The light turned on, and Dana stood in the doorway. An early riser, she was already dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. Her short gray-and-blonde-streaked hair was fashionably tousled compared to Bree’s typical working bun or day-off ponytail. Though she’d passed her fiftieth birthday, regular spin classes and good genes kept Dana long and lean. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah. It was so late, I stayed at Matt’s.”
“Good.” Dana walked into the kitchen. She took the bowl from Bree and waved her toward the table. “Sit. I’ll make you breakfast.”
“The pasta is fine.”
“Are you sure? I’m making french toast for Luke.” At Bree’s nod, Dana shrugged. “It should at least be warm.” She put the food in the microwave.
While the appliance hummed, Bree slid into a chair. She propped her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands.
A minute later, Dana set the bowl on the table in front of her. “Eat.” She chuckled. “And I have officially become my Italian grandmother.”
Bree lifted her head. The pasta smelled better warm, and Dana had topped it with fresh Parmesan.
Bree dug in. Footsteps thundered on the steps.
Luke loped through the kitchen. “Morning,” he said without pausing. The back door slammed as he went out to feed the horses.
“I take it he’s still annoyed with me?” Bree asked.
“Yep, but you did the right thing. A weekend camping trip with his friend’s college-age brother as the sole chaperone is a recipe for trouble.”
“I know. What I don’t understand is why I feel guilty.” Would Bree ever feel confident about her parenting skills?
“Why did you say no?”
“Because a twenty-two-year-old who we don’t know is not adequate supervision for a dozen teenage boys. Luke might make good decisions, but his friends might not. And there’s no guarantee even a good kid will make the right choice when faced with enormous peer pressure.”
Dana added, “How many accidents did you respond to in your patrol days involving teenagers and alcohol and/or drugs?”
“Too many.” Bree vividly remembered several. Photographing dead kids was almost as horrible as notifying their parents. “I know I had all the right reasons to tell Luke no. I still feel bad. I want to reward him for working hard and making good choices. Instead, I feel like I’m admitting I don’t trust him.” She held up a hand. “I know. This has nothing to do with trust. It’s about skills and maturity he and his friends don’t have yet, and it’s about the lack of control he’ll have in the situation.”
“He’ll get over it. Your job is to raise him, not be his friend. You’re going to make decisions that he doesn’t like.”
“You’re right.”
Dana grabbed eggs and milk from the fridge. “Are you sure you don’t want french toast?”
“I’m sure.” Bree ate a forkful of pasta.
Still wearing her pajamas, Kayla walked in and slid onto a chair. She wasn’t a morning person.
Bree rose and poured her a glass of orange juice. “How was school yesterday?”
“I made two new friends at lunch.” She smiled and took a sip of juice. She described the event in detail while Dana whipped up french toast. Kayla topped her slices with butter.
Bree looked down, surprised that her bowl was empty. Considering yesterday’s horrific discovery, she was equally surprised that her heart was full. Just a short time with her family brought her unexpected peace, a needed respite from the stress of her job. She used to be a complete loner, but she thought that was because she hadn’t known how nice it was to have people to share her life.
Now she did, and sometimes it still made her uncomfortable, as if she were somehow putting them out by allowing them to reciprocate in the relationship. But she couldn’t imagine living alone again.
Luke came through the back door, which slammed shut behind him.
“How are your classes?” Bree asked.
“I hate pre-cal.” He filled a glass with milk.
Dana slid a loaded plate in front of him. “Does anyone love pre-cal?”
Bree laughed. “I’m sure someone does.”
“That someone wasn’t me.” Dana sat down with her own plate.
“How about the rest of your classes?” Bree asked him.
“Fine.” He shrugged and shoveled food into his mouth without answering. Finally, he pushed his plate forward. “Johnny’s brother, Mateo, is very mature.”