Pillow Talk (16 page)

Both Grandfather Ponthier and Parker's father had settled t
heir shares equally on Parker a
nd Jules. Grandfather had done so reluctantly, but after his stroke, he hadn't wanted to end up helpless and still in voting position. He'd told Parker, speaking even more gruffly than usual, that he wished he could give him all his shares, but it wouldn't be right not to divide them evenly.

Parker had understood, even though he regretted the sense of tradition that overruled common sense. It was Parker who managed the business, oversaw the sugar production facilities, the real estate holdings, the hotel managers.

Jules partied, and married, and divorced.

Parker toiled.

He sighed and shut his mind to that pointless direction. All that mattered now was finding Gus.

He'd turned left onto St. Charles Avenue, heading farther uptown parallel to the streetcar tracks. Gus could have paid the fare and trundled riverbound
without anyone looking twice a
t him.

He just hoped
the boy had gone towards the
river, a place he considered less threatening than heading downtown, towards Canal and the French Quarter.

Fishing was far preferable to the vices to be found in that direction.

"Didn't Huckleberry Finn and Jim build a raft?"

Parker gripped the wheel. He'd been so lost in his reverie he'd almost managed to crowd Meg from his mind.

Almost.

He turned and watched her gazing at him as if he knew the answer to questions he didn't even know existed.

"That sounds vaguely familiar."

"Maybe that's what he's doing."

"Why would he do that?" Parker knew he sounded irritable, but he couldn't think of anything more pointless than building a raft on which to navigate the Mississippi. The river would tear it to bits. He gripped the wheel and braked to an abrupt halt at the light at State Street.

"To forget? To dream?" Meg turned her body towards him, the way she'd sat during their ride to Mississippi to collect Gus only a few days earlier. "Didn't you ever do that when you were a child?"

He shook his head. He'd spent his childhood dragging Jules out of trouble and getting blamed by Teensy for his efforts. Eventually
he'd abandoned Jules to his own follies and buried himself in sports and studies.

They'd passed Loyola and Tulane universities at last. The traffic crawled and Parker fought the desire to jump the car onto the neutral ground and drive along the streetcar tracks to bypass the cars, all of which seemed to be driven by tourists admiring the Audubon Park
oaks.

To his surprise, Meg reached over and touched his hand. "He may not be there, Parker."

He noted the white flesh of his fingers as he tightened his hold. "Maybe, maybe not. But we have to try. And I respect your instincts enough to check this out before we call the police."

She nodded. "I hope I'm right and that he hasn't done anything foolish."

"Like launching himself into a river that's been known to suck the strongest swimmer into its depths and not let them go?" He heard the desperation in his voice and wondered when Gus had claim
ed such a part of his heart. H
e'd largely ignored the child but after watching him with Meg, he'd begun to feel an attachment for him that he couldn't quite understand.

"We'll find him," was all she said.

He bumped over the tracks across from River Road and yanked the car out of gear. He
pulled on the p
arking brake and said, "Let's go.
"

She jumped from the low seat, amazingly graceful in the slim-cut skirt of the dress she wore. Without complaint, she crunched across the gravel and onto the banks of the grassy levee.

She kept pace with him as he climbed the rise. Horton had taken Jules and him fishing many times during their childhood. The two of them had tossed the fish about and laughed, but Horton had carefully retrieved them. It wasn't until much later that Parker realized Horton took the fish home and fed them to his family.

He'd always thought of Horton as part of his own family and had learned to his surprise during his teens that Horton had a wife and five children, the oldest two of whom were already in college when Parker was still in high school.

A man and a woman on horseback crossed in front of them. The sun shone, a beautiful, mild December day. Ahead on the crest of the levee two dogs chased one another. To their right, another dog leapt for a frisbee.

Several hours of searching later, Parker and Meg reached the top of the levee and stood looking down. Parker collected his bearings, tried to calm his fears, and gazed to the right. Then, down below, far too close to the waterline for his comfort, Gus appeared.

H
e sought Meg'
s hand, almost unaware that he
did so.

She clasped h
is hand in hers, her fingers wa
rm and reassuring.

“He's okay," Parker said. “That's Gus."

She nodded. "Look
s like he's building his raft
too."

“Little bugger,"
Parker said. "Wait till I cat
ch him."

Meg tugged at his hand and he turned and looked into her eyes.

She was smiling at him and he found it impossible to remain angry with her, to think of her as a possible enemy. "Thank you for coming with me," he said.

"Any time."

He smiled, an
d fought a desire to kiss her, f
ought off the feeling that if he stayed around her she'd make him forget every detail he needed to investigate.

Ju
st then, Gus shouted, and Parker watched in horror as the child tumbled into the water.

Parker raced down the bank, Meg fast behind him.

"Hold on," he cried, pausing to kick his shoes off.

Just then a mongrel bounded up, barking furiously, and dove into the water. He plunged straight for Gus and the child cried out, coughed up water, and clung to the dog's fur.

As Parker jumped into the water, the dog p
a
ddled towards shore, towing Gus.

The thre
e of them ended up on the bank,
gasping like fish. Parker grasped Gus in his arms, their clothes dripping wet. The dog stood over the boy, his tongue hanging out.

Meg fussed over them. Gratefu
l
for her help, Parker smiled at her. She smiled back, wringing the water from Gus's wet sweatshirt.

"Where were you going to go?" she was asking Gus.

The boy only shook his head and clung to the smelly, shaggy dog. The only thing he had to say for himself was, "Can I keep him?"

Fifteen

"
C
an
you keep him?" Parker spit both the words and
th
e water out of his mouth and stared at his nephew. The child looked so disarming, one skinny arm thrown around the neck of the
H
einz 57 Variety dog, that he had to smile. One of the mutt's ears pointed skyward, the other drooped towards its whiskered face. But a dog!

Parker had never had a dog. Teensy wouldn't take the chance of having her antiques shredded or her floors scarred. And if she had allowed her sons to have a dog, it would have been a purebred, too tiny to be of much interest to boys.

He tried to le
t Gus down easily. "You know, h
e probably belongs to someone."

"Oh, he doesn't," Gus said, hugging the dog to him. "We've been playing for hours. No one's been by to claim him and he doesn't even have a collar. It's
a good thing he found me or t
he dog catcher might have ground him up for sausage."

Parker exchanged glances with Meg, who was studying the soggy dog with a bemused expression. He wished he knew what to do, wished he possessed the wisdom to answer Gus as he should. He also wished he had the words to tell Gus what the time he and Meg had spent searching for him had taken off his life.

"Well, he did save Gus from the river," Parker said, feeling a need to defend his inexplicable desire to befriend the mongrel.

Meg nodded. "And I'm sure he'll clean up nicely."

"Though probably not to Teensy's standards," Parker said.

Meg pulled him aside. "Don't encourage him if it's only going to break his heart. He's had enough disappointments."

"I know. You're right." He gazed at Gus, who was busy throwing a stick that the dog chased and returned with something akin to a smile on his goofy face. "If no one claims him, I'll take him to a groomer. And I suppose, if Teensy throws a real fit, he can come to my house."

"I think you're sweet on him,"
Meg said.

"No way. But the mutt did jump in at just the right moment."

Meg looked a little too smug for his comfort. "Right
,"
she said, drawling out the word. Then she turned her back on him and knelt down beside Gus. "You feeling better?"

H
e nodded and sn
iffed loudly. "I wanted to go
where my dad said he'd take me. I've been
here
before, but never with my
dad. But somehow I thought…
"

Meg pulled him close to her. "You thought maybe some miracle would bring your dad luck here to be with you, huh?"

H
e nodded, his head bobbing against her side. "But I knew
better all along. I know my fa
ther is dead.
And that means no one is ever g
oing to take me fishing." He sniffed again and Meg caught back a strangling sound that threatened to escape her throat. He reminded her so much of Teddy at that moment!

Parker came
up beside them. "I'll take you f
ishing," he said.

"Really?" Gus's
eyes lit up. "But we have to ta
ke Jem, too."

"Jem?"

Meg nudged him in the ribs and pointed to
the dog.

Parker nodd
ed. "Sure, sure. Jem can come, t
oo."

"Good. I named him after Huck Finn's
f
riend, but since he's a dog not a boy, it's spelled J-E-M." Gus whistled and the dog trotted over. He halted in front
of the three of t
hem, cocked his goofy-looking head to one side, then shook his body as if his life depended upon it.

A spray of
water descended upon them. Par
ker pulled her back but too late. Meg gazed down at her splattered dress.

But she wasn't looking at the splotches. All she could see was Parker's hand on her arm. He seemed to have forgotten he'd reached for her. It was sweet, the way he was so protective. Ted had never been like that, never opened the car door or leapt to her aid. She'd been so used to taking care of herself she hadn't noticed the lack of those courtesies.

Courtesies that Parker performed so well.

At that moment, he obviously realized his hand still linked him to her. "Sorry," he said under his breath, and dropped her arm.

"That's okay," she said, wishing he hadn't acted like he was letting go of a fish he'd yanked by mistake out of the river.

"Let's get back to the house," he said. "We can change and figure out what to do about Jem."

She nodded and began to walk toward the car.

Gus ran ahead of them, his lean-to where he'd fallen asleep
earlier and been hidden from th
em, along with a salvaged piece of tin, abandoned at the water's edge. The dog nipped at his heels, barking his half howl, half yip.

Parker's shoes made squishing sounds with every step and water dripped from his pants. Even in his ramshackle state, he appealed to her. If his hair looked good when it was dry and combed, it looked just as sexy wet, espe
c
i
a
lly the way it curled on the back of his neck
an
d around his ears.

"It seems as if I
find myself thanking you yet ag
ain," Parker said as they climbed back up the
ba
nk behind the boy and the dog.

“It's nothing, really,"
she said.

"No?” He smiled down at her. The smile
tu
rned the light back on in his eyes
and he no longer seemed so stern
. "Do you have any idea
h
ow many women would have complained
a
bout treading up the levee in a dress and heels? Or how many women couldn't have gotten themselves ready to bolt out the door in hot pursuit of Gus?”

"You must hang out with all the wrong people," she said.

"I think I told you about that shortcoming of mine last night," he said, any vestige of a smile disappearing from his face.

They'd reached the car, which relieved Meg
o
f any intelligent response to Parker's reference to the prior evening. She sincerely hoped he wouldn't bring it up again.

She'd missed her plane to Las Vegas. She would have to live through at least another day in proximity to Parker.

Proximity that was torture to her.

"You brought the Porsche,” Gus cried. "Cool. I bet Jem's never ridden in a Porsche before.”

Parker looked in horror from the muddy dog
to the car. "What makes you think he's
goings to ride in one today?"

Gus stared at him open-mouthed. "You said I could keep him!"

Meg bit back a laugh at Parker's look of consternation.

"It's a two-seater, Gus," Parker said, reasonably enough.

"Oh." The boy peered in the car window, then turned, a triumphant smile on his dirty face. "Meg and I can take the streetcar and Jem can ride with you, because everyone knows dogs can't ride on the streetcar.”

"I've never ridden the streetcar before," Meg said.

"Where did you grow up?" Gus stared at her the way she and Parker had eyed the dog on first sight. "Well, don't worry, I'll show you how it's done," Gus said.

"Hey, wait a minute," Parker said.

Jem rolled over on his back and pawed the air towards Parker.

Parker frowned.

Meg waited for Parker to refuse to take the dog. She couldn't blame him; the car was spotless and obviously one of Parker's prized possessions. The dog was filthy.

Instead, Parker said, "Do you have a dollar, Gus?"

He nodded.

Parker pulled a bill from his money clip and handed it to Meg. "You need exact change for
t
he
streetcar
,"
he said, then walked to the trunk
of
his car. He pulled a towel from a gym bag.
"Let
's get this circus on the road.''

"You're pretty cool, Uncle Parker," Gus said.
He
patted Jem on the head. "Do whatever Par
ker
tells you or he
may turn you over to the dog
catcher."

The dog bounced upright and licked Gus on
his
hand.

With a reluctant glance at the dog, Parker opened his passenger door, spread the towel
and
, as if born to
ride in an expensive sports ca
r, the dog leapt in.

Parker shut the door. Jem smeared his
t
ongue against the window. Parker shook his head. "I'll drive over to the streetcar stop and wait with you."

"We're not babies," Gus said. "I came all the way out here by myself."

"Yes, and that's something we're going to talk about when we get back to the house," Parker said in a grim voice.

Gus clouded over. "You can't tell me what to do. You're not my dad."

Parker opened his mouth and closed it, clearly at a loss as to how to answer that charge. After a long moment, he glanced over at Meg, the plea for help clear in his eyes.

Meg looked from man to boy. They could easily have been father and son; Gus had Parker's darker coloring rather than Jules's light brown hair and blue eyes. The Ponthier stamp
rested on the child's features as clearly as on his uncle's. Nei
ther one of them would give in
easily to any battle.

The family resemblance prompted her answer. "You're a Ponthier, right, Gus?"

He nodded proudly, not surprising given the egotism of this family, a family that cast him off to a military-style school and ingrained in him the liturgy of tradition.

"And Parker is a Ponthier."

He nodded again.

"So he may not be your dad, but he can certainly teach you how a Ponthier is expected to behave."

Gus grinned. "Guess you got me there."

"And Ponthiers do not run out of the house at dawn and scare their family sick," Parker said, his voice stern but with an undercurrent of tenderness coming through.

"You mean you missed me?"

The wistfulness got to Meg. "Of course we missed you," she said, "but you don't have to run off to get us to feel that way."

Gus stubbed at the ground with his squishy hiking shoe.

Meg reached out a hand to his shoulder but he shrugged her off.

"Let's go," Parker said and walked around to the driver's side. "Gus, you take care of Meg."

The boy saluted and pointed toward the road in front of them.

Meg walked beside him, stepping gingerly over the large roc
ks of the parking area beside t
he train tracks
that ran between the road and t
he levee bank. She wondered at Gus's reluctance to be touched. Was it because she was an outsider? Or because he'd been foisted off on strangers for so long while his own mother paid attention to her own spoiled priorities?

All three of her children were huggers, not surprising since she'd cuddled them since their first day on earth. But now that she thought back over it, th
ey hadn't been as cuddly with t
heir father.

"Hey, how come you didn't give me the what-for?"

They'd stopped at the street waiting for the traffic to clear so they could cross to the grassy strip where the streetcar tracks ran when Gus asked his question.

"Parker is your uncle," she said.

"Well, you're my new mom."

She stared down at him, at his bedraggle
d t-
shirt and baggy shorts, the socks wet and gray above his hightop shoes. His dark blue eyes, so much like Parker's, met hers and she had to glance away.

"Oh, I get it," Gus said disgust heavy in his voice. "You're going away like all the rest of them."

Guilt hit home. Yet she wasn't truly guilty. What did she owe this child? She'd made a deal with Jules, for better or for worse, and she
had her own family at home waiting for her, expecting her, needing her. Yet she'd grown up an orphan and knew the pain of not belonging. Gus wasn't technically an orphan, but after reading his mother's carelessly written note on the floral arrangement, Meg had concluded he might as well be.

Gus's mouth twisted. He kicked at the metal track but said nothing.

A horn sounded. Parker pulled up alongside them at the curb. Jem pushed his shaggy body against Parker and yelped out the window.

Parker worked the dog back to its side of the car.

Gus laughed.

Meg marveled at the difference when the child laughed. All traces of his scowling anger disappeared, giving her hope he would heal from the sorrows of his young years. She heard a rumble behind them and turned to see the streetcar approaching. As it ground to a screechy halt, she said softly to Gus, "I'm not going to be like the others."