Gypsy Magic (The Little Matchmakers) (3 page)

He didn’t know where Daddy was, and even if he could find him, what would happen if he told him what he’d found? Daddy would get mad at him for interrupting… But maybe, just maybe, if Kevin could manage this all by himself, Daddy wouldn’t mind. It might even make him happy!

He retraced his steps, this time making no attempt at stealth.

~ * ~

Lance sat idly, listening to the sweet, hushed sounds of the forest, breathing in the scented air. Salty aromas wafted from the shore fifty feet down along a trail. The tide must be out, exposing seaweed. Faintly, he heard the lapping of waves on the rocky beach from which jutted a short pier and a floating dock. Now he owned the island, he supposed he should buy a boat for the two mile trip out here from the nearest inhabited island, where his friends, Jim and Mary Hopkins lived, instead of relying on them to transport him. Not that they appeared to mind. He smiled. The elderly couple were good folks, and as the previous owners of the island, had built the dock and renovated the cabin he and his son now occupied. Not much had changed since the time, nearly three years ago now, he’d spent four months in that cabin alone but for the occasional visit from Mary and Jim, bringing fresh supplies to him. At least, that’s what they’d claimed to be doing. He’d figured then, and still did, they’d been checking on him to make sure he hadn’t jumped off a cliff or something. He hadn’t been suicidal, just under huge stress and grieving the loss of his mother, not to mention the failure of his marriage and the business he’d inherited from his father.

That had been then. This was now, and he while he was still dealing with the fall-out of those disasters, he’d hoped the peace and seclusion might provide the same kind of healing as before.

Mingled with the ocean sounds came the muted roar of a waterfall as it spilled from a small lake in center of the island, tucked into a fold of the hills. The first day he’d flown over the island, unnamed until he chose to name it, he’d resolved to hike up there and sketch, then possibly paint that waterfall—in watercolors, of course. It would be a change from the animals and plants he normally used on his line of note-paper and greeting cards. Why not tomorrow? he asked himself, anticipating the way the light would stream through the trees, fall in golden patches on moss and grass in natural openings, the mist that would drift up from the base of the waterfall, blackening the rocks, glistening in drops on whatever vegetation thrived in its moist environment. Yes. He would go... That’s what this month-long trip to his island was all about, wasn’t it? Exploring the place—and maybe, his own mind.

Then, he remembered. Kevin. He couldn’t go. It would be too far for a six-year-old to hike over such rough terrain. Nor could he leave his son.

Dammit, he shouldn’t even have brought Kevin with him but…

His mind wandered back to the time, only a few weeks ago, when his friend Keith had lowered his stocky frame into a basket chair on the back porch. Keith, drink in hand watched Kevin, who played in a sandbox with the kid from next door. The two little boys made roads and ran plastic cars and trucks along them.

“Scrawny little guy, isn’t he? He used to be chubby,” Keith said with a chuckle in his voice, but the undertone of professional interest was evident. “He looks pale, too. Too pale for this time of year. Hell, in July most kids I see are toasty-brown from the sun, unless they’re sick and in the hospital. Does he eat well?”

“All right, I suppose.” Lance sensed disapproval in Keith’s snap diagnosis of Kevin’s condition. “Lorraine doesn’t complain.”

“Don’t you keep an eye on that sort of thing?” the doctor asked with deceptive casualness. Then he added, “I’m glad you asked me to come out this afternoon. It’s been too long. I haven’t seen Kevin since he was a toddler. That’s the trouble with being too busy—you only get to see sick kids. Say, call those two up here and let me have a better look at that son of yours, will you?”

Reluctantly, for Kevin always managed to make Lance feel like a dreaded tyrant and consequently guilty as hell, he called out to Kevin. Both boys froze in their play, casting apprehensive glances toward the porch. Kevin approached slowly, feet dragging, head down. Mickey skinned through the gap in the hedge, headed for home and safety.

“Yes, Daddy?” Kevin said, monotone.

“Nothing much,” Lance said, trying to keep his voice easy. “I want you to meet a friend—”

“Keith Summers!” boomed the doctor shoving out a large hand that engulfed the hand of the startled child. “Hi, Kev. I used to know you when you were just a little boy. Go to school now, don’t you?”

“Kindergarten,” Kevin replied as he surveyed the stranger with suspicion which would’ve done justice to a maiden lady interviewing a prospective gardener.

“Hey,” Keith grinned. “I went to kindergarten, too. I wonder if you know the song? He sang, ‘There was a man named Michael Finnegan…’”

Lance watched the quiet transformation of his son’s face as it went from suspicion to cloaked interest and then through the whole gamut of emotions until he was leaning, a bare half hour later, confidently against Keith’s knee, grinning up into the doctor’s face as he listened to yet another wild story.

Lorraine’s arrival brought it all to a halt as she spoke sharply. “Kevin! I told you your father had a guest and to play quietly in the yard. What are you doing here?”

Before Lance’s eyes the glow of pleasure fled Kevin’s face and he became once more the subdued shadow Keith’s personality had temporarily illuminated. The doctor now ruffled the child’s hair and held him firmly beside his leg while smiling up at Lorraine.

“Hi, Lori,” he said, a gleam of pure devilment in his brown eyes as he delivered what Lance knew—and Keith knew Lance knew—the much hated shortening of her name. “How’s it going?”

“Hello, Keith,” Lorraine replied coolly. Then, ice crackling in her voice, she said, “Would you please release Kevin so he can come in for dinner?”

“Already?” Keith’s mobile face expressed mock dismay. “You did say six-thirty, didn’t you, Lance? It’s not even six yet and I had a late lunch.”

“Kevin,” said Lorraine said in a taut tone, “does not dine with us.”

“Oh, but we were just getting reacquainted after all these years,” Keith protested, then appealed to Lance, “Let’s make an exception this once. School’s out for the summer and a treat never hurt anyone.” He smiled at Lorraine, but a note of steel had crept into his voice. “Why not give Kev a little snack now to hold him over till dinner time?”

Kevin’s too-solemn eyes never left his father’s face as Lance thought for a moment before saying stiffly, “I never interfere with Lorraine’s decisions regarding Kevin.”

Lorraine extended an imperative hand toward the boy. “Kevin, I spoke to you.”

“Yes, Auntie Lorraine,” he murmured, so low that Lance could barely hear him. He was unsurprised. Kevin always spoke like that.

Keith, however was amazed and showed it. His sparkling brown eyes shone with indignation under his unkempt eyebrows. “It’s nice to see an obedient kid, but it makes me sick to see a cowed one. Damned managing female. That’s one good little guy you have there, Lance, and I’d like to spend a bit of time with him. He seemed to take to me. Let me try to find out if there’s a problem you—or Lorraine—might have missed. Say,” he brightened visibly. “Let me give you a break tonight. I’ll read him his bedtime story.”

Lance looked blank. “His…?”

“Doesn’t he get one?”

“I wouldn’t know. That’s Lorraine’s department.” Lance was becoming increasingly weary of discussing Kevin. Heaven preserve us from overzealous baby doctors, he thought, mixing fresh drinks for himself and his guest.

“When I told Lorraine you were back from your year in Australia, and that you were coming for dinner tonight, she suggested making it a foursome,” he said, to change the focus of attention away from his son. “She’s invited a friend of hers, but she won’t make it until after seven. I think you’ll like her—name’s Michelle Kowalski. I’ve met her a couple of times before. She seems like a nice enough woman—a good listener, if nothing else.”

“Ha! Too much stock put in that ‘good listener’ stuff. Girl’s probably just as brainless as your redoubtable housekeeper, brainless, but with enough clues to hide it by keeping her mouth shut.”

“Leave Lorraine out of this. You’re too hard on her. She’s not brainless by any means. She runs this place like a clock.”

“More like a ship… A prison ship… Everything done by the bells. I tell you Lance, it wouldn’t have hurt Kevin to stay up for once. I wanted to see what is eating habits are like. He’s too darned thin!”

“Now wait a minute! Are you here as a guest, or as a bloody doctor?”

“Ah, Lance, don’t get your shirt in a knot. God, how you’ve changed. Sure I’m your guest, but I can’t turn off being a doctor like I can a tap. I see a problem and it’s instinctive to want to delve into it. Unethical as hell, maybe.” He grinned puckishly at Lance. “But I’ve never had a friend sue me yet for caring about his child.”

Lance did not make a reply to that beyond an indulgent smile and a shake of his head as he leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the porch rail. He sipped his drink, listening to the far-off, seagull-like cries of children in a swimming pool across the street, the tinkle of ice in glasses and the buzz of a lawnmower spreading the scent of freshly cut grass around the neighborhood. Keith’s words, however, still echoed in his mind, and without preamble, he said, “What problem do you see?”

Keith, he noticed, didn’t even have to ask what he referred to. “Kevin, of course. The kid’s a bundle of nerves. He scared to move, to speak, and if you don’t watch it, he’s going to end up with—oh, forget it. I’m being unethical again. He’s not my patient. When’s the last time he had a checkup?”

“How would I know? That’s Lorraine’s—”

“Department—” Keith interrupted. “Yeah, I know,” He sat up and thumped his glass down on the rail. “Good Christ, man! Don’t you take any interest at all in your own son?”

“Look, dammit!” Lance felt anger rise. “You know the… How do you medics put it? The family history. You know what happened and that I was away from him for a long time after—well you know I was. He forgot me, Lorraine says, in that time and he wasn’t about to accept me back as a father. He had changed. I had changed. It seemed best just to go on the way we were, with her having complete control of him.”

“And look what leaving her in complete control has done to Kevin.” The disgust in Keith’s tone made Lance even more bitter toward the fate that had done this to them. “Where’s the happy, well-adjusted little toddler who used to tumble around our feet and smear himself with ice cream and yell like a banshee if someone dared to wash his face? What happened to that little guy, Lance? Kevin couldn’t fight back or howl about anything now if he were paid to. He’s too damned repressed, and no wonder, living with that sour faced machine in there.”

“So what do you suggest I do? Let Marsha have him?”

“God, no!” Keith said, for once agreeing with his host in this discussion. “That miserable harridan is the true cause of this whole mess, in my estimation. No way should you let her have Kevin.”

“All right.” Lance nodded. “Glad you agree with me there, at least. Then what do you suggest?”

“What’s wrong with you taking on a little more of his day-to-day care?”

“I can’t get through to him. He doesn’t respond to me.”

“Have you tried?”

“Of course I’ve tried. But the minute I open my mouth he hangs his head and looks whipped. All that does is make me mad and then I lose my cool with him and Lorraine has the job of calming him down. Why should I put all of us through that just to satisfy my own ego?”

“But if Lorraine isn’t around? Who calms him down then if your manner upsets him?”

“She’s always around. She has the good sense to never leave us alone together. God almighty, Keith, she’s the nearest thing to a mother he has.”

“Poor little bugger,” Keith muttered before he fell into a thoughtful silence.

Lance suggested some chess, and they played until the second dinner guest arrived. Lance offered to refresh Keith’s drink when he made one for Michelle. Lorraine, after effusive greetings to her friend, rushed away claiming the need to get “the boy” into bed.

“Nope, no drink for me thanks,” Keith said. “I’m off to read a story.” With a grin at the discomforted Lance who had not wanted to be left alone with Michelle., he bounded into the house.

Moments later Lance winced as Keith’s voice rose, loud and argumentative. He quickly got to his feet as his friend, his face flushed and furious, stormed back onto the porch.

“Bedtime stories tend to be upsetting,” he claimed in a falsetto. “They over-excite him and precedents must not be set.” In his normal tones he said, shaking his head sadly, “Look, buddy, I’m going to take a rain check on that dinner. Food prepared by that termagant would choke me.”

“Wait a min—”

Keith ignored the interruption. “Give me a call and we’ll get together at my place… And bring Kevin along.
I’m
interested in him.” His tone indicated that no one else was. “But if you don’t watch it that little boy’s going to end up with—ah, to hell with it. If you don’t care, why should I?”

While Keith’s walking out had rankled, Lance nevertheless found himself swinging back to that evening time and again and his friend’s parting sentence.

“End up with what?” Michelle had said, looking puzzled.

“I have no idea,” Lance had said then and wished he, too, could take a rain-check on the dinner.

Well, he had found out, hadn’t he? That was why they were here. But a six-year-old with ulcers? If anyone but Keith had suggested it...

~ * ~

“Mother! Mother! Wake up!” Who in the world was saying that? Had she left the TV on? Gypsy struggled and managed to open one eye. Her head ached abominably as did every muscle in her body. The sun made a green and gold webbing across the bent knees of a small, grubby boy. He continued shaking her foot, one muddy hand wrapped around her big toe. “Mother?”

He wore an expression somewhere between incredulous joy and impatience. His face was also extremely filthy and Gypsy suppressed a shudder of distaste. His jeans, what was left of them, were coated in mud. He wore nothing on his skinny torso besides a tan, which was marked here and there with various scrapes and scratches. His high cheek bones stuck out as did his ribs. His hair was long and shaggy, as black as her own, with a patch of burrs matting it in one side. A smear of what might have been jam streaked one cheek from month to ear. He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on the back of one hand.