“Four. And he was murdered.”
“Maybe you should think about your mother instead of yourself. Your hating her husband can't be easy on her.”
Luke stared at the table.
“Maybe you ought to talk to her. Obviously she doesn't blame this guy, or she wouldn't have married him.”
Luke didn't have to talk to his mother. He knew how she felt and that his resentment hurt her. He remembered the relief he'd seen in her eyes when he'd shown up at their wedding…and the disappointment later when he'd made it clear nothing had really changed. But even the thought of forgiving Ray Townsend made him angry. The man didn't deserve it. He was taking advantage of his mother's tolerant, forgiving nature. Luke looked at Barry. “You don't know this guy. He's sleazy, and he's a murderer. How can I just let loose of the fact that he killed my father? If not for Ray Townsend, my father would be alive right now. My dad would be taking my little brother fishing and hunting, not that phony.”
Barry leaned back in his seat and folded his arms over his chest. “From what you told me, your father's the one who decided to stand up to that bear. Ray didn't make him do it.”
“Yeah, but it was Ray's fault that my father was in that position to begin with. I can't forgive him.” He pushed away from the table, picked up his tray, and plodded toward the kitchen where he unceremoniously dumped his utensils and tray. Without looking at Barry, he left the crowded mess hall and headed for his berthing compartment.
Grabbing his mother's letter out of his pocket, he plopped down on his bunk to reread it. He could see the farm with the forests and mountains bordering it; he could smell the pungent fragrance of rich loam; he could feel the fight of a fish at the end of his line. A longing for home settled over him.
Shortly after his mother's wedding, he'd decided to leave and never return, but he had moments when he craved the northern wilderness despite its brutality, even though it was a place that stole lives. He'd lost his brother, his father, and his closest friend. He could still see his brother Justin weak and dying, his father's closed casket, and hear Alex's calls for help as he was carried away amid ice and frigid water. Luke squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the images.
When he opened them, his gaze settled on Mattie's face. Her brown eyes drew him in. She was living in Anchorage, but that wasn't far from Palmer. He needed to see her. He had to tell her how he felt. Ray Townsend could be ignored.
He rolled out of his bunk. He'd put in for leave.
Chapter 2
LUKE CARRIED A CHAIR FROM THE FRONT ROOM INTO THE KITCHEN AND SET it at the table. “Sure smells good in here. You're sure there's enough? I'm plenty hungry.” He grinned.
“I've made enough, even for you,” Jean said, closing the oven door. Her face flushed from heat, she straightened and looked at her son. “It's so good to have you home. I've really missed you.”
“I've missed you too,” Luke said, inhaling the aroma of roasting turkey. “And I've missed your cooking.”
Jean gave him a once-over. “You could use some fattening up.”
“I'll do my best. An early Thanksgiving should help.”
Jean stirred the gravy. “I wish you could be here for Christmas.”
“Yeah, me too. But the navy's not letting loose of many guys, not even for the holidays.”
Brian ambled into the kitchen. “I wish you could stay for the real Thanksgiving. Celeste and Robert will be here then.”
“I'm sorry I missed them,” Luke said. “Why did they decide to take a trip now?”
“You know how hard farmers work all through the summer. Robert figured this would be a good time—before the weather turns real cold.”
Luke headed for the front room to get another chair. “Robert's been a good friend.” He stopped at the doorway. “I wonder what would've happened if he and Laurel had gotten married.”
“Oh, they'd have been happy enough, but not really content, not in love,” Jean said. “It wasn't meant to be.” Her eyes twinkled. “I remember Laurel telling me how Celeste had a thing for that young man right off the bat. Those two are a good pair.”
“Too bad they're out of town. Make sure to tell them hello for me,” Luke said, disappearing into the living room and reappearing a moment later with another chair.
“I'll tell them.”
Brian walked to the stove. “Hey, Mom, we get to have two Thanksgivings, right?”
“Maybe. We'll have to see how Ray feels about it.”
Ray's the one with the final word now, Luke thought, hating the idea. He set the chair down.
“We could invite Jessie, plus Robert and Celeste will be back,” Brian said.
“We'll see.” Jean glanced at Luke.
Luke crossed to the stove and dipped his index finger into a corn casserole sitting on the warming shelf, then stuck the finger in his mouth. “How's Jessie these days? Are she and Laurel still working on that book?” He reached for another taste of casserole.
“Keep your fingers out.” Jean shooed him away from the stove. “Yes, they're still working on it. But Jessie's getting on in years, and it's hard for her to work the long hours. Plus, your sister's busy being a wife and mother. So the book's taking a lot longer to finish than they figured.”
Luke sneaked another taste of casserole and smacked his lips. “Good stuff. Barry would love this.”
“Now, get out of that.” Jean frowned at Luke. “You've mentioned Barry before. He a friend?”
“Yeah—a buddy on the ship. He's from Salem, Oregon. He sleeps on the bunk above mine, and we work together. He's a good guy.”
Jean opened the oven door and poked the turkey with a silver tine. “Looks done. Could you lift it out for me?” She glanced at the window. “I wonder where Laurel and Adam are? They ought to be here.”
“You know Adam. He's probably lost in his latest story,” Brian said, leaning his elbow on the table and cradling his cheek in his hand. “So, Luke, what do you do on the ship?”
“I'm damage control.”
“What's that?”
