Moonshell Beach: A Shelter Bay Novel (34 page)

“You’re not going out for the team?”

“I might play.” Shoulders that looked too broad for his still-lanky body shrugged in that blasé, uncaring way only a teenager could pull off. “Though I can’t see much point in playing for a Podunk program that hasn’t pulled off a winning season in nearly the entire time I’ve been alive.”

“Which is why they’ll be lucky to have you.”

Giving up on the pancakes, she ran the water in the sink and turned on the disposal, sending the rest of the batter, along with this latest charred effort, down the drain.

His only response was a grunt as he poured the
milk into the bowl and sat down at the table in front of a window that overlooked the ocean.

The cottage was much smaller than the house from which they’d moved, and it was definitely a fixer-upper, but the sea view was worth the inflated price she’d paid for it. Of course, seeming determined not to like anything about his new home, when they’d shown up a day ahead of the moving van, Matt had complained it was too far from town. A town she’d found charming every time she had visited the Pacific Northwest on seasonal sales trips. When she was looking to relocate, Shelter Bay had stood out in her mind.

She reluctantly gave him points about their isolation. Considering how much it rained here on the coast, perhaps she should have looked for a place in town. A town which, when they’d first driven past the welcome sign, he’d immediately dubbed “Hicksville by the Sea.”

Claire strongly doubted there was anything about Shelter Bay that could make him happy.
Give the boy time,
she could almost hear her mother saying.
Kids are resilient
.
He’ll settle in.

Claire could only hope that was true. Because after the year she’d been through, she was rapidly approaching the end of a very tattered rope.

He continued to sulk as he ate his cereal and surprised her by putting his bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. Taking that as a positive sign, Claire didn’t mention anything about his leaving the milk and sugar on the table.

“At least you arrived in time to make the team,” she said, attempting to put a positive spin on the conversation.

According to the yearly schedule they’d downloaded when they’d registered online, tryouts for the basketball team were being held today. After driving through the night on the last leg of the journey from L.A. to Shelter Bay, she’d manage to arrive Saturday afternoon.

“Like making the team would be a problem.” His tone was thick with the derision that had become all too familiar to her. “I already got a call from some guy who heads up the boosters. He said everyone in town’s excited about me becoming a Dolphin. Which is a dumb name. The Normans conquered England. Dolphins do stupid tricks for fish at SeaWorld.”

His Beverly Hills team had been the Normans, and Claire knew how proud he’d been to wear the black shirt with the orange and white “N” shield.

“I suspect the Miami Dolphins players might disagree with that description,” she said mildly as she put the milk in the ancient refrigerator, which would need to be replaced. “And dolphins just happen to be among the most intelligent mammals on the planet.…Why didn’t you tell me you’d gotten a call?”

They’d agreed when high school coaches started trying to recruit him back in middle school that he’d never talk to anyone about his basketball prospects unless she was present for the discussion.

“You were at the grocery store. Then I just forgot about it.”

Not wanting to call him a liar, she wiped off the counter with a sponge. “Well, in the future try to remember, okay?”

He shot her a dark look. Then stalked from the
kitchen. A moment later Claire heard the bedroom door slam behind him.

Feeling as if she were walking on eggshells, she followed. But didn’t go in.

“It’s supposed to rain,” she said through the closed door.

“It’s rained all weekend,” he retorted. “And from all the moss growing on the trees, if I worried about getting wet, I’d never go to school.”

From the way he’d been acting, he’d probably prefer dropping out. It was something that had worried her when he’d first been caught with marijuana in his locker. The only problem with that idea in his mind was that if he did leave school, he’d be stuck in the house all day with her.

Right now, apparently riding his bike in the rain two miles across the bridge into town was preferable to that prospect.

“And having my mom drive me like some lame second grader would be majorly humiliating.”

“There’s always the school bus.” When the agent had first shown her the cottage, one of the pluses had been that the bus stopped at the corner, less than half a block away.

“Kill me now,” she heard him mutter. “I’m riding my bike.”

He was fifteen years old, on his way to becoming a man. So why did she feel the same way she had when, at six, he’d assured her he could cross the street by himself?

The forecasted winter storm suddenly arrived, causing rain to hammer on the cedar roof. “I realize this may come as a disappointment,” she said, deciding that on this, at least, she was standing firm. “But I’m
still your mother. And unless you want to take the bus, since I have to go into town anyway, I’m driving you.”

The bedroom door swung open. He was holding his school clothes in an untidy wad under his arm. So much for that nice crisp crease she’d ironed into his jeans so he could make a good first impression.

“Why don’t I just throw myself off the damn cliff?” he suggested, his tone thick with scorn. “Problem solved.”

With that lovely suggestion ringing in her ears, he strode past her into the single bathroom they were forced to share and shut yet another door between them.

As she heard the shower, which needed to be repaired, sputter on, Claire pressed her fingers against her eyes until she saw little dots dancing like snowflakes and assured herself for the umpteenth time that she’d made the right decision in moving here to Shelter Bay.