What the Librarian Did (12 page)

“I’m authorized to exercise my discretion.” She took refuge behind her desk, behind an attitude of polite condescension. “Was that all?”

“No.” Eyeing her with exasperation, Devin sat down and rested his boots on her desk. “So you really don’t think your approach with Mark is over the top?”

Frowning, Rachel shoved his boots off. “I fuss over lots of students.”

“You don’t offer to lend them your car.”

“It was raining yesterday and he didn’t have a coat, plus his bag was particularly heavy….”

“Uh-huh.” Devin put his boots on her desk again. “He’s worried you’re looking for a boy toy.”

She’d been about to shove his feet off again, instead her fingers tightened around his boots in a viselike grip. “That’s ridiculous,” she said faintly.

“That’s what I said.” Devin could feel her nails digging through the soft leather. Scratching his eight hundred dollar boots. Gently, he wiggled them free and returned them to the floor. “Fortunately, Trixie had already pooh-poohed the idea.”

“Thank God.”

“Trixie—” Devin paused, waiting until Rachel looked at him “—told Mark that you’ve only gone a little crazy since I dumped you. Apparently you miss me.”

Her gaze slid away from his, then returned blazing. “Wait a minute.
Who
said you dumped me?”

He had the answer to his unspoken question. “Hey, don’t blame me. All
I
said was that we had philosophical differences. It’s not my fault if Trixie and Mark read that as “Rachel wouldn’t put out so Devin dumped her.’”

“I wouldn’t put…Mark thought…oh, this is horrible.” Her defiance spluttered and went out. “Okay, I’ll try and pull back my approach.” She started playing with a paper clip on her desk.

“Tell him the truth, Heartbreaker.”

“His parents are coming up next Friday…. He’s bound to show them around campus.” Painstakingly, she pulled at the thin metal, stretching it out. “I was going to take a short leave, but we have our annual budget meeting and when it comes to lobbying for your section’s textbooks, it’s dog eat dog.”

“It’s pronounced
dawg.”

She smiled but her fingers twisted the paper clip into a tortured Z. “I know I have to tell Mark before then. It’s just, well, we haven’t got the friendship I’d hoped for.”

Devin leaned forward and rescued the paper clip. “How about I invite you both to Waiheke for the weekend? Mark would jump at the offer and it would give you the chance to spend time together in a more natural way.”

“Why would you do that?”

He’d missed her, and it seemed she’d missed him, but one of them knew how to play it cool. So he told her half the truth. “We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

She gave him a crooked smile. “Friends.”

I
T SEEMED APT
, thought Rachel, as the ferry docked at Matiatia Wharf on Waiheke early Saturday morning, that Devin lived on an island. She wondered if he realized the significance. With Mark beside her, she disembarked, searching for Devin’s tall figure in the crowd.

“There’s Katherine.” Mark waved to the slight figure at the end of the pier. “Devin’s mother.” In white capris and a turquoise T-shirt with matching jewelry, Katherine waved back.

Rachel hadn’t seen her since being discovered in a compromising position with the woman’s son, and she prayed Katherine wouldn’t bring it up in front of Mark. But though her eyes twinkled as he made the introductions, Katherine said nothing about meeting her before.

“Dev asked me to pick you up,” she said. “He’s embroiled in some business calls from the States. I’m to take you to my place and he’ll meet us there in an hour.”

“He should have rung me,” said Rachel. “We could easily have caught a later ferry rather than put you to this trouble.”

“Are you crazy? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Really, her eyes were as wicked as her son’s. Walking between them, Katherine tucked her arms in theirs. “And I wanted to see Mark again. We had a fun dinner together last time you were here.”

As she steered them toward a small cherry-red Fiat parked by the ferry terminal, Rachel tried to work out how these two knew each other. It must have been the night of the “orgy” Devin had teased her about. She’d been such an idiot.

Demonstrating exquisite awareness of a teenage male, Katherine asked Mark to drive “us girls.” She sat in the back next to Rachel, pointing out the passing sights. The town’s trendy eateries; a view through the pohutakawas down to the harbor; workers harvesting the rows of laden vines across the hills. “That’s one of the island’s top wineries.”

Rachel tore her gaze from the back of Mark’s head—how cute, he had a cowlick—and made an appropriate response. They’d had such a lovely time on the ferry. She’d taken Devin’s advice and played it low-key, and Mark had filled the silences she’d left for him.

An anecdote on childhood seasickness. A request for advice on an assignment. And, disturbingly, a brief rant about phonies, after he’d read a newspaper article rating the trustworthiness of various professions. Librarians rated highly. Rock stars weren’t even on the list.

“We’re just coming down into my bay now.” Katherine pointed out the window, and obediently Rachel looked at the curve of shingle beach and the colorful iron roofs on the settlers’ cottages scattered against the lush green backdrop.

“It’s beautiful.” She wouldn’t think about the frightening confession that lay ahead. This weekend was only about her and Mark having fun together. There would be a happy ending with her son. And in situations where happy endings were impossible—her thoughts turned to Devin—silver linings like friendship. Unconsciously, Rachel sighed.

“We’re here,” said Katherine.

The Fiat pulled up beside a tiny faded blue cottage so cute
Rachel had to resist the urge to hug it when she got out of the car. She patted the sun-warmed concrete seal balancing a birdbath on its nose. “Devin always does that, too,” commented Katherine. “Come in. Mark, you know the way.”

Inside, mullioned windowpanes gleamed, and the golden kauri floor sloped downward toward the kitchen, which had an old Aga cooker and lace curtains, and smelled of baking and lemon. Mismatched armchairs with fringed cushions lent a charm to the sunlit dining room, and somewhere Rachel could hear an old grandfather clock ponderously marking time. “I love it,” she said.

“Devin keeps trying to buy me a bigger place, but telling him I need grandchildren to fill it usually shuts him up. Earl Grey?”

“Thanks.”

Mark asked for water. “I think he’d be a good dad,” he said, accepting a piece of homemade shortbread.

“Really?” Rachel thought of Devin with Mark and the other students at her luncheon. “Well, he can be patient when he wants to,” she conceded. “And the kids would always have someone to play with.”

Katherine fixed her with a meaningful stare. “What he’s never had is the right woman.”

Rachel bit into the buttery shortbread, still warm from the oven, and diplomatically changed the subject. “Does your other son have children?”

“Zander? No. But that’s probably a good thing,” Katherine handed Mark another cookie. “He’s far too selfish to put anyone’s interests before his own.”

She caught Rachel’s blink of surprise and laughed. “I love Zander, but it would have been a lot better for his personal growth if he’d become a minister instead of a
rock star. That was his original choice of career, you know. He was in the choir when he was a boy…though in hindsight I think it was less of a spiritual calling than imagining himself center stage in the pulpit.”

The wistfulness in Katherine’s voice struck a chord. “Do you see him very often?”

“No.” Katherine picked up the teapot and filled two delicate china cups. The perfumed scent of Earl Grey hung in the air. Rachel had always found it slightly melancholic, like pressed flowers in an old love letter. “But I used to say that about Devin, and now he’s living down the road. So I don’t give up hope.” She handed Rachel her tea.

Mark stood at the window, looking out to the garden. “The last of the peaches should be ripe by now. Want me to pick them while I’m here?”

“That’s so thoughtful, thank you. There’s a bucket on the back step.” Through the window, both women watched Mark cross the grass. “Sweet boy,” Katherine commented, sipping her tea. “He and Devin picked for me last time they were here, because my son gets so huffy when he finds me up the tree.

“I had a little heart trouble earlier this year,” she explained, “and he still treats me like an invalid…. So, Rachel, now that we’re alone, tell me how you two are getting on.”

Rachel watched Mark swing up into the tree. “Much better now that I’ve stopped trying so hard,” she said, then realized Katherine was talking about Devin.

“Yes, I think women expect rock stars to want kinky sex,” said Katherine thoughtfully. “Bondage, threesomes and such, but Devin says he’s always been a one-woman man. One at a time, I mean.”

Fascination overcame Rachel’s embarrassment. “You two talk about stuff like that?”

“Lord, no!” She laughed. “He’s such a prude with his mother. And he’s terribly Victorian about Matthew—my lover. Since you outed us, I’ve been trying to get them to meet, but Dev keeps coming up with lame excuses. Actually, I’m hoping you’ll help me. It’s my birthday and Devin’s taking us all to a local restaurant. But he’s balking at Matthew joining us.”

“I’ll certainly see what I can do, but I have to warn you my influence is limited,” said Rachel. “We’ve decided that we’re better off as friends rather than…anything else.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I mean, a rock star and a librarian takes the ‘opposites attract’ theory a little too far don’t you think?”

“It can work. I was a Kiwi honor student, in the States to research a thesis on symmetric matrices, and the boys’ father was a Texas-born biker. I met Ray when I was working part-time at Marie Callender’s restaurant. He was managing a Harley dealership down the road in West L.A. and was the smartest man I ever knew.” Tenderness lit Katherine’s eyes. “Smart enough to follow me back to New Zealand, anyway.” She paused then smiled sadly. “He died of cancer when Devin was twelve.” She smiled sadly. “I think part of Dev’s problem with Matthew is that he doesn’t like to see another man in Ray’s place.”

“That’s why Devin likes Harleys,” said Rachel slowly, “and cowboy hats.”

Katherine nodded. “Are your parents alive, Rachel?”

“My father passed away some years ago. My mother lives in Hamilton.” She recited the facts the way she always did, without emotion.

“No siblings?”

“No. They’d pretty much given up on having a family when they had me. Mom was forty-five when I was born, my father forty-nine.”

“And you were their miracle.”

For a moment Rachel said nothing, looking down at her hands. Heavy expectations, heavy disappointments. “Some people aren’t meant to be parents.” She’d never voiced the thought before. But she needed to practice surrendering secrets.

“And some are,” said Devin, behind her, resting his hands, big, warm and reassuring, on her shoulders. “Mom, how many times do I have to tell you to close the front door? Anyone can walk in. Where’s Mark?”

“Picking peaches for me,” said Katherine. They all looked out the window and burst out laughing. Mark was balanced precariously on a forked branch near the top of the tree, using his cell phone.

D
AMN, HE’D MISSED
the call.

Red bucket propped against his feet in the fork of the tree, Mark listened to the dial tone. With his left hand, he absently picked a small white peach.

He checked his messages, saw the last one was from Trixie, and got nervous. He’d told her about his birth mother and she’d immediately offered to check staff records for women aged thirty-two to thirty-seven, teenagers when he’d been born. That would really help, because it was nearly impossible to tell females’ ages from looking at them.

Maybe Trixie had found something. Taking a deep breath, he listened to her message. “Just to tell you, I’ve printed off the list of names, and while you’re enjoying
yourself in the rock star’s mansion, I’ll be cross-referencing all afternoon. But don’t feel bad about it.”

Grinning, Mark replaced the phone in his pocket. She was still pissed that she hadn’t been invited, but when he’d hinted as much to Devin, he’d replied, “Tough. Restful women only.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be alone with Rachel?” he’d asked.

“Yeah, I would, but she insisted on a chaperone.” When Mark looked doubtful, Devin had laughed. “I’m joking. It’s just a hang-out weekend, buddy. Good food, a little swimming, a couple of jam sessions and my mother’s birthday dinner. Think you can cope?”

Mark had relaxed. “Yeah, your mom’s cool.”

And he was kind of relieved Trixie hadn’t been invited. Although she was a goddess among women, and being in her orbit was still better than floating alone in the universe, a guy liked to be in charge occasionally. Mark had decided he preferred his love unrequited.

As he returned to picking peaches he felt a frisson of excitement along with the old familiar dread. Today could be the day he found out the name of his birth mother.

D
EVIN DIDN’T KNOW WHY
he was nervous showing Rachel his house. Maybe because this was his retreat, the one place he was truly himself. Maybe it was because he’d decided on the decorating, and having seen Rachel’s neighborhood, he figured she’d hate modernism.

But as always, the librarian surprised him. “Vibrant, colorful, brash and in your face—it’s you.” She held her hands out to the cardinal-red feature wall as though it radiated heat. “I love it.” She wandered through the
spacious rooms, admiring his art collection, pausing at the nudes. “Ex-wives?”

“Very funny.”
The odd girlfriend maybe.

Rachel walked to the glass wall overhanging the cliff. “I feel like I’m in an eagle’s nest.”

“That was the effect I wanted…. Let me show you where you’re sleeping.”

He’d deliberately put her in the bedroom close to his—with Mark shipped to the L-shaped wing at the other end of the house. Rachel frowned as she took in the setup, but Mark was with them so she didn’t comment.

But later, as they lay on sun loungers by the pool, digesting one of Devin’s Tex-Mex specials, while Mark pitted himself against the swim jets, she said, “I’m onto you, Freedman.”

He’d been watching her, lazily thinking her figure was wasted in that polka-dotted one-piece, and wondering if she’d let him buy her a bikini.

He and Mark had spent the past couple of hours messing around with the teenager’s songs in the music room, while Rachel made endless cups of hot tea and sat, knees curled under her, on the white leather couch reading a book and seemingly oblivious.

Except she’d tapped her pink-painted toes to the rhythm and her eyes kept raising to Mark. Devin had realized he was showboating, not his skills but the boy’s. It was a present he could give her, an insight into her son’s talent.

In the end she’d stopped pretending to read and simply listened as Devin fine-tuned Mark’s ideas, while the teenager basked in all the attention.
One day
, Devin thought,
I want her to look at me like that
.

He hadn’t had a good morning. Today was the deadline
for Zander to respond to his ultimatum, and Devin hadn’t heard anything.

Happy birthday, Mom. First thing Monday, I’m initiating legal proceedings against your eldest son.

Devin had even considered canceling the weekend, but Rachel needed this time with Mark. And now a few hours later here he was, strangely content.

“How are you onto me, Heartbreaker?” Her pale skin was reddening in the sun. He unscrewed the lid on a tube of sunscreen and dotted some on her nose. What was it about this woman that made him feel so protective?

“I can do that.” She took the tube from him. Oh, yeah, her fierce independence. “And I’m onto you because underneath the rock star bluster you’re a kind man—with your mom, with me, with Mark.”

Devin hadn’t expected that and wasn’t sure how to respond. “Keep thinking of me as a selfish prick, then I won’t disappoint you,” he said at last.

She finished applying sunscreen to her face and slathered some onto her shoulders, skirting the apple-green halter neck of her retro bathing suit. “For an egomaniac,” she said thoughtfully, “you have a lot of trouble accepting a real compliment.”

He watched Mark splash around the pool. The ego was for music. In his personal life, Devin had never been sure of his identity. People saw whatever image they projected on the famous, and as much as that irked Devin, it also protected him. No one knew who he was. Then he’d stopped drinking and discovered he didn’t, either. Now he was trying to find out, and Rachel’s remark set the benchmark high. He wasn’t used to living up to people’s expectations, wasn’t sure if he always could.