Somebody to Love (35 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

T
WENTY
-
TWO
.

Maybe that wasn’t what should’ve stuck with Parker, but hell. Twenty-two. Thing One’s girlfriend was
thirteen
years younger than she was. Thirteen years! No stretch marks there. No droopage. No crow’s feet when you’re twenty-two.

“Here you go, Parker,” Maggie said, setting down a plate of French toast and bacon. “Mind if I join you?”

“No, not at all.” Her son was washing the floor with Georgie, apparently the greatest activity on God’s green earth.

“So how are you today?” Maggie asked gently.

“Well, I’m pretty embarrassed. I don’t usually go to bars and screech at people.”

“No? A pity.” Maggie smiled. “Once, I got drunk at a church supper and told our priest I was in love with him.”

“I feel better,” Parker said. She squeezed Maggie’s hand. “Everyone has been so nice to me in this town.”

“We like you,” Maggie said simply. “So tell me about home.”

Parker did, describing Mackerly and its many charms, the Mirabellis, Lucy’s little café, the beautiful library where she and Nicky had spent so many hours, the bridge over the tidal river.

It would be so good to get back. Back and safe from the vagaries of love and lust and whatever else was mucking up her life.

“Maybe we’ll come visit sometime,” Maggie said. “I haven’t been to Rhode Island in ages.”

“I would love that! Malone was the first person I met here. I’m very…fond of him. Is that okay to say?”

“He’s hot, what can I tell you? Women love him. And he has no idea, which only makes him hotter. Oh, hey, speak of the devil. Matthew Malone, come sit with your bride. Our friend’s leaving tomorrow.”

Malone sat next to Maggie, who immediately popped up. “Oops. Tavy’s giving me the evil eye. Better get back to the kitchen. You two talk. If I don’t see you before you go…well, I have your email.” She reached down and hugged Parker, and Parker hugged her back.

“You married well,” she said to Malone as Maggie went back into the kitchen.

“Ayuh.” Malone watched his wife, a smile playing around his eyes, then looked at Parker. “You okay?”

“Ayuh.” She grinned. “I’ve been wanting to say that for two months now.”

He smiled in full. Damn. The guy was hot, all right. Good for Maggie.

From the corner, Nicky laughed at the wonder of the mop bucket. “Mommy! I want to be a bubble boy when I grow up! Like Georgie!”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said, smiling over her shoulder. “Thanks for watching him, Georgie.”

“You bet, Parker.”

“He’s not watching me, Mom! I’m his helper.”

Parker winked at Georgie, who was clearly enjoying having a protégé. “My bad.” She turned back to her breakfast companion, who seemed utterly content never to say another word. Made him seem wise. “So. Fun doings last night, huh?”

He gave a half nod. “I’ve seen worse.”

Twenty-two.

She believed James. Well, she believed that he
thought,
kindasorta, that he’d broken up with the Playboy bunny in his bed. But men were often vague, weren’t they? They might not be real clear, in case things with someone else didn’t work out. They might make promises they didn’t really mean—
I’ll call you when I get back from Maine,
he might’ve said to the bunny. Or,
I’m in
when asked if he might want to settle down and be part of a family.

Yes, men had their little escape hatches. If life got boring, they could always screw the babysitter, for example. Weren’t entire chapters of
The World According to Garp
devoted to screwing babysitters? Men always had ways of keeping their distance. Jobs, another example. They had to work hard in big cities and spend their free time with twenty-two-year-olds while their wives raised their kids and hoped they’d come home.

You never knew.

Malone was looking at her. She took a sip of coffee. After last night, she felt she’d spilled more than enough.

“Hey, good morning. How are you? I was really concerned.” Malone sighed as Collier Rhodes sat next to her in the booth.

“Hey, Collier. Thanks again for the ride,” she said.

“Oh, my pleasure, of course. Damsel in distress, right? I’m so sorry that you were victimized.”

Parker suppressed her own sigh. Her own fault for stomping into Dewey’s and making a scene—though it had been somewhat satisfying. “I wouldn’t call it victimized, but I appreciated the ride.”

“Of course. Hey, Judy,” he said, calling to the heavyset waitress, who appeared engrossed in a crossword puzzle. “I’d love the house special today! Except, maybe instead of eggs, it could be egg whites? With a little fresh cilantro, if you have it? And no bacon…maybe some turkey bacon if you have that. Some OJ, no pulp, and a flaxseed muffin, if Maggie made any of those?”

“I don’t even know what flaxseed is,” Judy said, not looking up from her paper. “Why don’t you ask Maggie yourself?”

“Okay! Will do, Judy! Gosh, this is the best place, isn’t it? I love it here. I come in every day.”

Malone raised an eyebrow at Parker, and she stifled a smile.

“Say, Parker, I saw the for-sale sign in front of your house,” Collier said, turning to look at her. “Why is that?”

She glanced at Malone, who rolled his eyes. “Because it’s for sale?” she suggested.

“Excellent! I was thinking it’d be a great house for a caretaker. Because, like, my travel schedule is a little crazy. Did I tell you I’m booked on a speaking tour? It’s called ‘Living the Life Fantastic.’ Now, I didn’t pick the name, trust me, my agent did, but I thought, yeah, I need a caretaker. Back before I retired, I’d close up the house for the winter, but since I plan to pop back and forth between gigs, I’d like to have someone keeping an eye on it, turn on the heat, stock the fridge. Is your place winterized?”

“Uh, it needs a little work.”
A furnace, for example. A cellar.

“It’s a jewel,” Malone said gruffly.

Parker blinked.

“Malone, my man, you’re so right!” Collier exclaimed. Parker suspected he had a man-crush. “It really is a jewel.”

“Historic, too,” Malone said, taking a sip of coffee. “Built as a companion house to your own.”

Historic companion house, her ass. It was a fortified shed. She felt the wriggle of laughter trying to force its way up her throat. The creases around Malone’s eyes deepened.

“It’s really not winterized, Collier,” she said, unable to lie.

“That’s okay! Have you had any offers?”

“Actually, I’m, uh, considering a couple right now.”

“Shoot,” Collier said. “Well, what would I have to offer to beat it?”

Parker paused. “Well, Chantal is handling—”

“Double it,” Malone suggested. “You want the house, go for it.”

Holy halos. Malone was pimping her house. Even so, doubling it was crazy, and Collier had been nothing but nice, if somewhat vacuous. “Well, Collier, doubling it would be a bit—”

“You know what?” he interrupted. “Malone’s right. I want the house. I’ll double the higher bid. I’m sure I can swing it.”

“I’m sure you can, too,” Malone said. “A man of action.” He toasted Collier with his mug and smiled at Parker.

“Fantastic! This is so great! Thank you, Parker! I’ll call Chantal and get you a cashier’s check right away.” Collier beamed, then got up to harass Maggie about his omelet.

Parker sat there for a minute. “Malone,” she said, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I love you.”

He winked. “Take care, Parker.”

“You, too, hottie.” Then she got up, tousled his hair and fetched her son from the wonders of the storage room.

* * *

S
HE
PACKED
UP
N
ICKY
and left at dawn the next day, not wanting to see anyone on the way out. It was hard enough. Beauty was curled up next to Nicky’s booster seat, and her son was chattering away.

She’d deposited half of Collier’s check into her bank account yesterday afternoon. It would be a pretty good nest egg, enough to carry her and Nicky until she settled into a job, enough to put a little into savings. She planned to make a donation to the lobstermen’s society in honor of Malone, and another one to the Gideon’s Cove Animal Shelter.

The other half would go to James. Parker had given Chantal instructions to give him a cashier’s check. He’d certainly earned it. And aside from that, she wasn’t going to think about James Francis Xavier Cahill.

There was a lump in her throat as she turned past Joe’s. You’re Leaving Gideon’s Cove, a sign announced. We Hope You’ll Come Again!

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“I
T
’
S
THOSE
IDIOT
parents of hers,” Lavinia said at Dewey’s on Sunday night. “They screwed her up and good. And the father of her kid, he’s no help. Mr. Perfect.”

“Thank you,” James muttered.

“So what are you gonna do, sweetheart? I got the impression she was pretty fond of you.”

He sighed. “Not so much anymore.”

“Love sucks.”

“I’d have to agree.” He looked at Lavinia’s face. “I thought you were pretty happy, though. You and the judge?”

“Ah, that ran its course. Just physical. We broke up last night. Think he coulda told me before we played two rounds of ‘Spank Me, Nanny,’ but no.”

James choked. “Men,” he managed.

“Exactly.” She gave him a long look. “So what are you gonna do, hon?”

“I’m gonna go home, get a job, keep on keeping on.”

“Well, Jamie Cahill, you come visit me when you’re in town. You’re a good egg.”

James smiled. “Thanks, Vin.”

He said the rest of his goodbyes the next morning; his uncle hugged him and messed up his hair, Maggie and Christy and Chantal all kissed him and fussed over him, so it was apparent that no one really held the Leah issue against him.

No one but Parker, of course.

The cashier’s check for his half had been like a kick in the groin. And while he could’ve used it for Mary Elizabeth’s fees, he didn’t want to. “Tell you what,” he’d said to Chantal. “Make it out to Save the Children.”

He had almost nothing to pack—just a duffel bag with his clothes and his tools.

First stop, Mary Elizabeth’s.

As always, seeing his sister lifted his spirits. They took a walk. She didn’t ask about Parker, but he saw that her room was filled with Holy Rollers crapola—a big poster from the movie, Manga versions of the book and several stuffed animals, including a kitten that could flatten out as if roadkill, then pop open again, with wings coming out of a zippered compartment in its back. Sick, really. Carol at the front desk told him it had come from New York the week before.

“I’m drawing a horse,” Mary Elizabeth announced now, reaching for the crayon box.

“I’m drawing a cow,” he said.

“Don’t draw a cow, James,” she chided. “You can’t ride a cow.”

“This is a riding cow,” he said. “You’ll see. It could beat your horse in a race any day.”

His sister looked up at him, her eyes so blue, and laughed her squeaky laugh, then went back to her artwork.

What would life be like if she’d listened to him that day? If he’d been a better brother, a better babysitter, paid more attention? Would he have left Dresner, or stayed and become a carpenter? He’d probably be married by now. Maybe a couple of kids, even.

He remembered Nicky’s warm, sweet weight as he’d lifted the boy from the car. The joy on his face when James had let him use the nail gun.

“You think I’d be a good father?” he asked his sister.

“Aren’t you a little young for that?” she asked, sounding for the life of him like a normally functioning adult.

“I’m thirty, Mare.”

She looked up from her drawing. “You are?” He nodded. “Is that old enough to be a father?”

“Yep.”

“You give good presents. That’s important. Presents are important.” She bent back over her drawing.

He smiled.

“You always take good care of me,” she added, and her words clamped like a vise around his heart.

“You take good care of me, too,” he said unevenly, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

She glanced at his picture. “That’s the worst cow I ever saw.”

* * *

T
HE
LAST
TIME
HE
’
D
BEEN
in Dresner had been two Christmases ago, at his brother Peter’s house. He’d stayed out of the way, gave all the kids the latest model of iPod and counted the minutes till he could leave. Only Mary Elizabeth, who left Beckham Institute for holidays and one weekend a month, had been really happy to see him.

He hadn’t been to his parents’ house in, oh, maybe seven, eight years.

The place looked the same. His father’s pickup was in the driveway, along with Mom’s old Buick. Not that she drove much anymore.

He knocked on the door, heart pumping in slow, heavy beats. His mother answered. “Yes?” she said.

“Hi, Mom,” he said.

“Oh,
James!
Hello! Come in, honey! What a nice surprise.” She was slurring, and her hair was matted on one side, as if she’d just woken up.

He kissed her cheek dutifully. Yep. Thems were Jack Daniel’s fumes.

“Frank, look who’s here! It’s James!” Mom weaved into the kitchen and sat down. “You want some coffee, honey?”

“No, I’m good,” James said. “Hey, Dad.” He extended his hand; his father shook it, not looking him directly in the eye.

“So what brings you here?” Mom asked, taking a sip of her own doctored beverage from a mug.

“I’m on my way home,” James said, sitting down.

“You still working for that Ponzi-scheme guy?” his father asked.

“Actually, I’m unemployed at the moment.”

“So your brother tells us.” Frank Cahill looked both pissed off and pleased.

“It’s good to see you, honey,” his mother said, smiling. She’d always been the kind of drunk who thought she covered well.

“You, too, Mom.” He shifted in his chair, the same worn vinyl chairs they’d had since he was a kid. “I just saw Mary Elizabeth.”

“My angel,” Mom murmured, her mouth wobbling. His father rose to leave.

“Dad, wait. Please. I need to ask you guys something.”

“Frank, sit down!” Mom said. “James is hardly ever here.”

His father sat back down. “What?” he growled.

James took a deep breath and looked at his parents, his bleary- and blue-eyed mother, his angry, bitter father. “I want you to forgive me,” he said.

“Ah, Jesus,” his father said.

“Dad, Mom, I wish—”

“You wish! Who cares what you wish? You were supposed to take care of your little sister!” his father barked, slamming his hand down on the table. “You said you’d stay home and watch her, and instead I come home to find her half-dead! All because you wanted to watch the fucking television!”

“I know.”

“And look at her now!”

“I know.”

“So how dare you ask us to forgive you? Your mother’s never gotten over it. Neither have I. And Mary Elizabeth…” His voice choked off. “She has to be cared for the rest of her life.”

“I know,” James said. “And I’ll always take care of her. I’d have her live with me, if you’d let me. I’ve asked you that before.”

“Right. So you can ignore her again? She’s got the mind of a seven-year-old, James! You can’t take care of her!”

“Yes, I can. And I would. I’d—”

“No. You can’t.”

James looked down at the table. “Okay. She’s your daughter.”

“Damn straight.” Frank sat back in his seat and folded his arms.

James sighed. “I’d still like you to forgive me.”

“Let’s not talk about this,” his mother said, pulling a tissue from her pocket and wiping her eyes. “This is not pleasant.”

“Look,” James said, looking at the scarred tabletop. “I screwed up. But I was twelve years old, and you know how she was. She did what she wanted, and we all let her get away with it. I told her not to go swimming, and she didn’t listen, and yeah, I should’ve watched her better. But, Dad…kids screw up. I tried to save her. I did my best. I did everything I could, and I’ll always be sorry it wasn’t enough. I would’ve given my life for her. But I can’t keep living under what happened when I was twelve. It’s killing me, Dad.”

“You don’t look dead to me,” his father said coldly. “You destroyed this family.”

James nodded wearily. “But I love my sister.”

Frank gave a disgusted snort. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

How easy, James thought, staring at his father’s face, to pin all the blame on someone else. His father had spoiled Mary Elizabeth most of all, had made excuses for her not listening, had let the rules change according to what Mare wanted. His father had been the decision maker in the family, the one who deemed James old enough to watch his sister for the day.

Maybe Frank blamed him because to acknowledge that he’d failed Mary Elizabeth, too…maybe that was more than his father could bear.

It had been worth a shot. James paused, then stood up. “Take care, Mom,” he said, kissing his mother’s head. She sniffled in response. He dropped a hand on his father’s shoulder. “See you, Dad.” He removed his hand before Frank could shrug it off and walked through the house.

There was the funky little closet where Mary Elizabeth always hid during hide-and-seek; James and his brothers would have to pretend to be stumped, wandering around the house, saying, “Where could she be? I can’t find her anywhere,” as she giggled wildly inside. There was the railing Pete had encouraged him to slide down, neglecting to warn against the ball-busting newel post at the bottom. The dining room, which had always looked so magical at Christmas, filled with Grandma’s cut-glass bowls, the candles and the good china, which only came out on holidays.

Once upon a time, this house had been a happy place.

It’d be good to be back in Rhode Island, where nothing had ever been too complicated. Saturday-morning basketball games, the occasional bike ride, beers with the guys, flirting with some girls.

Maybe he’d call Harry’s friend from Goldman. It might not be too late.

He opened the door and went out, closing it quietly behind him. Crossed the tired yard.

“Jamie. Wait.”

It was his mother, shielding her eyes from the sun. “What is it, Mom?”

She came up to him. “Your father’s sorry. It’s hard for him.”

“I know.”

“You know how he is. He’s strung so tight, and your brothers, well, they’re not much better. Tom’s exactly like him—they’re peas in a pod. Petey’s not bad. You should call him more.”

“Sure, Mom.”

“Good!” His mother beamed.

“I should go. It’s a long drive.” He opened the truck door.

“You’ll be her guardian, you know. Once your father and I die.”

James froze.

“We signed the papers when you graduated from law school. You’ve always been a good brother.”

“Mom—”

She waved her hand. “And this problem of mine, the drinking… That started before. Long time ago.” She gave a shaky smile, then ran a hand through her hair, making it wilder than ever. Then her eyes filled with tears. “Honey, that day…as horrible as it was, my God, and it was…I thought I’d lost you both. We’d just pulled into the driveway, and I happened to look over at the lake, and there you were, trying to save her, screaming her name. When you went under, I thought you were both dead.” His mother wiped her eyes, then smiled apologetically. “Sometimes, afterward, I’d wake up at night and think you really did drown, and I’d sit by your bed at night and pet your hair and just look at you. My baby boy.”

“Mom…” His voice broke.

“I know you tried, honey. I watched you try. Without you, she’d be dead. Don’t you forget that.”

James rubbed his forehead, looking at the ground. “Mom, if you ever wanted to come live with me—”

“Oh, honey, why would I want to do that? I love your father. Even if he can’t get over what happened with Mary Elizabeth. He’s very good with her, you know. He visits her twice a week, Wednesdays and Sundays.”

“I know. I see the visitors’ log.” He paused. “Well, you don’t have to live with me, but I sure would like it if you visited.”

His mother smiled, looking her age and then some. “Maybe, sweetheart.”

“I’d come get you.”

“That sounds nice.”

He hugged her then, hugged her for a long time, breathing in the scent of whiskey and shampoo and the musty smell of his childhood home.