Beachcombers (13 page)

"And Lily? She's a lovely girl."

"Thank you. She is. I suppose I spoiled Lily. I suppose we all did. She was only seven when her mother died. So we all treated Lily like a fragile china doll. She's kind of used to getting her own way. But to give her credit, she's done a great job over the past year, keeping the house tidy and making us some decent meals." He looked at Marina. "You don't have any children?"

"No." It was always hard to say this. "I couldn't have any."

Jim reached over and touched her cheek. "You would have had beautiful children."

He kept his hand on her cheek, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world, to turn her head so that her mouth touched his hand. She heard his breath change and her own pulse sped up. When he dropped his hand, she was disappointed, but he pushed back his chair and rose and moved next to her.

"Come here," he said softly, putting his hand on her shoulder.

She stood up. They looked at each other and then Jim wrapped his arms around her and brought her close to him. She nestled her head on his shoulder and leaned into him. He kissed the side of her neck and ran his hands down her back. She turned her head, longing for his mouth on hers. But he continued to kiss her neck, her cheek, her collarbone. She put her hands on his shoulders, loving the strong, meaty, male heft of his muscles. She inched as close to him as she could, and felt his erection straining between them.

"Let's go up to the loft," she whispered.

He held her away from him. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." She kept her hand on him as she bent down to blow out the candles on the table. "I've got candles upstairs--"

A knock sounded at the door.

The door flew open and Lily burst into the cottage. She wore a tight black dress and high black heels and a black velvet headband in her long red hair.

"Hi, guys!"

Marina dropped Jim's hand.

"For God's sake, Lily," Jim said huskily, "you don't just barge into someone's home."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Sor-
ry
! I just got home from a fund-raiser and saw your note that you were down here, Dad, and I couldn't wait to tell you, I met Joe Kennedy tonight!"

"Would you like some cake?" Marina asked. She hoped the young woman couldn't tell how she was trembling with frustration.

"No, thanks," Lily said impatiently. "I--
oh
!" Lily stepped back, as if she'd just received a thousand-volt shock. "You're wearing Mom's bedspread!"

"What?" Confused, Marina looked from Lily to Jim and back.

"That's Mom's bedspread. I know it is. I'd know that material anywhere. Don't you recognize it, Dad?"

"Honey," Jim said. "She's wearing a skirt."

"No, Dad! Look! It's a bedspread. Mom always had it on the chaise in her bedroom. Marina's just tied it on like a skirt." Lily reached out and grabbed the knot at Marina's waist. "You shouldn't be wearing this!"

Marina stepped back. "I found it at the recycling bin at the dump. Sheila Lester told me we could take anything we wanted."

Lily's lips thinned in frustration. She glared at her father. "What are you doing here anyway, Dad?"

"Like I said in the note. I'm having dinner. And I was having a nice time."

Lily pouted. "I want to tell you about Joe Kennedy." She shot her father a sullen glance. "I guess I'll just wait till you come home."

"Or you can tell us both now," Jim suggested. "I'm sure Marina would like to hear."

Lily shook her head. "I'm tired. I'm going home to bed." She glared at her father. "Are you coming?"

"In awhile," he said mildly.

Lily spun around and stormed out the door into the night.

"Well, there goes a good advertisement for birth control," Jim joked weakly.

Marina managed to fake a smile.

Jim put his hands on Marina's shoulders. "I'm sorry about that. Can we try all this again, another time?"

"Sure," Marina said. She allowed him to pull her against him, but now they were both stiff and ill at ease.

He kissed her forehead. "Well, thanks for the meal. It was exceptional. And the company was, too."

"You're welcome."

"Listen, Marina. Let's do something tomorrow night, okay? We'll go somewhere--dinner, or a concert, something, okay?"

"I'd like that," she told him.

She hid her disappointment and smiled at him as he went out the door.

22

Abbie

M
onday afternoon, Abbie tapped on the front door of the Parker house, then turned the knob and let herself in. Usually Harry and his father were in the kitchen, finishing lunch when she arrived, but today Harry came racing down the hall, jumping up and down with excitement. His striped tee shirt was on backward and inside out, with the tag showing under his neck.

"Daddy sprained his ankle! He fell on his bike and we had to go to the hospital and
everything
!"

Abbie followed the little boy into the living room where Howell Parker lay on the sofa in shorts and a tee shirt, his ankle elevated on a pillow, his computer on his lap. Piles of bound research reports and statistical reprints ranged around the floor.

"My goodness," Abbie said.

"I'm such a jerk." Howell smiled ruefully. "I took Harry out biking last night. Rented one of those cool tandem bikes. We were zipping along--"

"We were going really
fast
!" Harry interjected.

"Hit a bump and stuck out my foot to stop, and hit a brick and
ouch
! In one second, a sprained ankle."

"Does it hurt?" Abbie asked.

"I've got pain pills. Of course they interfere with my work, so I'm trying to stay off them."

"I'm
helping
Daddy!" Harry told Abbie.

"He is," Howell confirmed. "He brings me water, and apples, and sometimes books off my desk."

"And your red pencil!"

"And my red pencil."

"How are you managing meals?" she asked.

"I'm not completely helpless. I can hop around. We did pretty well for breakfast and lunch. And there's always takeout."

"How long will you be in a cast?"

"Four weeks."

"Can your wife come home?"

Howell shrugged. "Maybe next weekend. Maybe not."

From what Abbie remembered of the kitchen, food was not exactly abundant. "I'll just check your supplies."

She went into the kitchen and quickly scanned the cupboards and refrigerator.

Back in the living room, she said, "Why don't I take Harry with me to the grocery store? We can get lots of fresh fruits and veggies and some frozen dinners and some healthy snacks. Oh, and you're almost out of milk."

"That's a great idea, Abbie. You're a lifesaver."

His smile was so warm, Abbie felt herself blush. Any woman who looked at him probably blushed, she thought. He was so handsome. And sitting there like that, with his long legs bare ... she could just see the line of pale skin at the hem of his shorts.
Oh, man!
Abbie thought,
get yourself in control, girl!

She knelt down to face Harry. "Let's see. Teeth brushed? Is this the way you want to wear your shirt?" She gently touched the tag on the neck.

To her surprise, Harry's face crumbled. "I put it on backward! I did it wrong!" His arms flew frantically as he yanked his tee shirt over his head.

"That's all right," she quickly assured the little boy.

"Hey, sport." Howell strained to reach his son. "Don't worry about it. It's summer, it's the island, we can dress any way we want."

Howell gathered his son to him, nudging his laptop over onto the sofa to make room for Harry.

Abbie sensed it was a good time to leave the boy with his father. "I'll make a grocery list."

By the time she returned, list in her hand, Harry's shirt was on the right way and he was smiling.

"If you go into the right-hand drawer in my desk," Howell told her, "you'll find my checkbook. Bring it to me, and I'll sign a check for the groceries."

"I'll get it, Daddy!" Harry yelled. He raced from the room.

Abbie smiled at Howell. "He's a good little boy."

"Perhaps too good," Howell softly responded. "I worry about him."

"He worries about you."

"I know. You're good for him, Abbie. You lighten him up. It's only been five days, and already I can see a change." He quickly added, "Not that I intend for you to be responsible for his mental welfare, I don't mean that. I'm just saying I'm happy you're his nanny."

"So am I." Standing there, so close to Howell, Abbie felt a warm glow in her belly. Their connection was more than friendly. She knew that she was more voluptuous, more shapely, than his size-zero wife. When she was a teenager, her weight and lanky form had bothered her, but over the years she'd gained confidence. Her body worked well for her, and perhaps it wasn't the current rage but she didn't care about that. She knew he was very much aware of her full breasts and rounded hips. His gaze was almost a caress.

"Abbie."
Howell spoke her name as if he were tasting it. "Is that short for Abigail?"

"Right." Wanting to make herself more interesting to him, she added, "I don't feel like an Abigail, though, and certainly not a
Gail.
Still, I have options."

"Interesting. Whereas, with Howell, that's pretty much it." He grinned. "Of course, you can guess what they called me when I was a boy."

"Oh,
Owl
!" Abbie said. "You must have been such a darling little boy."

"And you are a pretty darling big girl," Howell told her.

She flushed, but did not turn away. As he sat gazing at her, a blush rose up his neck to his cheeks.

"Here it is, Daddy!" Harry ran back into the room, brandishing the checkbook.

"I have an idea," Abbie said as Howell bent to write out the check. "It's going to turn cloudy this afternoon. After I take Harry to the beach later on, why don't I come back and make some casseroles? I can make a mac and cheese for Harry and a lasagna for you, and they can last several nights."

"I'd like that," Howell told her.

Rain drizzled down the windowpanes and spattered against the house when the wind tossed it, and the sky had turned inky dark. Abbie turned on the lights in the Parkers' kitchen and she moved around with ease and confidence as she cooked. She loved the smell of sauteed onions and the rich swirl of tomato sauce. She hummed as she worked.

Harry lay on the floor, underneath the table, with his horses and some of the kitchen utensils. She'd suggested he make a pen with spoons and forks. Harry had been appalled at first--his mother didn't allow him to play with kitchenware. They'd get dirty. Abbie assured him everything could go into the dishwasher when the day was over.

Five o'clock came much sooner than she'd expected.

She returned to the living room. Howell was poring over a printout of numbers.

"Is it five o'clock already?" he asked.

"It is." She didn't want to leave. She wanted to be turned to stone, to stand there forever, staring at the man.

No. Not stone. Not just staring.

"Abbie," Howell said. "Don't go. Stay. Have a drink with me. Have dinner with us."

Behind her, Harry yelled, "Yay! Stay, Abbie,
stay
!"

"Well ..." She had another babysitting job tonight, in town, at eight o'clock. She could bike there in fifteen minutes. "And I could help Harry get ready for bed."

"I'd love it if you'd stay," Howell told her.

"All right," she decided. She knew she was blushing. "I'll just ... check something in the kitchen."

Because Harry was shadowing her, she took down the salad bowl and washed the lettuces and dried them in the spinner, but when he ran out of the room, she held her hands under running water, then splashed cold water on her face.

What do you think you're doing?
she asked herself.

Just having dinner with an employer
, she responded tartly.

Cooler, she returned to the living room. Harry was allowed to watch thirty minutes of a DVD before dinner because Sydney believed it calmed him down. He sat before the TV, completely engrossed. Abbie poured Howell a glass of red wine. When she brought it to him, Howell put his papers down and struggled up out of his slouch.

"Abbie, don't you want a glass of wine, too? And move that chair closer so we can talk without disturbing Harry."

She brought the chair near him and poured herself a glass of wine. For a moment they sat together, listening to the rain beat against the windows, watching Harry stare at the DVD.

Howell asked, "So, Abbie, were you born on the island?"

"I was. I'm a real true native. As we say, homegrown."

"Lucky you. And you've always taken care of children?"

"Yes, well ... My mother died when I was fifteen. My younger sister Emma was thirteen but my baby sister, Lily, was only seven. So I pretty much raised her."

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry about your mother, Abbie. That's tough ..."

Abbie nodded and changed the subject. "I love being with Harry. He's a really special little boy."

Howell glanced over at his son. "He is. I often wish I had more time to spend with him."

"But you're here for him most of the time. And you're doing really important work."

"You know, I believe I am. Especially after nine-eleven. This paper I'm working on outlines new guidelines and suggestions for minimizing the volume and toxicity of hazardous wastes in the workplace. For example, we can install more efficient chemical-fume hoods in our laboratories, and more efficient lighting." Howell grew animated as he spoke. Cleary he was passionate about his subject. "Wait. Am I boring you?"

"Not at all," Abbie answered truthfully. He could have been reciting the dictionary and she would have found him fascinating.

Obviously he was eager to talk about his work. He went on until Harry's DVD ended, and then he hobbled into the kitchen and chatted with his son as Abbie put dinner on the kitchen table. As they sat eating, he continued telling her about the proper disposal of hazardous materials and protecting the natural ecosystem. Abbie listened intently, trying to make sense of it all. If it mattered to him, she wanted to understand. She put out fresh fruit for dessert, but Harry was already yawning.

"I think it's time for his bath and bed," she said.

"Right. Right. God, I've done it again, blathered away and bored my child to sleep." Howell reached over to tousle his son's white curls. "Hey, guy, why don't you let Abbie give you your bath. I'll come up and read you a book when you're in bed."

Harry said obediently, "Okay, Daddy."

Abbie loved this time of the day. Loved the soothing tumble of the water into the bathtub and the restful scents of baby shampoo and soap. Loved wrapping Harry in a big, warm, soft towel, holding him on her lap as she rubbed his hair dry. Loved helping him into his pajamas--covered with running horses--and hearing his bare feet pad against the floor as he went into his bedroom. Harry knelt in front of his bookshelf to choose a book.

Abbie called down the stairs. "Harry's ready for his book."

She waited at the top of the stairs as Howell came hobbling up, one hand on the banister, the other holding on to his crutch. It seemed entirely natural for him, when he got to the top of the stairs, to put his arm around her shoulders for support. They went into Harry's room, Abbie aware of the living warmth of Howell all up and down, next to her side. He was taller than she was, and she was tall.

Harry was on the far side of the room, intently scanning books, his back to them. When they got to Harry's bed, Howell kept his arm around Abbie's shoulders. He looked down at her face. He didn't speak. He was close enough to kiss. The physical attraction between them was undeniable. She allowed the connection to last for a few moments, then pulled away.

She knelt next to the little boy. "Harry? Have you found your book yet?"

"This one." Harry held up a book with horses on the cover.

Howell said, "Abbie, stay for a while."

"I can't." She met his glance. "Really, I can't. I have another babysitting job."

"Then tomorrow night?"

"I don't know," she said.
What was he asking her, really?
She hugged the little boy and kissed his sweet-smelling head. "Good night, Harry! I'll see you tomorrow!"

Harry hugged her tight. "Good night, Abbie."

She fled down the stairs and out of the house.