“I’m happy to see you, Luke.” Mayor Milt placed his napkin on the table beside his empty plate. “I hear you’ve been helping Ms. Belville with improvements to her property.”
He cut another quick glance at Sam. No reaction.
“Uh, yeah. I’ve got a little landscaping experience.”
“Right, and of course, you’ve worked at your family’s orchard for many years.”
“True.” Why did he get the feeling this was leading somewhere?
The mayor clapped his hands together. “Excellent.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Bernie Loughlin is retiring from the Parks & Rec Department at the end of the year. We’re going to need a new director, and I don’t think any of our current city employees have plans to apply for the position. I think you should.”
Oh. Oh. “A . . . a job with the city?”
“Now, it’s not all outdoor work. There’s some budgeting and organizing of children’s activities and that sort of thing. But you’d be in charge of city parks, landscaping around city facilities. Bernie always jokes that the job is fifty percent mowing in the summer. How’s that sound?”
A full-time job. Here. In Maple Valley.
Before he could formulate an answer, another voice intruded. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Milt.”
Lucas spotted the owner of the voice. Oh, he recognized that face. He’d been with Sam at that Bible study in the coffee shop the other day. The man with the gray hair. The one who’d looked at him as if . . . as if he had something personal against him.
“I’m not getting ahead of anything, Herman,” Mayor Milt countered. “I’m just gauging his interest. Obviously, the council will need to sign off on whoever is hired, so I’m not overstepping my bounds. I just think I happen to know a good candidate when I see one.”
Ah, so the gray-haired man was a city council member?
“Actually, fellows, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take off.” Sam stood. Was he trying to keep Herman from saying anything further? “Luke, got a minute?”
Lucas waited until they were out of earshot to speak. “Did the mayor just offer me a job? And what’s that other guy’s beef with me? Who is he, anyway? Saw him at the coffee shop with you.”
Sam nudged his head toward an empty table and they sat. “Herman Ferris. Been on the council for a few years. He’s an okay guy but, well . . .” Sam glanced out the window. “He’s a vet. Served in Vietnam. Very, uh, staunch, I guess, and . . .”
The realization was as needling as it was humiliating. The man knew about the dishonorable discharge, of course. Everyone did. But a war veteran would have a special kind of disdain for what Lucas had done.
Sam had said something the other day about wanting to invite Lucas to his Bible study. It was clear now that Herman Ferris was the reason he hadn’t.
“You don’t have to say any more.” He rubbed his palms over his jeans. “So, how’s your week been? You’ll be at the Everwood for dinner tonight, right? Mara invited everyone. Jen’s bringing the kids. Should be a good time.”
“Lucas—”
“Where’s Mackenzie? Don’t you usually spend Saturdays with her?”
Sam’s steady gaze didn’t leave his face. It was at once both forceful and compassionate. “Anyone who really knows you . . .” He stopped, shook his head. “You know that’s not what we see when we look at you, right?”
But how could they not see his past when they looked at him? When the reminder was seared into his flesh?
“You shouldn’t have to keep them covered up all the time. They’re part of you.”
There’d been such a honey-sweet assurance in Jenessa’s voice when she’d spoken those words. But didn’t she see? Yes, the scars were a part of him—a part he despised. A constant visual remembrance of his worst mistakes.
The way Herman Ferris had just looked at him? It wasn’t any different than how Lucas viewed himself.
Sam finally broke the taut silence stretching between them, clearing his throat. “Mackenzie’s with her mom. Apparently Harper got a job in Omaha. They’re looking at houses today.”
He looked over at his friend, heard the frustration behind Sam’s emotionless explanation. Lucas wasn’t the only one with hurts. With pieces of himself he didn’t talk about. With Sam, it was a broken engagement. He’d been engaged to Kit, actually, Lucas’s own sister. Something Lucas rarely thought about. He hadn’t been around during those years, hadn’t even known Sam back then other than as a name in his sister’s emails.
But Kit had left him at the altar and gone on to marry Beckett years later.
And Sam? In his pain, on what was supposed to have been his wedding night, he’d instead had a one-night stand that had changed his life.
Now he had a daughter he adored but didn’t see nearly as much as he longed to and a forever-strained relationship with a woman, Harper, he probably would’ve married if she’d given him half a chance.
“Man, that stinks. I’m really sorry.” A lame attempt at comfort.
“Yeah. Well.”
Another stretch of silence. Another throat clearing, this time by Lucas. “About earlier this week, what you said—”
“No need to rehash everything.”
“I know but you had a good point. I have been planning to leave. And if nothing else, I at least owe everyone some advance notice.”
Sam lifted his eyebrows and folded his arms. “How about the full truth?”
For a moment, he actually let himself consider it. What would happen if he unleashed the whole story? What would it feel like to admit everything? Would Sam be shocked? Angry at Lucas for lying all this time?
Or would he look at him with new respect? Something inside of Lucas ached to know, to let at least one person in.
“I . . . I work for a private military contractor.” His words came out monotone, distant. As if it were someone outside his body voicing the truth for him. “I started out as a basic contractor, mainly doing international security and stuff. But now I’m part of an elite team. Kind of like Navy Seals but we’re not connected to the government. Just hired by it.”
Sam didn’t so much as blink.
He looked up, rushed on, willing his friend to understand. “I’ve never wanted Kit to know. She already had to deal with me going missing once. Plus, our missions are top-secret.”
“What kind of missions?” Sam’s voice was low.
“Black-ops, basically. Infiltrating terrorist cells. Busting drug traffickers. High-risk rescues.”
No reply.
“Listen, Sam, I know it’s hard to believe. And I never meant—”
“You’re telling me, six, seven, eight months out of each year you’re Lord knows where putting your life on the line? And you’ve never told anyone back home? What if you died? What if you never came home and your sister, Jen, all of us were left wondering—”
“It’s not like I haven’t thought of that. There’s a safety-deposit box. There’s a letter for Kit that explains everything. There’s—”
Sam lurched to his feet. “A letter. That’s how you’d want everyone to find out?”