Somebody to Love (15 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

O
NCE
UPON
A
TIME
,
there was a baby shark named Swimmy. He asked his mommy, “Does God still love me, even though I eat the other fishies?” and his mommy said, “Who cares?” and ate him, and Swimmy was delicious.

Okay. So the writing wasn’t going that well. Parker put aside the red notebook, which now contained eleven ridiculous and aborted story attempts, considered tossing it off the dock and sighed. Well, maybe her new series would get the green light. Two days ago, against her better judgment, she’d sent her agent and editor a series proposal. The Ark Angels. How did all those animals get along on Noah’s Ark? Why, it was all thanks to a clever lion cub, a singing fox and a crafty kangaroo.
Glee
meets the Bible meets
Animal Farm.
We thought it was super awesome, Parker!
the HRs chorused. Parker figured it was close enough to the Holy Rollers in its preachy, simpering style, so she had high hopes that the powers-that-be would love it.

But she hadn’t been feeling the mojo. Not that she’d loved the Holy Rollers, but the books had come easily to her.
You’re welcome,
said Spike, who now looked to be a thuggish sixteen.
About time we got some recognition around here.
He tucked a cigarette behind his ear.

“No smoking,” she said. He stubbed the ciggie out against his palm, Lavinia-style, and lifted an eyebrow. Teenagers.

She got up and headed inside. Thing One was still ripping and tearing stuff, apparently having his period. She may as well start dinner.

Once all the crap had been cleared from the kitchen, Parker had scoured it. The linoleum was torn in a few places, but otherwise, the room had a sort of cheap charm. Shabby chic, maybe? There was a kitschy little table, one of those chrome-and-vinyl models from the sixties, white with bits of gold, and a couple of usable chairs. Parker had excavated a strange plastic tomato statue; it wore a top hat, had long eyelashes and sported a cane, which, upon further inspection, turned out to be a smiling green worm. She put it on the table and smiled. Looked kind of cute.

Grayhurst’s kitchen had consisted of granite and marble and steel with rare-wood cabinets and knobs designed just for the house. The knives were German, the china French. The table had been an original Frank Lloyd Wright.

Well. Those days were over. Sparkly vinyl and plastic tomatoes were more her speed now. And the linoleum, while still cracked and yellowing, was clean, at least. Things were moving in the right direction.

The swim had been great, though James had a point. That water was freaking
cold.
But swimming had always made her feel calmer and happier. Nicky, too, she’d noticed. He’d love the water here, her little eel. She’d been on Skype with him earlier during a quick run to the library; they were at a gorgeous lodge in Muir Woods. Nicky had looked bigger to her. Then again, that might be her imagination. They’d only been apart for five days.

Hard to believe. It felt like five months.

The sound of screeching wood came from the opposite side of the house. James, still hard at work. The noise was like a knife in her eye. Maybe the lad was hungry. She’d see if he had any preference for dinner. Seemed like the least she could do.

Going outside, she saw that James was still shirtless.

Oh, that was…that was good. That was
nice
. The guy browned up fast, that was for sure. His hair was wet with sweat, and half of the shingles on the side of the house were gone. His muscles bunched and corded as he worked. Beautiful arms, lean stomach, the muscles over his ribs shifting hypnotically with his movements. A bead of sweat ran down his neck into the little hollow at the base of his throat.

He glanced at her without stopping. Right. She should speak. She swallowed. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he answered.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked. “For taking a swim?”

He did stop then. “No. Just had a crappy day.”

Parker felt a pang of guilt. She didn’t know much about Thing One, granted, and she’d definitely been keeping conversation terribly neutral. But here he was, working like a dog for her. And when she’d gone swimming, he’d been rather adorably anxious.

“Want some dinner?” she asked. “I’m cooking.”

His eyes were very dark. Ethan’s were brown, too, but a lighter color. James, though. James had eyes that were so brown they were almost black. A person could look into those eyes and just about get lost.

“Sure,” he said, then went back to ripping off the shingles.

Crappy day, huh? Well, she’d make him something nice. She’d been to the market this morning—not the tiny one in town, but the bigger one about half an hour away—and had stocked up. In the sunny kitchen, she rinsed some spinach, sliced tomatoes, put the water on to boil the pasta. James came in to shower, and it was hard not to imagine him in there, all soapy and wet. And tanned. And naked. And wet. And naked.

“Down, girl,” she said to herself, causing Beauty to flop to the floor. “I wasn’t talking to you, sweetie,” Parker added. The little dog had been trained by someone, it was clear. She didn’t put a toenail out of line, as if afraid of being beaten, poor sweet thing. “You’re such a good girl,” Parker said, giving her a strip of salami. She was rewarded with a slight swishing of the dog’s tail.

Dinner wouldn’t be too fancy, but it smelled heavenly. She opened a nice bottle of Meursault, stolen from Grayhurst’s wine cellar, then brought everything down to the dock and set it up, picnic-style. She poured a glass of wine for herself and sat down, looking out at the water.

The harbor was smooth now, the smallest ripples lapping gently against the rocky shore, and the sun was beginning its descent, filling the horizon with gold, turning the clouds to cream. A piping plover ran along the shore, stopped to peck at something, then ran some more. Always in such a hurry, those little birds.

The dock shifted, and Parker looked over. James had changed into jeans and a white polo shirt and looked like an ad for Ralph Lauren.

“Didn’t know you could cook,” he said, looking down at the spread.

“Surprise. I like cooking. Have a seat, James.” She patted the blanket, poured some wine and handed him a glass. “Thanks for all your hard work today.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for dinner.”

“You hungry?”

“Starving.”

They ate, plates in their laps, looking over the water, not talking. The tide was going out, exposing a few rocks, and a line of cormorants swam over and clambered up, spreading their wings to dry. A few lobster boats motored in. There was Billy Bottoms, the white-haired man who looked as if he belonged on a postcard; Parker had met him at the diner a couple days ago when she was picking up lunch. Then came the
Twin Menace,
which belonged to Maggie’s brother, she’d learned. The
Ugly Anne
came in last, and Malone lifted a hand in greeting. She waved back.

“So why the bad mood today?” Parker asked.

“Family stuff.” James set his empty plate next to him.

“Do you have a lot of family around here?”

“I have three brothers and a sister, all in Maine. My parents still live in the same house where I grew up.”

“Here in Gideon’s Cove?”

“No. About an hour and twenty minutes west of here.”

“Are you guys close?”

He paused. “Some of us are.”

“And Dewey, who owns the bar, he’s your uncle, right?” she asked.

“Yep. My mother’s brother. She’s one of seven. My dad has three sisters.”

She didn’t mean to interrogate him, but big families fascinated her. She’d only had her parents and the Coven, after all. “You must have a lot of cousins, then.”

“Nineteen.”

Parker smiled. “Sounds fun.”

“It was,” James said.

Was. Not
is.
He didn’t explain, though. “I always wished I had more cousins,” she said. “Four girls about the same age. It wasn’t pretty.”

“I remember,” he said.

Ah. Right. At Esme’s wedding, when they’d done a lot more than talk. Parker felt her ears heat up. Could be the wine.

It was getting dark; clouds had gathered off Douglas Point, and the wind kicked up a little, lifting her hair. A rumble of thunder rolled in the distance.

Parker’s phone cheeped. She looked. Oh, goody! A message from Ellen! Maybe her agent already had some interest in the Ark Angels.

Hey, Parker, sorry to say, they took a pass on the Ark Angels. It didn’t seem to have the same sincerity as the Holy Rollers. Back to the drawing board! Don’t worry. We’re all confident that you’re almost there! Just go with the flow, and something will hit you. Sooner is better, okay? Hope you’re having fun in Maine! Talk soon.

Well, bugger. Bugger and damn.

“Go with the flow”? She’d been waiting for the flow for some time. There was no flow. And “the same sincerity”? The Holy Rollers had
no
sincerity!
Mickey the Fire Engine,
which had been rejected by both her agent and publisher all those years ago…
Mickey
had sincerity. He was an extraordinarily sincere fire engine.

“Everything okay?” James asked.

“Sure. Yes.” She looked out at the water. “Actually, no. My publisher didn’t like my new series idea. So that’s not good.”

“But you’re a big hit, aren’t you?”

“I was.”

The phone cheeped again. Aw. Ethan had sent a picture of Nicky, standing in front of a giant redwood tree. Parker’s throat tightened at the sight of her son. There was another attachment, this one a drawing of two humans with giant heads and skinny legs. One had long hair, and one had spiky hair. They were holding the hand of a smaller giant-head person. Nicky had labeled them Daddy, Lucy, Me and written, “We Love You, Mommy.”

Crap. Her eyes were wet.

“You okay, Parker?” James asked.

“I miss my son,” Parker said, swallowing. The words didn’t do him justice. It felt as if a part of
her
was missing, that’s what it felt like, as if she was killing time until her real life started when he came back, and crikey, time had slowed to an absolute crawl.

“He’ll be here soon, right?”

“Eighteen days.”

“Eighteen days,” James repeated, looking at her.

“I’ve never gone more than two without seeing him,” she admitted.

“Must be tough.”

“Yeah. For me, anyway. Nicky’s having the time of his life. Swimming in the Pacific, seeing Muir Woods, horseback riding.” She shook her head. “Then he gets to come here, to this…shack.”

“It’s shaping up, Parker. It’ll be fine by the time he gets here.”

She set her plate down, glanced at James and his kind, dark eyes. For a second, she almost admitted what was on her mind, and a fear that had cropped up more and more in the past six months: that Nicky would ask to live with Lucy and Ethan full-time, and if he said that, it would kill her.

“What if I can’t sell this place?” she asked. “I mean, even if I can, there won’t be too much left over, and I don’t have that many marketable skills, Thing One. I was a double major in English and Ethics. Should’ve listened to my father and gone into finance.”

“Look where that got him,” James said.

Parker picked a splinter from the dock. “You know what the kicker is? Those miserable little Holy Rollers would’ve made me a ton. The movie comes out this summer—
The Holy Rollers in 3-D!
and they put that exclamation point there as part of the title, as if it wasn’t already dumb enough. And now, I can’t write anything, I can’t come up with anything decent, I’m completely and utterly stuck.”

Crap. Why was Thing One always around during her weaker moments? Swallowing, she pressed her lips together and looked away. The sky had clouded over, and it was darker in the west. Another growl of thunder came from the far distance.

A second later, she felt his hand on hers. Warm and calloused and…comforting.

“Everything will turn out fine, Parker,” he said. “This summer’s just a bump in the road.”

Please, God, that was true. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“You’re a Harvard grad, as you like to remind me. You’ll find a job. And your son loves you. That won’t change.”

She glanced at him—he was looking at her steadily, and those deep, dark eyes were kind. She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Thanks.”

He didn’t look away.

No one looked at a person that way anymore. They checked their phones, or scanned the horizon, or glanced around. But Thing One kept looking at her. Kept holding her hand, too.

“I’m glad you’re here, James,” she admitted, and her voice was a little husky.

“Me, too.” His thumb moved over the back of her hand, and suddenly, Lady Land perked up. Those eyes…that whole face, in fact…that warm hand…

He leaned a little closer, and her heart rate tripled. She remembered what it had been like to kiss James Cahill, and her legs tingled. Remembered his hands on her, against her skin, his mouth on her neck, on her—