Pillow Talk (9 page)

Parker was watching her, cradling his glass. Meg realized she'd better soften her behavior. She had no business revisiting old wounds when she was here to help someone else.

"I suppose you're here to break the news to Auguste the Fourth." The man sipped from his glass.

"Yes." Parker and Meg answered in unison.

The man nodded. "I'll call him in. I'm due at a very important engagement with the governor but I'll wait until you've seen Auguste."

"Oh, you don't need to wait," Meg said. "We'll be okay."

"My dear Mrs. Ponthier," the man said, "in times like these, spiritual guidance can make all the difference in the world."

"Thank you, Brother Calax," Parker said.

Meg knew he'd jumped in to keep her from disagreeing with the man. But there was no way she was going to tell a ten-year-old his father was dead while this bag of wind prosed on about God's will. It wasn't anybody's will that Jules was lying in the morgue in New Orleans. It was tragically stupid behavior that had gotten him there. His own tragically stupid patterns of living had caught up with him.

The man lifted a phone receiver from a small table beside his chair and said a few words. To Parker, he said, "He'll be here momentarily. Tell me, how did Jules die?"

Parker clasped his hands. "Gunshot."

"Mugged?"

Meg wondered whether Parker would clean up the version of the story for this man. What would the family say? Would they admit Jules had died trying to buy cocaine and been shot struggling over an officer's gun? Or would they circulate some story, for instance, that he was killed in a holdup? And what were they to tell his son?

Meg was in way over her head. She'd have to follow Parker's lead. She believed the truth was best, but given her current complicated situation, there was no way she could judge anyone for any fabrication.

Parker looked straight at the man. "My brother," he said slowly, "suffered from a drug addiction that no one ever liked to talk about. If we had, he might be alive today."

"Ah, I see." The man nodded sagely and polished off his glass.

Meg smiled at Parker, offering him her support. She was impressed with him for speaking the truth.

The door opened. A young boy stood in the doorway. He wore the same uniform as the youngster in the reception area. Heavy blue wool, shiny brass buttons. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

The man beckoned him in.

When he stepped into the room, Meg could see the child was painfully thin. And his right eye was black, blue, and purple.

"Have you been fighting again, Mr. Ponthier?" The man spoke sharply, in a voice he hadn't displayed before.

"Yes, sir." The child stared straight at the headmaster, not even glancing over at Parker and Meg.

"And what was your punishment?"

"Two days in the brig, sir."

He shook his head and sighed. "When will these youngsters ever learn?"

Meg gripped the arms of the chair where she sat. "What's the other guy look like?"

The boy looked from the headmaster over to her, as if awaiting permission to speak.

"You can tell me," Meg said.

The boy broke into a grin. "He's got two shiners, ma'am."

Meg smiled back. It was always good to win a fight.

"Mr. Ponthier, your visitors have something to say to you."

Parker rose and crossed over to Gus. He shook hands with the child. After one darting glance of recognition toward his uncle, Gus kept his gaze fixed squarely ahead, not displaying any emotion.

"Have a seat," the headmaster ordered, apparently planning to orchestrate the entire discussion.

"No!" Meg jumped up. "We're not staying. Thank you, but we need to rush right back to New Orleans."

"Auguste the Fourth isn't going anywhere," the headmaster said, using that sharp tone he'd used to speak to Gus.

"Oh, yes, he is," Meg said. "He's co
m
ing home with us."

Parker was looking at her as if she'd gone nuts. But then he started to smile. He handed his untouched glass back to the silver-haired man. "Meg's right."

The man rose from his seat. "No child leaves this school until the end of term."

"Don't worry, his bill will be paid in full," Parker said. "Gus, get your things."

The child looked from the headmaster back to Parker and then up at Meg. She caught her breath. He looked so young and vulnerable, despite the black eye and the military posture.

She waited for him to react, knowing that if she were in his shoes, she'd be thinking it was too good to be true but hoping all the same it was.

When he finally spoke, he looked from Parker to Meg, then flipped a middle finger towards the headmaster. "If you're really taking me home, Uncle Parker, there's nothing I need here."

Nine

T
here's nothing I need here.

That statement alone was enough to break her heart. Gus was silent as the three of them swept from the headmaster's office. They cleared the front hall and passed by the student on duty, who looked at them with longing in his eyes as they opened the front doors.

In silent agreement they kept a brisk pace. Even though the headmaster had remained behind in his office, seemingly defeated, resigned to the company of his decanter, they all moved as if they sensed he would stop them if they gave him half a chance.

Brackets of concentration lined either side of Parker's usually generous mouth. He stared straight ahead, and he walked purposefully. To Meg's discerning glance he moved with the stance of a man finally paying back a long overdue debt.

In unison, they cleared the building and stepped onto the front drive. Meg chose and
discarded words of comfort for the boy. She knew only too well what it was like to be abandoned in a place run by rules and regulations without regard to the fears and joys of children.

Before she could decide what to say, Gus stopped and turned to face the building. With his pitifully thin arms hunkered to his hips, he called out, "Starve me, beat me, make me dance with girls, but I am never going back to that hellhole." With a grin, he pivoted 180 degrees, then said, "Hey, dude, I see you brought granny's hearse." He flipped a bird towards the school and
cartwheeled across the grass to
ward the Infiniti.

Meg looked at Parker.

Parker looked at Meg. "Any ideas for Act Two?"

"WalMart and McDonald's. Or maybe the other way around."

Gus had ripped open the front of his jacket. One of the shiny brass buttons spun into the air and winked as it caught the late afternoon sun.

Parker grinned. "Food. Good thinking. But does it have to be McDonald's?"

"For a ten-year-old?" She considered. "Either that or pizza."

"Then we tell him about Jules?"

"After he's fed and clothed." Meg considered, wishing she had the wisdom Parker
granted her credit for. "I think so. But we need to do it before we drive back.”

"Why?”

Meg shuddered slightly. "I
hate to say it, but it's in case he does want to stay at his school."

"Now I'm confused. You just incited a jail-break back there in the headmaster's office. You gave me the clear indication it was a fate worse than—" a shadow passed over his face and he continued "—death, for him to stay here."

She stubbed at the concrete of the drive with her toe. "It's hard to explain but sometimes the safety of the dreaded known is preferable to the dread of the unknown."

Parker repeated her words under his breath. "Convoluted reasoning, but I guess I see your point. Though you don't think he'd really want to stay?"

"Oh, no, but he may feel better if offered the choice. I firmly believe children need to be offered choices in some things. Not in all matters, but since this school is where he's been and he's going to a home without a mother or a father, it seems like one possibility he might cling to."

They'd started walking again, but Parker halted abruptly. In a curious voice, he said, "It's true his natural mother won't be there, but what about his stepmother?"

"I thought you said she was in San Francisco."

He touched her shoulder. "I guess it must be hard to think of yourself as the stepmother of a child you didn't know existed.''

"Oh! You mean me?" Meg watched Gus, who was busy hacking at his jacket with a pocketknife he'd
presumably had stashed away. "I—
um
—
you're right. I don't think of myself as Gus's stepmother. Jules and I weren't married long enough for me to think in those terms."

"How many hours were you married?"

"Days. We were married several days."

"It's funny, Mrs. Ponthier," Parker said, that tone of disbelief back in his voice, "but most young lovers can count the days and hours since they've said 'I love you' or since the time the minister said 'You may kiss the bride.' But not you. I'm beginning to think you don't have a very romantic nature."

"That's me. Ms. Pragmatic." Meg tried to laugh it off, but she knew exactly what he meant. She used to commemorate the anniversary of her first kiss with Ted, the first time they said I love you, the first time they made love. That all slipped away as the kids came, and Ted worked all the time, and their conversations degenerated to who was teething and who made the honor roll, but she remembered the sweet tenderness those early romantic feelings had created in her emotions.

She even kept trying but it was tough with a man who didn't notice and didn't reciprocate. She remembered wishing those feelings hadn't gotten lost in the shuffle of life, remembered thinking that if she'd chosen more wisely that slow death wouldn't have occurred.

And after Ted's death, Meg had promised herself if given the choice she'd go without a mate rather than settle for anyone who wouldn't go the distance in a relationship.

She sighed. That sentiment was well and good and so far she had stuck by it. But her subsequent financial mess had caused her to muddy the waters with her marriage for hire.

"Maybe you just weren't in love with my brother."

Meg frowned and said somewhat crossly,
"Don't be silly. Why wouldn't I
have been in love with your brother?" She started walking then, eager to reach the safety of the car and the shield of Gus's company.

"Having known Jules all of my life, I could draw up quite a list of reasons why not." He unlocked the car with his remote.

Gus raced up, jerked open the front passenger door, and flung himself inside. "But let's review that list later," Parker said, pulling open the door Gus had just closed. "In the back, Gus."

Meg started to protest, but she didn't want to send mixed signals. Gus climbed out. He winked at Meg, and said, "Guess my uncle finally scored." Then he jumped into the back seat.

Meg and Parker entered the car. Parker turned around and said, "Gus, this is Meg. She and your father were married last week."

"And you're moving in on Uncle Parker already?" Gus stared at Meg, a storm clearly gathering in his eyes. "Guess you didn't last even as long as the other two."

A knot worked in Parker's jaw. He glanced at Meg, the plea for help clear.

She slipped out of the car and reentered in the back seat, beckoning to Parker to do the same. They'd have to break the news to Gus now. Waiting wouldn't be right.

He followed her move. Gus looked from one to the other and said, "Okay, what's the deal?"

Meg said, "I did marry your father. And I'm here with your uncle because your greatgrandfather asked me to come with him. He did that because we have some hard news"— she swallowed and hoped she was doing this right—"to break to you."

"Yeah, what? Granny cried herself to death?" He sounded tough, but Meg noticed how white he'd gone.

"Teensy's fine," Parker said gently, "but your father is gone."

"No shit." Gus laughed, a hard-edged sound that broke Meg's heart, "He's always off somewhere. Anywhere but where I am, that's for sure."

"Gus, I know this is hard to hear 'cause it's
so hard to say, but your father—my brother— is dead."

Gus stared at Parker, his eyes wide, his mouth silent. He checked Meg's expression, too. She nodded.

“No fucking way!” Gus howled the words and kicked at both of them.

Parker reached for him and took the flailing child in his arms. He let him kick but from within the safety of his embrace. Meg tried to show her support by keeping her gaze steady on Parker's anguished eyes. Gus didn't need the confusion of a stranger trying to comfort him physically at this point, so she sat still.

"He said he'd come back for me. He said he wouldn't leave me in that hellhole forever." Gus was sobbing. “He lied and I hate him. I'm glad he's dead!"

Smoothing Gus's crew-cut hair, Parker murmured, “I know. I know. It hurts bad.”

Gus beat his fists on Parker's chest. “You don't know shit. Nothing hurts. I don't feel nothing.” Then he folded his arms across his chest and thrust his jaw out at a definitively obstinate angle.

Despite his shuttered body language he did remain within the circle of Parker's arms. Parker, his mouth a grimly thin line, continued to smooth his hand over the child's head.

A tear welled in Gus's eye and he sniffed thunderously. “Are you sure he's dead?”

Meg and Parker both nodded. Meg said,
"We wouldn't tell you such a sad thing unless it was true."

"Oh, yeah? Well, it would be just like my dad to make up a story like this so he could start a new life without bothering about me. He probably did it just so he wouldn't have to take me fishing. He kept telling me he would but now"—Gus's eyes overflowed and he finished angrily—"now he never will!"

Meg knew what it was like to be cast off. Many times she'd wished for reassurance that she was wanted. Tentatively she reached out her left hand to Gus. She knew what she was doing was dangerous. She was crossing a bridge in her mind by even thinking of using her pretense of a marriage to reassure the child. But comforting him came first with her. And instinct—and her own early sense of abandonment—drew her on.

She lay her hand on Gus's bony knee. The plain gold band Jules had purchased at the wedding chapel circled her ring finger. "Your father married me in Las Vegas," she said slowly, not quite meeting Parker's searching gaze. "He brought me back to New Orleans. So he wasn't trying to run away or start a new life without you."

"Yeah?" He looked at her, then up at Parker.

Parker nodded, adding credence to Meg's story.

"And you won't put me back in that hellhole?"

“Schoo
l,"
Meg said gently. "No, we won't put you back in that school."

He worked his jaw again. In a funny way, the gesture reminded Meg of Parker. She'd seen him do the same thing when clamping down on his emotions. Maybe it was something they taught boys in that hellhole, as Gus so aptly referred to his school.

Gus loosened the grip he had on his crossed arms. In a voice barely audible he said, "How did my dad die?"

Meg looked to Parker. There he was doing it again—that toughening of the jaw. She gave him a smile both sad and encouraging, letting him know this question was his to handle.

"It's hard for me to say this, Gus, but your dad had some problems. He was my brother and I loved him very much. But his problems led to a scuffle over a gun. He was shot and killed."

Gus's eyes grew wide. He touched his bruised eye. "Was he in a fight?"

Parker nodded.

Meg realized she was holding her breath. How much should they tell him? He'd hear the whispers and the stories as he grew older. Telling her children Ted had died from an aneurysm had been hard enough and that was straightforward compared to Jules's death as the result of a drug deal gone bad.

"I guess that's why he used to tell me I shouldn't fight," Gus said in a small voice.

Meg sensed that Gus was about to make the leap of logic that if he hadn't fought—if he'd been a better kid—maybe his dad would still be alive. It was a terrible thing, this burden children took on trying to adjust the outcome of adult behavior. But Meg had seen it in her own children. And more than that, she'd lived it.

To Gus she said, "We each have a time on earth and when it's time to pass from this life, it's going to happen no matter what. Nothing you did or didn't do could ever change that."

Gus glowered at her. "But if I'd have been better he might have come back for me and then I could have saved him." He stuck up his fists, brandishing his grazed knuckles. "I would've fought off those bad guys!"

Meg smiled despite herself. "You're a tough kid, but there's no need to fight."

"He loved you, Gus," Parker said.

"Ha!" Gus's arms clamped back across his chest. "What's love when you're an orphan and you've never been fishing."

"Everything," Meg said, the word slipping out before she thought.

"And you're not an orphan," Parker said. "You've got a mother and now you have two stepmothers."

Gus looked at Meg with curiosity. "Are you going to stick around?" He sounded tough, but Meg didn't buy the bravado. Here was a kid
who'd been dumped and passed on to others far too often.

She thought of her children back home in Las Vegas, of her life and how she needed to go home soon. Very, very soon. Her hesitation must have shown because Gus scowled. "You're just like the rest. Take the money and run."

"Meg's different."

She glanced in surprise at Parker.

"Yeah, well, we'll see," Gus rubbed his eyes, then his stomach.

"How about a burger?" Meg asked.

His face lit up. "With a chocolate shake and extra-large fries?"

She nodded.

He wiped at his eyes.

Parker shifted so that he no longer held Gus within his arms. Gus settled on the seat between them, looking younger than ten in his white t-shirt and heavy wool trousers. Meg could count his ribs through the thin fabric of his shirt. "What did they feed you at that school?"