Shooting the Moon (2 page)

Slowing for a traffic light, he briefly closed his eyes, trying to shut out the memory of his visit to the Worthingtons. For years he’d told himself to forget the past. It was better that way, right? Better for the baby. Better for Audra. Better for everyone. The Worthingtons owned a string of video stores, had always been as rich as Midas. What could he possibly give his son that they couldn’t? That was the question Lauren had flung at him today, the one that had chased him away in the beginning, and it was the one that still burned, uppermost, in his mind.

Otherwise he’d have Brandon with him right now.

The light turned green. Harley gave the bike some gas and shot out in front of traffic. Turning at the next light, he wound down out of the hills to the city, where he wove through the busy streets to the low-rent district.

He could give his son the love of a father, couldn’t he? That was more than Harley had grown up with. But when he’d looked into Lauren’s stricken face, enough doubt crept in to make him wonder, all over again, if he was doing the right thing.

The Springfield Apartments came up on his left, and he pulled into the lot, parked and cut the engine. According to the letter he’d received, Tank Thompson lived here now. In Apartment 208.

Harley scaled the stairs leading to the second story of the garden-style apartments, taking them two at a time. He was angry and confused, but the frustrating thing was that he didn’t know what, if anything, he should do.

Maybe it had been a mistake to come back. What made him think he could atone for his past sins after ten years?

He knocked at 208, and rap music poured out of Tank’s apartment as a small, curly-headed girl, only about three years old, opened the door.

“Hi, there,” he said. “I’m Harley Nelson. Is Tank around?”

“Daddy, it’s for you!” the little girl called over her shoulder.

Daddy?
In his letter, Tank hadn’t mentioned having a child of his own. He hadn’t mentioned much at all. He’d just sent Audra’s obituary clipping, nearly five months after the fact, along with a brief, handwritten note saying:
Thought you’d be interested. Long time no see. You still kickin’? Tank

But then Tank had never been one for written correspondence. Neither was Harley, for that matter.

The little girl disappeared for several minutes and returned tugging a bleary-eyed, hungover-looking Tank to the door. He was about fifty pounds heavier than when Harley had seen him last, shortly after graduation, but Harley would’ve known his friend anywhere.

Yawning, Tank scratched his head and blinked twice. “Well if it isn’t the jackass who buried my truck in the river during high school,” he said, breaking into a smile.

Harley laughed. “You were the one who wanted to see if I could ford it. How the hell was I supposed to know the damn river was so deep?”

“You were drunk enough to try crossing the Columbia.”

“And you were drunk enough to let me use your truck to do it.”

Tank shook his head. “It’s a wonder we survived those years. How’ve you been, man?”

“Good.” Harley nodded to the little girl who was
standing next to Tank, watching them. “You have a daughter now?”

“Yeah.” Tank winked at her, and she smiled shyly. “Too bad I don’t have her mama anymore. We separated a year ago. Divorce was final just last month.”

“That’s tough.”

“You’re tellin’ me. Now I gotta live in this dump while she and her new boyfriend enjoy the three-bedroom, two-bath townhouse I’m paying for.” He ruffled his daughter’s hair. “Worse, I only get Lucy here on weekends.”

“She’s a beauty,” Harley said.

“Yeah, takes after her mama. Can you come in? Stay a while?”

Harley thought of the hours ahead of him. He had a few other friends he wanted to visit, but nothing more important until Lauren Worthington called.
If
she called…

“Sure, I can stay,” he said, stepping inside and taking a seat on a rust-colored couch reminiscent of the sixties. Except for the large-screen television that took up one whole corner of the room, the other furnishings looked no better.

“Things haven’t changed much since high school, huh?” Harley said, eyeing the beer cans and cigarette butts that littered the coffee table.

“Ah, don’t let the mess fool you. I’ve cleaned up my act a lot since then. Last night we had my buddy’s bachelor party here is all. We hired a stripper, played some poker and drank more than we should’ve.”

“What did you do with Lucy?”

“The lady next door took her. She sits for me now and then.”

“Who’s getting married?”

“Guy named Dan. You don’t know him.” He put a hand to his head and squinted. “I’m almost sorry I do.”

“What are you doing for work these days?”

“Concrete, same as always.” Tank slumped into an
easy chair across from the couch. “When my dad retired, I took over the business, and lately we’ve been branching off into landscaping. My brothers work for me.”

“All of them?”

“All except the oldest. Damien’s too good for concrete. He’s an attorney here in Portland. What about you?”

“I own a Harley Davidson dealership out in California where I live.”

Tank raised his eyebrows. “You always said you’d have one someday. But how’d a poor boy like you manage something like that?”

“The stock market’s been good to me.”

“The stock market?” Tank sat up straighter—then, putting a hand to his head, he checked the movement. Shifting more gingerly, he said, “Boy, have you changed. What brings you back this way?”

“The article you sent.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, well, I found your address on the Internet and almost wrote you a long time ago. It was too bad what happened to Audra, but the way she was living, something was bound to happen sooner or later, you know?”

Harley leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “What do you mean? How was she living?”

Tank sent his daughter off to play in her room, then moved closer to Harley. “She wasn’t the same girl we knew in high school,” he said. “She got into crack pretty heavily, went downhill from there.”

Crack? Audra? Harley couldn’t imagine her stern, overbearing father allowing Audra to get involved with drugs, at least not to the point of addiction. But then he remembered how much she liked to party in high school—and how much she’d always resented her father. Maybe she’d done it to fight back, to establish her freedom. Wasn’t that what had drawn her to him, someone her father had designated as off limits?

“I didn’t know,” he said.

“I figured you didn’t, but I wasn’t sure you’d want to know. I mean, what could you do about it?”

He could have come and taken his son. That was why he’d come here now, wasn’t it?

“So who’s been caring for Brandon? The sister?”

Tank smiled wistfully. “Little Lauren. Talk about opposites. You couldn’t find two sisters less alike.”

Harley had to agree with him there. “She’s pretty serious.”

“She’s a straight arrow, man. All responsibility.”

“I bet it was hard on her to watch what was happening to Audra.”

“I guess,” Tank said. “She keeps a stiff upper lip, like her parents. Doesn’t say much.”

“So Lauren still lives with them?”

“Yeah, why not? There’s space enough in that house for an army.”

“Didn’t she go to school?”

“Graduated from Lewis and Clark in only three years. Since then she’s worked for her father in the corporate office or done community stuff.”

“She never married?” Harley asked.

“No. Damien used to date her. That’s how I know about Audra. But he just couldn’t get her to respond to him.”

Harley didn’t have a hard time believing that, not after hearing Lauren say, “He doesn’t need you.” The woman didn’t hesitate to go for the throat. He doubted
she
needed anybody, either. “She’s a lot more attractive than she used to be,” he said.

“Yeah, well, the braces are gone, and she’s not so scrawny anymore. I think she’s a knockout.”

Harley didn’t like her well enough to concede anything stated that strongly, so he said nothing.

“Damien was crazy about her for a while,” Tank con
tinued, “but he could never make any headway with her. Just getting her to kiss him was like breaching Fort Knox.”

“What happened between them? Did Damien finally break it off?”

“No, I think he would’ve kept on trying as long as she let him. She broke it up, saying she just didn’t feel anything more than friendship for him. But you know?” Tank glanced down the hall, where they could hear his daughter talking in a high voice, playing house. “I think she’s still a virgin. I’d bet money on it.”

At twenty-seven? “Wasn’t she just a year younger than us in high school?”

“Yeah.”

“Most women have some experience by twenty-seven.”

“Not Lauren. After what happened to Audra, her father’s been even more protective. And already she was a daddy’s girl. Anyway, Damien never got anywhere with her.”

“Did he ever see Brandon?”

“All the time. Audra started with the drugs when Brandon was still a baby, and Lauren stepped in so her parents wouldn’t have to. They have legal guardianship, but he’s like her child now. She takes him everywhere with her, volunteers in his classroom at school, drives him to karate lessons, takes him and his friends to the mall, you name it. She’s very devoted.”

Devoted enough to want to keep Harley out of the picture so she could have Brandon to herself? She’d called his desire to take his son selfish, but what about her desire to keep him?

“Does he seem happy?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah. She’s doing a good job, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Harley wasn’t particularly worried about that. He would
have expected nothing less from an HA—high achiever—like Lauren. She’d been in every honors class their school offered and, if he remembered right, Audra had once laughingly told him that her sister won every short story contest she entered. Not that he understood why anyone would enter a short story contest, especially a teenager. But people like Lauren did that sort of thing. They usually set up exhibits at the science fair, too. “What’s her father doing these days?”

“He’s still a bastard. Damien hates him, but he left for Europe last I heard. He and Lauren’s mother spend a couple of months there every spring.”

Interesting information. It was only mid-May; there were still a few weeks of spring left. Was that why Lauren hadn’t called her father down on him this morning? “You think he’s still in Europe?”

Tank shrugged. “Don’t know. Damien doesn’t call Lauren very much anymore. He’s trying to get over her. Why? Are you going to take Brandon home with you?”

“That’s the million-dollar question,” Harley said. But he knew if he tried to get custody of his son, the Worthingtons weren’t giving up without a fight.

L
AUREN SAT
in a plastic chair at the small, glass-fronted karate school where Brandon took lessons, enveloped in the unpleasant smell of mildew, perspiration and discarded tennis shoes. She stared at the card Harley Nelson had given her that morning. Judging from the logo embossed in fancy script below his name—“Burlingame Harley Davidson”—he was a motorcycle salesman.

How fitting, she thought, picturing him in his leather jacket, jeans and boots. It was probably the only kind of work he could get. He didn’t have a degree. He’d barely graduated from high school. And his occupation would certainly explain the expensive bike she’d seen in her driveway. Harley probably blew every dime he made on his two-wheeled transportation and couldn’t afford a car.

“Too bad you
didn’t
spend more time in the library,” she muttered, feeling vindicated for his less-than-flattering comments that morning. “I guess an education is a little more important than an excitement factor, huh?”

“Did you say something, Lauren?” Kara, Brandon’s classmate’s mother, had been sitting next to her for the past thirty minutes, looking for an opportunity to start a conversation. She was a nice woman, even if she did love the sound of her own voice, but Lauren wasn’t in the mood to listen to her today. Quickly averting her eyes, she mumbled something about talking to herself and retreated back into her own thoughts.

Should she let Harley meet Brandon or not? She’d
asked herself that a hundred times over the past six hours, but she couldn’t come up with a good answer. Bottom line, she ran risks either way. If she let Harley see Brandon, it could snowball into something big and ugly and difficult. If she refused, it could snowball into something big and ugly and difficult.

She sighed, and saw Kara in her peripheral vision trying to catch her eye, but Lauren didn’t look up. She had to call Harley, had to say something, she decided, running her thumb over the embossing on his card. Otherwise he’d show up on her doorstep again and next time might not end so well.

If only she could get hold of her parents, learn their opinion. She’d left a message at their hotel in London, but she hadn’t heard from them and guessed they were on a side trip to Bath or the Cotswolds or someplace else. Which meant it could be another day or two before they knew she was trying to reach them.

She doubted Harley would wait that long. It was her impression that patience wasn’t one of his strong suits.

A round of
keeyiis
drew Lauren’s attention back to the karate class. Brandon stood in the front row facing the mirror. He smiled when he caught Lauren watching him, and Lauren’s heart twisted at the thought of seeing him drive off on the back of Harley’s motorcycle. She’d die first. He was such a wonderful boy—bright, healthy, talented.

Harley didn’t deserve him, she told herself, but even as the thought passed through her mind, she wondered if her damning judgment wasn’t a bit too harsh. He’d been eighteen when he’d gotten Audra pregnant. He’d made some pretty poor choices back then, but he wasn’t the first teenager to do so. What if he’d changed? Matured? Didn’t she owe it to Brandon to at least find out? He asked her so many questions about his father.

Slipping her phone out of her purse, she dialed the number for Harley’s cell, which he’d circled on his card.

When he answered, she thought she heard rap music in the background, as well as other voices. Where was he spending his time? At a pool hall?

“It’s Lauren Worthington,” she said without preamble.

“Hi.”

She’d expected him to start pressing her immediately, but he didn’t. He waited for her to speak, only she didn’t know how to get things started.

Finally, he broke the silence. “So what have you decided?”

“I haven’t. Not yet,” she admitted. “I was hoping I could talk to you first.”

“When?”

Lauren took a deep breath. Was she crazy to be doing this? “Tonight?”

“Okay. At your place?”

“No, somewhere neutral.”

“A restaurant?”

“That’s fine.”

“You name the place.”

“There’s a sushi bar not far from the theaters downtown. Tokyo House. Do you know it?”

“I think so. What time?”

Lauren checked her watch. It was nearly five now, and she still needed to make dinner for Brandon and arrange for a baby-sitter. “Seven?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good,” she said, but in truth she hoped he wouldn’t come. It would make things infinitely easier for her if he just disappeared. But how realistic was that?

“Anything else?” he asked.

“No. See you at seven.” She hit the end button and finally glanced up to see Kara watching her eagerly.

“Are you thinking about buying a Harley Davidson?”
she asked, gazing at the business card. “My husband owned one once. It was a beautiful bike. A little scary, though. He used to take me on weekend trips, when the weather was warm enough. Wind gets pretty cold, you know. That’s why it makes sense for a biker to wear leather. So I went out and bought us complete matching outfits, in red. And we joined a club. It was a lot of fun, really.” A far-off look came over her face. “I wonder if I can still fit into those pants. I haven’t tried them on for ages. Oh well, I guess I’ll have to dig them out of storage and see, huh?”

Lauren tried to break in long enough to say that she had no intention of ever owning a Harley, that motorcycles frightened her immensely, but Kara didn’t seem to be looking for an answer. She was telling Lauren about a vacation she and her husband once enjoyed where they almost took the Harley but decided, at the last minute, to take the Mercedes instead, which turned out to be a good choice because it was one of the hottest summers on record, and they were going to the Grand Canyon, and just think about all that dust and heat out on a bike….

Lauren yawned discreetly behind her hand and tried to follow the story well enough to nod or exclaim in all the right places, but her mind kept drifting back to Brandon and Harley and whether or not tonight would tell her what she wanted to know.

L
AUREN HAD CALLED
, which was more than Harley had expected her to do. He wouldn’t have given up regardless, but her cooperation made things a little easier. Maybe they could reach an agreement. Maybe he could get her to see reason. Lauren wasn’t the boy’s mother, after all. As much as she’d done for him—and Harley was grateful—she was still only his aunt, and she had her own life to live. She was young, for crying out loud. And attractive.
She needed to get out, meet someone, have children of her own.

And let Brandon go with his father. After ten years, Harley felt it was his turn.

If only he could convince her of that.

“Tank, I’m out of here,” he called from the living room. His friend was in the kitchen getting some juice for Lucy. They’d ordered a pizza and spent the afternoon watching a golf classic on television while reminiscing about the past, but Harley had to get going if he didn’t want to be late for Lauren Worthington.

“Hey, you comin’ back?” Tank asked, poking his head around the corner. “You can stay here, you know. It’s just me and Lucy tonight, and just me most other times. I got an extra room and everything.”

Harley didn’t know exactly what his plans were. He’d checked into the Holiday Inn last night, but he’d brought only a few changes of clothing and had no idea how long he’d end up being in town. It all depended on what happened with Lauren tonight.

“My stuff’s at the hotel. I’ll probably just—”

“Don’t stay at a hotel. Come back here,” Tank interrupted.

Lucy slipped around the corner to smile at him, and Harley smiled back, thinking he’d probably enjoy the company. “All right,” he said. “You got an extra key? I don’t know how late I’ll be.”

“I’ll put one under the mat.”

“Sounds good. Later.”

Harley jogged down the steps and straddled the seat of his bike before realizing he didn’t have his helmet. Lucy had been playing with it earlier. He considered going back to the apartment to see what she’d done with it but decided not to waste the few minutes that would take. He didn’t want to miss Lauren, give her any excuse to deny him the chance to see Brandon. Besides, he’d already rid
den without a helmet once today. Another fifteen minutes wasn’t going to matter.

Not bothering to zip his jacket, he raised the kickstand and cruised out of the lot. He could have gone to the hotel, shaved, cleaned up, changed clothes, but to a certain extent, he refused to meet Lauren’s expectations of a stand-up guy, refused to conform to the clean-cut, preppy type she most likely admired. Which, if he really thought about it, probably had something to do with the reason he’d chosen to drive his motorcycle to Portland. But he didn’t want to think about it, because then he’d have to face the other realities of his past, too.

The restaurant was coming up on his right. Though the lot was nearly filled to capacity, Harley easily spotted Lauren Worthington standing next to a pearl-colored, upper-model Lexus parked close to the entrance. Long dark hair pulled back, she wore a black tank sweater, black pants that narrowed and hit just above the ankle, and black-leather shoes with a slight heel. She looked slender, elegant—and rich.

The gangly young girl who’d worn braces and glasses thick enough to magnify her eyes had certainly grown up. But Harley wasn’t sure he approved. Now Lauren looked like the kind of woman who frequented a tennis club, carried a Louis Vuitton handbag and hurried away from her cappuccino so she wouldn’t miss her manicure appointment. In short, she’d turned into her mother.

She waved to let him know she was there. He snapped on his signal, but before he could drive into the lot, the flashing lights of a police car came up from behind.

Shit, not me
, he thought, and pulled to the side of the road, hoping the cruiser would continue past him.

When it parked behind him, he knew his luck had run out. Damn! Five minutes more and he would’ve been safely ensconced in a booth with Lauren, deciding his son’s future. Instead, she was standing on the curb, watch
ing him get stopped by the police, and it wasn’t hard to make out the look of “just as I’d expect” on her face.

Forget it. It’s just a traffic ticket. Even the great Worthingtons must get a traffic ticket now and then.

A policeman approached wearing the usual khaki-colored uniform and an Officer Denny name tag. He was carrying a gun and pepper spray on his belt, but he had a boyish face that made him look as if he could still be in high school. “Hello, sir,” he said, his expression a study in earnestness. “Are you aware that we have helmet laws in this state?”

In this state?
Evidently Officer Denny had already noted Harley’s California plate, and being an out-of-state resident never helped when dealing with local law enforcement. Harley knew at that moment that he probably wasn’t going to get off with a warning. He just hoped Denny would finish with him before Lauren got it in her head to leave. “Most states have helmet laws now,” he replied.

“Then you know you should be wearing one.”

“I’m aware of that, yes.”

“Do you own a helmet, sir?”

Did it matter? He didn’t have it with him, so what was the point? “Yeah.”

“Where is it now?”

Harley didn’t know exactly where his helmet was. He didn’t care. He just wanted to talk to Lauren. “It’s at my friend’s house.” Shifting, he lowered his voice. “Listen, Officer, I don’t mean to be rude, but could we skip the lecture and cut right to the chase? I realize I’m guilty of a traffic violation. I’ll pay the fine. But I’m in a big hurry. Is there any chance you could just write me up and be on your way?”

“A helmet could save your life,” Denny continued, obviously reluctant to let Harley interrupt him before he’d finished his spiel.

“I know. It’s there to protect me from myself. Isn’t it grand that others care so much about my safety? Too bad their concern is going to cost me a hundred bucks, but those are the breaks. Can I have my ticket now?”

Denny’s brows knitted as though Harley’s briskness had offended him. “Maybe you should just relax and let me see your license and registration,” he said, his voice taking on a sulky tone.

Harley showed him the registration he kept in his saddlebags. Then he fished his license out of his wallet and waited while Denny carried it back to his cruiser.

It’ll all be over in a minute,
he told himself, then waved to Lauren to let her know he was coming. But when Officer Denny returned, he wasn’t writing on any clipboard. He was fingering his holstered gun and wearing a worried expression.

“Looks like I’m going to have to place you under arrest,” he said.

L
AUREN COULDN’T BELIEVE IT.
Harley was being taken away right before her eyes. He hadn’t been in town a day, and he was already in trouble with the police! What had he done? Robbed a liquor store? Run down a pedestrian? Sold drugs to local school kids?

Was that how Audra had gotten started on crack?

The thought that Harley might be responsible for ruining her sister in more ways than one caused the smoldering resentment Lauren felt toward him to deepen. What had she been thinking, setting up a meeting with him in the first place? Her father had always said he was no good—nothing but a two-bit punk—and obviously Harley hadn’t changed. Witnessing his arrest was proof positive.

She watched the officer shepherd Harley toward his car, noted Harley’s angry strides, his jerky movements, the intensity on his face when he spoke, and wished she could hear what was being said. But she didn’t want to get that
close. She’d already learned everything she needed to know, hadn’t she? It was best to keep her distance—a decision she deemed wise when the officer tried to cuff him and Harley suddenly whirled as though he might throw a punch.

“Don’t do it, it’ll only make things worse,” she muttered, clenching one hand around her car keys. Harley couldn’t hear her, of course. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. He wasn’t the type to take advice from her or anyone else.