Losing Penny (23 page)

“Drake wrote a book about sea monsters?”

Penny shook her head. “No. Drake wrote about
Vikings. I added a few sea serpents and damsels.”

Andrea blew out a whistle.

“He didn’t like it.”

“And you thought he would?”

“It’s a great story now!”

“Now? It wasn’t great before?”

“He wasn’t even going to
do
anything
with it.”

“And you are?”

“Well, I can’t really, can I?”

Andrea considered this with a slow smile
growing on her lips. “Maybe you can.”

His path had met and married with Ingrid’s.
They were intertwined, and must always be so. “Slay me if you
wish,” Hans told the serpent. “Even death cannot separate me from
her love.”

From
Hans and the Sunstone

Drake leaned back
in his chair, satisfied. He smiled as he attached the Word document
and pressed send. His computer made the sweet, swooshing sound of
the completed
Geared!
being whisked away into cyberspace.
Any second now Melinda would open it and realize her reign of
terror had ended.

His dad grumped by, coffee mug extended, on
his way to the kitchen. He stopped in front of Drake’s open door.
“What are you doing here?”

His dad looked like Wolfgang when he needed a
bath—hairy and smelly. Drake tried to remember a time when his dad
had looked worse. “I was typing, but now I’m celebrating.”

His dad ran his gaze over Drake. “You don’t
look celebratory.”

Drake laughed. “Same to you, Dad.”

His dad shuffled his slippers into the room
and leaned against the dresser that still held Drake’s track
trophies. Drake hadn’t been much of an athlete, but because of his
dad’s insistence, he had run on the track team. His long, lean
frame and natural competitive spirit had made him fast. His dad had
pushed for basketball, but Drake’s desire to please his parents
stopped at punches in the nose and gut.

“Why are you here?” his dad asked again. “I
haven’t seen you sitting at that desk in almost twenty years.”

Drake laughed. “I guess it was time I
did.”

His dad looked at him through half shut eyes,
studying him.

“Am I in your way?” Drake asked.

“You’re a little too happy. From what I saw
last night your female problems aren’t any less complicated than
mine—and
you’re
smiling. Something’s not right.”

His dad had an insight. Remarkable. And he
just admitted to having a problem—female problems. He snorted.
“Dad, have you grown a uterus?”

“It’s not funny,” his dad said with twitching
lips. “No laughing allowed before breakfast.” He turned away,
heading for the kitchen and the coffee pot. “If you’re going to
stay there will be absolutely no a.m. laughing, and even smiling
must be strictly controlled.”

Drake scowled at the back of his dad’s head,
puzzled. He couldn’t believe they just had a conversation that
didn’t include the words, “Why don’t you grow up and come to work
for Islington and Islington?” Drake scratched his head and turned
off his computer. He had just walked through a door that he had
never meant to open.

***

When Drake arrived at the Marx house, he
found Trevor and Penny boxing on the back lawn. Drake winced as
Penny landed a right hook on Trevor’s chin. Melinda, lounging on a
chair, bounced up when she saw Drake. He braced himself as she
approached. Melinda deserved his full attention, she had paid for
it, but he was distracted by Penny jumping around in her shorts and
boxing gloves. He reminded his ego that she had insulted his
writing, but his id didn’t care.

Flushed and intense, Penny’s concentration
didn’t flinch from Trevor’s face. Drake wanted her to look at him
like that. Penny fought like a girl, punching forward from her
shoulder without using the muscles in her back or tapping into the
strength of her legs.

Melinda wrapped her arm around Drake’s waist
and gave him a squeeze, reminding him of why he’d come. Turning his
back on Penny and Trevor, trying to ignore the sounds of gloves
landing on flesh and the corresponding “gotcha” and “take that,”
Drake handed Melinda the completed manuscript.

Her smile faded as understanding then
disbelief dawned. “What’s this?”

Since it had
Geared!
Written across
the title page in thirty-six Garamond font, he thought it pretty
obvious, but he answered her anyway. “Your father’s biography.”

“But…his birthday isn’t for another month and
the cottage—”

“Is a little crowded,” he finished for
her.

Melinda pressed her lips together and frowned
at Penny. Turning away from the couple on the lawn, she drew Drake
through the French doors and into the den. “Then send her
away.”

Drake shook his head, but his words failed
him when his mom walked into the room in a sheer caftan covering a
polka dot bikini. “Mom?”

“Drake darling, there you are.” She breezed
over and planted a kiss on his cheek. She smelled of sun lotion and
Crystal Noir. “I told Maggs that we wouldn’t be able to keep you
away.”

“Actually, now that I’ve finished the—”

Melinda cleared her throat when her father
walked into the room.

Drake stumbled for only a minute. “Now that
I’ve finished the
project
, I won’t be staying at the cottage
any longer.”

“Oh, sweetie! You can’t leave—where will you
go?”

“You should listen to your mom,” Melinda told
him, her voice hard. “Mothers always know best.” She held the
manuscript away from her as if it might explode. “I’ll read through
this, but I don’t see how it can possibly be finished.” She glanced
at her dad then said, “I’m sure it’s not done.” Tucking the
manuscript under her arm, she headed back out to the patio.

Watching her leave, Drake had a sinking
feeling that Melinda expected to toy with him for the rest of the
summer. She’d find every dangling participle and comma splice and
misplaced modifier to keep him in a laundry cycle of editing and
rewriting. For her it had to end at Don’s birthday, but that was
still two months away. With slumped shoulders he followed
Melinda.

Red-faced and panting, Penny and Trevor took
off their gloves.

“Oh Maggs, wait,” his mom called from behind
the bar. “I’d love to see you and Drake spar.”

“Mom!” Drake raised his eyebrows at her and
she smiled with that superior Mom smile that said, “I know what I’m
doing.”

“Oh, come on, darling, be a sport.” Mia
settled onto a lounge and adjusted the wide brim of her hat to
block the sun. “There’s nothing like a little marital sparring to
start the morning.”

He wanted to ask, “Then why aren’t you at
home sparring with dad,” but he swallowed his words.

“I’m sure Drake doesn’t want to fight,” Penny
said as she undid the gloves.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he does,” Mia said.

“Moms always know these things,” Melinda
said.

Drake shot her a dark look.

Trevor laughed and punched him in the chest
with his padded glove. “I’ve worn her out for you. She’ll be an
easy knockout.”

“Well, she is a knockout,” Don said. “Step
up, boy. You’d be doing us all a favor. I’d love to watch her go
another round.”

Drake stared at Don. He was tempted to tell
Don to fight Penny himself, but the thought of Penny anywhere near
Don Marx made him ill. He didn’t want Penny fighting anyone, and he
didn’t want anyone, especially Don Marx, watching her. “Penny and I
fight best in private.”

Two, three, four beats of silence told him he
had made a serious mistake.

The men, ever alert, raised their spears to
the sky and poised for attack. They sprang into the tide before the
oarsmen nosed the ship to shore. With roars born of both fear and
courage, they raced across the beach and thundered to the village
with Hans in the lead.

From
Hans and the Sunstone

“What did you call
her?” Melinda asked.

Mia tried to cover for him. “Maybe you’re
right, you should take her home.”

Penny took off her gloves and threw them at
Drake’s head. “No one takes me anywhere.”

“I’ll take you on.” Drake needed to stall to
deflect questions. He picked up Penny’s gloves and tossed them back
at her one at a time. She caught them easily.

He held out his hands for Trevor’s
gloves.

“Why did you call her Penny?” Melinda
asked.

“Pet name,” Drake said, but a quick look at
Trevor’s and Melinda’s faces told him that they didn’t believe him.
Melinda studied Penny through suspicious eyes then pulled out her
phone. If she didn’t already know, she would soon.

“Maybe we
should
keep our sparing
behind closed doors,” Penny said to him.

He shrugged as he laced up the gloves. “This
won’t take long.”

“What does that mean?” Penny asked.

Drake shrugged again. “Are you ready?”

Two seconds later he lay on the ground with a
throbbing eye.

“Oh good one, Maggs!” His mom called.

Drake sat up and pressed his gloved hand to
his eye. Penny had found her muscles.

His mom and Melinda fussed over him. Trevor
and Don Marx stood further back, both smirking, secure in their own
testosterone. Drake wanted to fight them all. He wanted redemption,
validation…and an aspirin.

“I told you we’re better behind closed
doors,” Penny said, looking down at him.

“I’m sure it’d be a lot less humiliating,”
Don said, smothering a laugh.

Melinda shot her dad a reproachful look
before turning to Drake. “Are you all right?” He didn’t like the
gleam in her eye.

“I’m fine,” he barked. He had never barked
before, at least not that he could remember, but he’d never been
flattened by a girl before either. Penny reached down to help him
up. He took her hand, pulled her down, and rolled over so that he
had her pinned. He held both her hands over her head, his knees
pinched her sides, and his face hovered above hers.

She squealed.

“Apologize!” he demanded.

“Never!” She twisted beneath him. “Admit that
you were beaten by a girl.”

“I let you win.”

“Then I shouldn’t have to apologize.”

“Good point.”

She stopped squirming. “Can I get up
now?”

“So you admit that I’ve won?”

“Never!”

“Then I guess we’ll have to stay here all
day.”

“You can’t stay here all day!” Trevor
interrupted. Drake had forgotten they had an audience. As typical
when he was with Penny, all he could think about when he was with
her
was
her. “You have to win a chili cook off!”

“That’s right, Drake,” Penny told him. “I’ve
been eating beans.”

He lowered his face so that their noses were
almost touching. “If you think I can be scared off by a little
flatulence, then you don’t know me very well.” Standing, but not
relinquishing her wrists, he pulled her up, hauled her over his
shoulder, and carried her to the cottage.

Peel and grate a potato (a red potato is
best). Make a poultice out of it and keep it on the black eye for
20 minutes. Potassium chloride is one of the most effective healing
compounds, and potatoes are the best source of potassium chloride.
This remedy is also works for bloodshot eyes.

From
Losing Penny and Pounds

Stunned, Penny
didn’t know what to do. Kick, scream, and demand to be put down? He
deposited her on the porch swing before she could decide.

“Just so you know,” he told her, facing her
with his hands on his hips. “I’m still really angry with you.”

“About the book or about your eye?”

“Both, actually.”

Penny folded her arms across her chest. “Well
I’m not sorry for either one, and I’m not going to apologize, but I
can make poultice for your eye.” She bounced out of the swing and
brushed past him.

“Never mind, it’ll match my lip,” he called
after her.

“I’ve been hard on you.” She rummaged in the
fridge and pulled out a large potato.

“Poor me.” He settled down where she’d been
sitting. “As much fun as this has been—black eyes and split lips
aside—I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” She stopped grating the potato for
a moment and then began again with increased vigor. Soon she had a
lovely potato poultice.

He probably expected more of a response,
maybe an argument, but when she didn’t say anything, he said, “My
eye is fine.”

Penny bit her lip. She mushed the poultice
into a wet cloth and stood before Drake. “Hold still.”

Drake held up his hand to stop her.

Anger flashed through her. “I made you
poultice, and you are going to wear it!”

“Are you really mad about the poultice?”
Drake took a deep breath.

“Yes! Why else would I be upset?”

Drake frowned, but he held still and looked
up at her.

She held the poultice above his face. “You
have to close your eyes.” Penny leaned against his knees and
applied the cloth. “How’s that?”

“Move it a little to the right.”

She adjusted it, lifted it off, and stood
back. “I want to see the bruising.” She cocked her head. “It’s not
very purple.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“I
did
knock you down.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t bruise the right color
for you. Do you want to try again?”

Penny blew out a “No.” Even though she sort
of did want to knock him down again.

“We both know that in a month you’ll return
to California and I’ll go back to school, so whatever we start is
doomed by a deadline.”

She slapped the poultice back on his eye and
he flinched. “What exactly have we started?”

“You tell me.”