Page 2 of Between the Lines

Irritated, he climbed back behind the wheel of his van and turned the key, the run-in not helping his mood as he headed up to the Majestic.

It wasn’t far and all too soon he glimpsed her through the trees surrounding the hotel gardens, their branches swaying in a gentle onshore breeze. Through the van’s open window drifted the green scent of summer leaves mixed with the ocean’s sharp tang—an aroma so redolent of home it hurt. Luca’s stomach tensed, fingers clammy on the steering wheel. He hated this. Coming home sucked every damn time, but this time was the worst. Because this time was the last.

Even now, he still wondered whether he was making a mistake. Maybe he should let his mom and Don do whatever the hell they wanted with the Majestic, spend the summer elsewhere and forget all about the hotel. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t forget the Majestic and he couldn’t let them destroy it.

Pulling up on the large gravel driveway, Luca killed the engine and took a moment to gaze up at the old place. A little shabbier than last year, the paint on the wraparound porch looked more faded and her multiple gabled roofs sagged a little more deeply. But, to his eyes, she was still lovely. A couple of visitors’ cars were parked out front, but not many. Not enough for a weekend in mid-July. Not that he cared...

For a wild moment he considered kicking the van into reverse and leaving, heading south for the summer. Or all the way over to California. Why not? He was a free agent, he could go where he wanted. One hand drifted to the stick shift, the other reaching for the ignition, just as the Majestic’s door swung open and a spare familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

“Luca? Is that you, honey?”

He closed his eyes. Too late. Heavy limbed, he yanked open the door and climbed out of the van. “Hey, Mom,” he called, lifting a hand to wave.

“Luca!” Jude Brennan trotted down the stairs and across the gravel, long hair fluttering in the sea breeze. “You’re here!” And then she was in his arms, holding him tight. “It’s so good to see you, honey. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Luca buried his face in the familiar scent of her hair, feeling a wave of relief at coming home, and a low lurch of grief. “Of course I came,” he said, choking down his feelings. “I said I would.”

Pulling back, she took his face in her hands. “My handsome boy.” She smiled despite the wet gleam in her eyes. “Young man, I should say.”

He’d been a young man for quite a while, but they only saw each other once a year these days—every summer, at the Majestic—and Jude always picked up the changes in him. And he in her. Strands of white wove through her gray hair this year, her face thinner than he remembered, and tension pinched her mouth and eyes. She looked worn down. Perhaps because she was on the point of throwing everything away for a condo in fucking Miami, just because her asshole husband didn’t give a shit about the Majestic. But Luca couldn’t think about that, not with her right there. He was afraid of saying something he couldn’t take back. God knows, they’d both said enough already.

“Come on in,” Jude said. “I’ve made your favorite.” She always made his favorite, as if home-cooked lasagna could compensate for driving him out of his childhood home. “We’re not full at the moment,” she said, looping her arm through his as they walked across the drive. “If you want to, we have plenty of open rooms—”

“I’ll sleep in the van, thanks.” He’d vowed never to spend a single night under the same roof as Don Brennan, and had no intention of changing his mind.

She sighed. “Luca... Still?”

“Don still have a problem with my ‘lifestyle’?”

She didn’t answer as they climbed up to the porch, so Luca took her silence as a “yes.” At the top of the steps, Jude paused to catch her breath. Nervous, perhaps? She wasn’t alone. He had to take a deep breath himself, bracing for the barrage of emotions awaiting him.

Stepping inside, the foyer opened up around him, filled with sunlight, its gleaming marble floor leading to the grand staircase down which Luca had hurtled as a boy. The carpet was threadbare now, worn away on the edges of the steps, but so what if the carpets were threadbare, the chandeliers tarnished, and the wallpaper faded? What did any of it matter in a place like the Majestic, with a lifetime of golden summers baked into her old bones? She may lack the mod cons, but to Luca’s eyes her old-time elegance only added to her beauty.

Unfortunately, Don Brennan waited in the foyer, too, fiddling with a vase of flowers on the reception desk like the prissy asshole he was, tainting Luca’s homecoming. Don turned with a fake smile and said, “Luca, good to see you.” He didn’t hold out a hand to shake, or try for a hug—he knew better by now—which suited Luca just fine.

“Don,” he said.

“Good drive? I hope you didn’t run into too much traffic.”

“No, it was fine. I left early.”

Don nodded. “You take the tunnel? There’s construction on 36th Street.”

“Nah, the bridge to avoid the tolls.”

And so it went on, the traditional male discussion of route planning in order to avoid discussing anything more important—like why gay guys made you nervous, or how you’d persuaded your wife to abandon the hotel her family had owned for three generations. That kind of shit.

Smiling tightly, Jude tugged her hair into a ponytail with twitchy fingers. “Well, let’s eat,” she said, slipping her arm around Luca’s waist and ushering him into the kitchen. The big table sat under the window where it had always been, three places at the far end set for a cozy family meal.

“Beer?” Don held out a bottle of Luca’s favorite Italian lager.

He was always such a suck-up, but Luca wasn’t in a position to refuse; he really needed a fucking drink. “Thanks.” He killed the neck in one long gulp and set the bottle down, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand just to irritate the fastidious bastard. But Don didn’t rise to the bait, taking a seat opposite him and shaking out a napkin to lay across his lap.

They ate in silence at first, Jude casting Luca quick sidelong looks while she picked at her food and he shoveled forkfuls of lasagna into his mouth. It was excellent, as always, but only served to remind him of everything he’d lost.

Eventually, Jude set down her fork. “I suppose we should address the elephant in the room.”

Shit, no.“We really don’t need to, Mom.”

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