke English and Spanish, usually at the same time. Mari’s mother, Camila, had spoken nothing but Spanish when the Hollisters had agreed to foster her twelve years ago. Everyone had learned Spanish that summer.
Since it came in handy on a nearly daily basis working law enforcement in southeast Texas, Luke counted that education as one more thing he owed his adoptive parents.
Mari smoothed her long ponytail over one slim shoulder, straightened her tiara and pointed like the princess she might be. Or the Jedi. Or both, really.
He didn’t need the clue. The noise would have told him.
Connie Hollister, his mother, was lecturing again. And Joseph Martinez, the newest foster kid lucky enough to land with the Hollister clan, had not yet learned to keep his mouth shut.
“Homework comes before video games, not after,” she said and tried to point imperiously at the hallway so that Joseph would go to his room. Before she finished the motion, her arm fell limply in her lap.
A bad day, then. Grief had robbed his mother of some of her fire. Every day he wondered how to discuss the depression; understandable though it was, it scared him. The family needed Connie Hollister. He needed her.
Luke leaned a shoulder against the arched opening to the living room as Mari ran to her mother, tugged her hand and pointed in his direction.
“Ah, now you’ve done it. Luke is here.” Camila’s satisfaction at this rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t the father. They had no father anymore, not since Walter Hollister had died six months ago, but he seemed to be filling in more and more.
“What’s the problem?” he asked as he bent to press a kiss on his mother’s cheek. She was pale but her eyes were snapping with irritation, looking not unlike the four women he’d left across town.
“Joey hasn’t been doing his homework. One of his teachers called me today,” his mother explained.
“Joseph,” the boy said slowly. “My name is Joseph.”
Whatever his life had been before, it hadn’t broken Joseph Martinez. At fourteen, he was as annoying as any teenager could be.
Logic and reasoning were long-term strategies but they were all he had to work with.
“Go put away the bikes, Joseph.” Luke braced his hands on his hips, prepared for an argument. “The next time I find them like that, I’ll lock them away.” He pointed at Mari, who ducked her head and pursed her lips, as certain of her safety in this case as she was every other time he’d made the threat.
“Why am I the only one?” Joseph muttered as he reluctantly paused his game and then turned it off. He had to step over piles of Mari’s toys to slump next to the door. “I know my bike’s not the only one out there.”
“Nope, but you’re on your way to do your homework.” Luke leaned closer. “And Mari’s a baby who needs to get ready for bed.”
Joseph rolled his eyes and stepped outside.
Satisfied that the trick his older brother had used on him more than once still had power, Luke followed Joseph. The kid had picked up his own bike and slid into the seat to ride slow circles on the driveway. Luke bit his tongue and grabbed Mari’s bike and Renita’s.
“Where’s Renita?” At seventeen, his sister was doing her best to take control of her life. She would go to college on a scholarship and be anything she wanted to be.
“Babysitting. You need to go get her at ten.” Joseph rode in front of Luke. “I’ll be glad when I get a job. Then I can get a car, and get out of this hole. Go home.”
Luke opened the door to the garage and set both bikes inside before he tried to answer Joseph. At some point, the kid would settle down. They all did.
“It’s hard to change schools,” Luke said in his most patient voice. “Everybody’s got to adjust to a new town, but this is going to be good for you. Your old home was not.”
Joseph silently shoved his bike in the door and then slammed it shut. “Yeah. Sure. Good for me.”
Luke tilted his head back to study the sky. In the country, he could see the bright white lights instead of dull tiny pinpoints against a sky that never went completely dark. Amazing.
“You know at your old home it was only a matter of time, J.” As a police detective, Luke had learned to keep his mouth shut and his ears open at all times. Every little scrap of information he picked up might have value. Listening to the guys on the gang task force discuss troubles at Joseph’s middle school had been enough information for Luke. His mother wouldn’t make it through losing another kid to violence like that.
“Nah, I’m too smart to get caught in a mess,” Joseph said as he scraped a tennis shoe against the driveway.
“The wrong place at the wrong time is all it takes. Bullets don’t care how smart you are.” He’d