Free Ex’s and Oh’s by Sandra Steffen Page B

son.”
    His mention of pot startled Shane. And Andy was really hung up on this freak thing. “That’s not true and you know it,” Shane said. “She wants you to be happy again, the way you were before.” It was the closest they came to mentioning Brian’s accident. “It’s what I want, too.”
    Andy took a moment to regain his composure. “You’ll talk to her?”
    Shane could practically feel that little bird’s heart beating against his hand. “We both love you. You know that, don’t you?”
    “Then call her off.”
    Shane hated this. This uncertainty. This being put in the middle, between Andy and his mother.
    “Please, Dad?”
    “I’ll talk to her.”
    Andy didn’t gloat. Shane doubted it was in him anymore.
    “It doesn’t mean we won’t address this again in the future.”
    The boy looked relieved as he said, “I’ve gotta get back to work.” Without a sound, he went up on deck.
    Shane didn’t know if he was doing the right thing. He never knew anymore. He wanted to believe that at least some of Andy’s behavior was normal. The kid was fifteen! Shane remembered what that had been like. Sometimes it had felt like being in a dark tunnel. The carefree days of childhood were far behind, and the promise of freedom, of adulthood was far ahead.
    Time healed. How many times had they all heard that? Was Vickie right? Could a psychiatrist help Andy more than time could? God. Vickie. She’d have Shane’s balls on a platter for this one. It was getting harder and harder to care.
    His stomach rumbled, deep and empty. He eyed the slices of bread he’d gotten out before he and Andy had started talking. He’d planned to make a peanut butter sandwich and get back to work.
    He had to get out of there, go somewhere, be somewhere, anywhere but here. Sweeping the bread off the galley counter and into the trash, he hurried to the upper deck for some fresh air.
    Shane took his foot from the accelerator, coasting. Caroline Moore was walking up ahead. He’d known it was her from a block away. She was a class act from the tip of her auburn head to the heels of whatever expensive shoes she was wearing today. She was heading south, toward the Oval Lake Bridge. Lunch was north.
    He’d planned to go straight to Clara’s Diner, where he would polish off a plate of pan-fried whitefish and warm peach cobbler. He would sit alone. He would eat alone. He wouldn’t talk. And he wouldn’t think.
    He stopped at the curb. “Need a ride?”
    The wind blew a section of her hair across her cheek. Even from this distance, he could see the indecision in her eyes.
    “You can bring your mace.”
    She lost the battle of personal restraint, and smiled. “In that case, how could I refuse?”
    Once she was settled in her seat, he checked his mirrors and pulled into traffic. “Where to?”
    “I’m renting a summerhouse on the channel.”
    He could feel her looking at him as he eased into the center lane. She probably sensed his agitation. Instead of commenting, she looked out the window.
    They rode in silence until Shane spied the flashinglights up ahead. “They’re raising the bridge. I hope you’re not in a hurry to get there.”
    “I’m not in a hurry.” Her sigh filled the car.
    Sweat trickled down the side of his face. Old Shelby Mustangs didn’t come equipped with air-conditioning. The radio didn’t work, either. Normally, it suited Shane just fine. For some reason, he felt the need to fill the silence today.
    “Andy and I just had a talk. His mother wants him to start seeing a psychiatrist. I’m supposed to make him go.”
    “And you don’t want him to go?”
    “I don’t know what’s best. He doesn’t want to go.” Shane found himself telling her about Brian. “Knobby knees and freckles, Brian had a cowlick right here.” He pointed to a spot on his own forehead. “He was always skinning his elbows or his shins. Laugh. You should have heard those two boys laugh. Andy doesn’t laugh anymore.”
    “What