The Great Escape (28 page)

Even then, she clung to him. He dropped to a crouch and cradled her. “You’re safe, champ. It’s over. Did you leave any water in that lake, or did you swallow it all? I’ll bet you swallowed it. I’ll bet there’s no lake left …”

He went on like that. Nonsense. Insisting she’d drunk the lake dry until she finally turned to look, saw it wasn’t true, and began to argue with him.

Her mother took longer to recover. She alternated between hugging her child as if she’d never let her go again and repeatedly thanking Panda through her tears. In the distance, Temple had given up her walking lunges in favor of jogging and was heading back toward them, oblivious to what she’d missed.

Panda listened patiently to the mother’s frantic chatter about where they were from and why her husband wasn’t with them. He talked to Sophie again and her brother. When he was eventually satisfied that the mother was capable of driving, he helped her load the kids in the car. The mother grabbed him in an awkward hug. “God sent you to us today. You were His angel.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, all stern-faced cop.

The woman finally pulled out of the parking lot. Beads of water still clung to Panda’s beard stubble, but the ends of his hair had already started to curl. “Just so you know … ,” Lucy said, “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

He gave her a tired smile. “Give me a couple of hours, and I can fix that.”

Tight little buds of warmth began unfurling inside her.

Temple appeared, red-faced and out of breath. “Why are you wet?”

“Long story,” he said.

As they drove home, Lucy thought about his patience with the hysterical mother. But most of all, she thought about his gentleness with Sophie. The way he related to kids didn’t fit what she thought she knew about him. Even Sophie’s bratty little brother … When the boy had lost patience with not being the center of attention, Lucy had wanted to throttle him, but Panda had engaged him in a discussion of the lifesaving techniques every “man” should know.

Panda was a chameleon. One minute, a surly, barely articulate biker; the next, a no-nonsense bodyguard to the world’s most demanding client; and today, a combination superhero and child psychologist.

He unsettled her. Disarmed her. Confused her. She knew people couldn’t be pigeonholed, but she’d never known anyone who resisted a label more than he did.

L
UCY FROWNED AT THE MICROWAVE-SHRIVELED
green bean draping the clump of chicken on her plate that night. Temple gazed longingly toward the refrigerator, as if she hoped a stream of hot fudge would magically pour out of the water dispenser.

Panda had been quiet all through dinner, but now he pushed his plate away. “I have a surprise for the two of you.”

“Tell me it involves pastry,” Lucy said. “Or letting me cook real food.” Salad was the only contribution she was permitted to make to a meal—all vegetables, no cheese, no olives, no croutons or creamy salad dressing.

“Nope.” He kicked back in his chair. “We’re going out on the water to watch the fireworks.”

“I’ll pass,” Temple said. “Two kayaks for three people isn’t my idea of fun.”

“No kayaks.” He got up from the table. “I’ll meet you both down at the dock. No excuses.”

While Temple finished her dinner Lucy grabbed a sweatshirt and went outside to see what Panda was up to. A black-hulled cabin cruiser, maybe twenty-five feet long, was moored at the dock, a boat that hadn’t been there last time she’d looked down here. “Where did this come from?” she asked.

Panda tossed a pair of life preservers in a locker on the deck. “I talked to Big Mike a couple of days ago. His guys delivered it while we were at the parade and hid it in the boathouse. I leased it for the rest of the summer.”

“What’s this?” Temple said, coming down the steps.

After he’d explained, Temple began calculating how many calories waterskiing burned.

Lucy couldn’t stand it. “I’ll make a deal with you, Temple. If you promise not to use the word
calorie
for the rest of the night, I’ll work out with you tomorrow. For a little while,” she quickly added.

“Deal,” Temple said. “Really, Lucy, you won’t believe what a difference rigorous exercise makes in—”

“You also can’t talk about exercise, fat grams, cellulite, or any of the rest of that crap,” Lucy said. “Basically, you can only talk about sloth.”

“I’m all over that.” Panda started the engine.

He handled the boat as easily as he handled everything except human relationships. The wind had calmed, the sky had cleared, and the stars were just beginning to come out. He goosed the throttle when they hit open water and headed toward the point that divided them from the town harbor. As they rounded it, they were met with a flotilla of pleasure boats waiting for the show to start, their lights bobbing like fireflies above the water. Some of the boats flew yacht club burgees; others displayed patriotic pennants.

When they were just inside the harbor—close enough to see the show but away from the other boats—Panda turned the bow into the current, set the anchor, and cut the engine. In the sudden silence, laughter and music drifted across the water.

Temple grabbed a cushion and crawled to the bow, leaving them alone.

Chapter Sixteen

T
HE FIRST OF THE FIREWORKS
exploded above them, an umbrella of red and violet. Lucy rested her head against the back of the bench seat that ran across the stern of the boat. Panda did the same, and they watched in surprisingly comfortable silence. “What you did today with little Sophie was pretty great,” Lucy eventually said as a shell of stars withered above them.

She felt him shrug. “You’re a good swimmer. If I hadn’t been there, you’d have gone in.”

She liked how certain he sounded. She glanced over at him and watched a trio of silver comets shimmer in his eyes. “The surf was rough. I don’t think I could have pulled her out.”

“You’d have done what you had to,” he said curtly, and then, “People need to watch their kids better.”

The sharp edge to his voice seemed unwarranted. “Children move fast,” she said. “Hard for any parent to watch them every second.” Sailboat spars jingled in the silence between booms, and water slapped the boat’s hull. “You understand kids. I guess that surprised me.”

He crossed his ankles. Purple palms dropped a trail of stars, and orange peonies unfolded. “You can’t be a cop and not deal with kids.”

“A lot of gang stuff?”

“Gangs. Neglect. Abuse. You name it.”

She’d seen a lot of troubled kids through her work, although she suspected not as many as he had. It was odd. She was so accustomed to regarding Panda as an alien being that she’d never thought about what they might have in common. “Sophie didn’t want to let you go.”

A silver weeping willow glittered against the dark night. “Cute kid.”

Blame it on the night, the fireworks, the emotional aftermath from what could have been a terrible tragedy, because her next words came out unplanned. “You’ll make a great dad someday.”

A short harsh laugh. “Never going to happen.”

“You’ll change your mind when you find the right woman.” She was sounding too sentimental, and Viper came to her rescue. “You’ll know her when you see her. Opposable thumbs. Not too choosy.”

“Nope.” He smiled. “One of many good things about modern science.”

“What do you mean?”

“Vasectomy. The medical profession’s gift to guys like me.”

A fusillade of explosions split the air. This was so wrong. She’d seen him today with the kids, witnessed what a natural he was. He should never have done something so permanent. “Don’t you think you’re too young to make that kind of decision?”

“When it comes to kids, I’m a hundred years old.”

She’d been involved with child advocacy too long not to know what cops faced, and in the dim light she thought he looked haunted. “I saw too many dead bodies,” he said. “Not just teens but infants—five-year-old kids who hadn’t lost their baby teeth. Kids blown up, missing limbs.” She cocked her head. “I saw parents on the worst day of their lives,” he went on, “and I’ve promised myself I’ll never have to go through that. Best decision I ever made. It’s hard to do your job when you wake up every night in a cold sweat.”

“You saw worst-case scenarios. What about the millions of kids who grow up just fine?”

“What about the ones who don’t?”

“Nothing in life comes with a guarantee.”

“Wrong. A snip here, a snip there. It’s a damn good guarantee.”

The sky lit up with the grand finale, the bangs, crackles, and whistles ending their conversation. She respected people who understood themselves well enough to know they wouldn’t make good parents, but instinct told her that wasn’t the case with Panda.

Her Lucy-ness was getting in her way again. This had nothing to do with her, other than serving as an omen, a harsh reminder that a lot of men felt the way Panda did about fatherhood, and despite what she’d done to Ted, she still wanted to get married and have children. What if she fell in love with a man like Panda who didn’t want to be a father? One of so many variables she wouldn’t be facing if she hadn’t bolted from that Texas church.

Temple scrambled back from the bow to join them, and they headed home. Panda stayed behind on the boat, so Lucy and Temple walked up to the house together. “There’s something about fireworks,” Temple said as they reached the top of the stairs. “They make me sad. That’s weird, right?”

“Everybody’s different.” Lucy didn’t feel all that cheery herself, but the fireworks weren’t to blame.

“Fireworks make most people happy, but there’s something depressing about watching all that color and beauty die out so fast. Like if we’re not careful, that’s what will happen to us. One minute you’re blazing hot—on top of your game. The next minute you’re gone, and nobody remembers your name. Sometimes you have to think, what’s the point?”

The porch screen door dragged as Lucy opened it. Light from the fake Tiffany lamp hanging in the kitchen spilled out through the windows. “You’re depressed because you’re starving. And by the way … I think you look terrific.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Temple threw herself down on one of the chaises Lucy had covered with a crimson beach towel. “I’m a pig.”

“Stop talking about yourself that way.”

“I call it like I see it.”

The wind had overturned one of the herb pots, and Lucy went to the baker’s rack to right it. The scents of rosemary and lavender always reminded her of the White House East Garden, but tonight she had something else on her mind. “Being vulnerable isn’t a sin. You told me you’d met someone, and it didn’t work out. That puts a lot of woman in a tailspin.”

“You think I found solace for my broken heart at the bottom of a Häagen-Dazs carton?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“Except I’m the one who broke it off,” she said bitterly.

Lucy picked up the watering can. “That doesn’t necessarily make it any less painful. I speak from experience.”

Temple was too wrapped up in her own tribulations to acknowledge Lucy’s troubles. “Max called me gutless. Can you believe that? Me? Gutless? Max was all—” She made quick air quotes. “‘Now, Temple, we can work this out.’” Her hands dropped. “Wrong.”

“Are you sure?”

“More than sure. Some problems can’t ever be worked out. But Max …” She hesitated. “Max is one of those people who not only see the glass as half full, but half full of a mocha caramel Frappuccino. That kind of rosy outlook isn’t realistic.”

Lucy wondered if it was geography that stood in their way—Max on the East Coast, Temple on the west. Or maybe Max was married. Lucy wouldn’t ask. Although she was dying to know.

But the old Lucy’s tactfulness only extended so far. She set aside the watering can and crossed to the chaise. “I haven’t watched much of
Fat Island
…” She’d hardly watched any of it. “But I seem to remember that psychological counseling is a component of the program.” She remembered, all right. The show had a female psychologist who wore a red bikini and counseled the contestants from a tiki hut—all caught on camera, of course.

“Dr. Kristi. She’s a fruitcake. Major esophageal damage from too many years of sticking her finger down her throat. All shrinks are nuts.”

“Life experience is sometimes what makes them good at their job.”

“I don’t need a shrink, Lucy. Although I do appreciate the way you keep pointing out how nuts I am. What I need is willpower and discipline.”

Lucy wasn’t playing the good girl on this one. “You also need counseling. Panda can’t stand over you forever. If you don’t figure out—”

“If I don’t figure out what’s eating me—blah, blah, blah. God, you sound just like Dr. Kristi.”

“Is she still sticking her finger down her throat?”

“No.”

“Then maybe you should listen to her.”

“Fine.” Temple crossed her arms over her chest so aggressively it was a wonder her ribs didn’t crack. “You think I need counseling? You’re some kind of social worker, aren’t you?”

“Not for years. I work as a lobbyist now.”

Temple waved away the distinction. “Go ahead and counsel me. Let’s hear it. Tell me how I can stop wanting to shove every piece of high-fat, high-sugar, carb-loaded crap down my throat.”