Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)

Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3) Page 39

Last night, he and Parker had gone down to the dock with a bottle of wine and the dog. Spread out a blanket and just lay there, looking up at the stars, Parker’s head on his shoulder as she pointed out constellations he pretended he could see, blinded by the perfection of the moment. The water lapped gently at the rocky shore, and his fingers had played in Parker’s smooth hair, and it occurred to James that he’d never even imagined a moment like this happening to a guy like him.

“And right there, see? That’s Orion. See the belt?”

“Sure,” he said, seeing nothing. “It’s Armani, isn’t it?”

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to mock me. It’s just that Harvard had a fabulous planetarium, and until now, I haven’t had anyone to impress.”

He held her a little closer. “In that case, impress away.”

She’d rolled on top of him instead. And hell, he’d been very impressed at what she’d done next.

“Come on, Parker!” he yelled now, thumping on the bathroom door. “You rich girls take forever in there.”

“I’m not rich anymore,” she said, opening the door. Wearing a towel, her wet hair streaming down her back.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Hurry up. We have a long drive.”

She smiled and padded into her bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed. “You sure we should go anywhere?” Those green cat eyes were inviting.

“Actually, we can wait a little,” James said.

And so it was that they were a little late in getting down to Machias. “Why are we here?” Parker asked.

“I thought we could see a movie,” he answered.

“Which movie?”

“Oh, come on.”

“What?”

“Parker. The Holy Rollers in 3-D! opened a few days ago.” He glanced at her.

“Oh, crikey,” she said, putting her hand over her eyes. “Dang. I knew there was something great about having spotty internet.” She peeked at James. “How’d it do?”

“Fourteen million, second only to the alien flick.” He was well aware that she’d been paid quite a bit for the film rights, all of which had been donated to Save the Children.

“Do we have to see it? I’m taking Nicky as it is.”

“Let’s get it over with. You can make gagging noises with me. With him, you’ll have to behave,” he said.

“Good point.”

Twenty minutes later, they were in the little theater, along with about twenty rowdy kids between the ages of chair kicking and squealy texting. The previews began—Smurfs, gnomes, wizards, dogs. The kid behind him spilled his popcorn and started to cry. The tweenie girls in front of them giggled shrilly. “Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?” one kid chanted over and over while her mother ignored her and talked to another kid’s mom.

Even Dante couldn’t have imagined this circle of hell.

He glanced at Parker, whose face was a little gray. “Hey,” he whispered. “It’ll be great.”

“It’ll suck, James,” she whispered back.

“Terrible attitude. Put on your glasses, it’s starting.”

The lights lowered completely, and the movie began.

Parker was right. The Holy Rollers in 3-D! was ghastly. Obvious, blatant, manipulative and all wrapped up in more sugary coating than Lucky Charms cereal. Could there be any more shades of pink in the Holy Rollers’ tree house? One angel’s voice was so high that James imagined every dog in a two-block radius was howling. Rainbow-colored butterflies floated out at them in 3-D effect, as did bubbles, bluebirds and the glittery rush of angelic roller skates.

James glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. This felt longer than a problematic colonoscopy.

He sighed and put his arm around Parker, who was staring, horrified, at the screen. He kissed her temple, but she was mesmerized. “I can’t believe people paid money to see this,” she whispered.

Golly, Polly and Molly, Ike, Mike and Spike whooshed in and out of regular kids’ lives, ate angel food cake and soothed mortal children. A cat died and went to heaven. A dog learned that his limp wasn’t so bad. A bat, previously thought to have rabies, was accepted by the owl family, and throughout it all, the Holy Rollers delivered squeaky messages of mercy and good cheer.

A lifetime later, the Sappy Six had earned their sparkly wings—which seemed to flutter right into the audience. A few kids clapped. The tweenie girls pronounced the movie “so, like, totally stupid” and the audience filed out. Parker and James sat there, watching the credits.

There. Based on the bestselling children’s book series by Parker Welles.

James looked over at her. Even wearing 3-D glasses, she was beautiful.

She was also crying.

“Hey, it wasn’t that bad,” he said, taking her in his arms.

“No, it was,” she said unevenly. “And the thing is, I hate the Holy Rollers, James, but somehow they’re the best thing I ever did, and how rotten does that make me feel? I can’t write anything else, I’m completely tapped out for ideas and this is my legacy.” She tucked her face against his shoulder, her back heaving in little spasms. “Meanwhile, Nicky’s having the best summer of his life, Lucy’s the world’s greatest stepmother—she bakes cookies every day, James. Every day! They have this cute little family, Ethan is perfect, and you know they’ll have kids of their own pretty soon, and Nicky will have siblings. He’d probably miss me if I died, for a couple weeks, anyway, but Lucy would be a great mom, and the only thing I’m good at is being fake. Those squeaky little bastards were the best I could do, and now even that’s done.”

She pulled back, her face wet and blotchy, and looked at him.

“Wow,” he murmured. “So much self-pity in one big sloppy breath. I can’t believe I slept with you.” Then he grinned, and she gave a little surprised snort of laughter and smacked him on the shoulder. Hard.

“You’re no help. I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re just my boy toy.” She swallowed and wiped her eyes with a napkin.

James looked at her for a long minute. “Come on, princess. I want you to meet someone.”

IT TOOK TWO HOURS TO GET from Machias to wherever James was taking her. They didn’t talk too much on the way. They did hold hands, though.

Parker couldn’t remember the last time she’d held hands with someone other than Nicky, who always grabbed on without thinking. It was admittedly the sweetest feeling in the world, his warm little hand in hers. But James holding her hand so firmly, so naturally…this was pretty great, too.

Around four, they slowed down in front of a long, solid-looking rock wall. The sign said Beckham Institute in brass letters. James pulled up to the guardhouse, which sat in front of an iron gate. “Hey, Bert,” he said.

“Hey, James, how’s it going?” The guard looked into the window. “Hello there,” he said, smiling.

“Hi,” Parker answered, feeling suddenly shy.

Bert punched a code, the gate swung open and James drove in.

The grounds were lush and beautiful, carefully landscaped, dotted with robust beds of red and white impatiens, well-placed trees and brick pathways. It looked like a college campus, the old brick buildings in good repair, window boxes overflowing with ivy and geraniums.

But it wasn’t a college. There were a lot of staff members identified by the red shirts they wore, Beckham written in white letters across the back. There were also quite a few people in wheelchairs. Parker saw one man on a bench, wearing a helmet, rocking, as a staffer chatted with another client, this one on the type of metal crutches that bespoke lifelong use. Some of the clients were older, with white hair and spines bent from osteoporosis. Others were heartbreakingly young.

Someone was kicking a ball. Parker could hear snatches of music. There was a large playground with wider-than-usual swings and pathways—to accommodate wheelchairs, Parker guessed. She’d seen one such playground before.

James parked in front of a more modern building and got out. “Come on,” he said, extending his hand.

Parker would’ve asked who was here, but the lump in her throat was too big. She had a good idea, anyway.

“Hi, Carol,” James said to the woman at the front desk.

“Hi, honey!” she said. “How are you?”

“I’m great. This is my friend Parker.” He bent to sign a book, writing Parker’s name, as well, she noted.

“Hello,” the woman said.

“Nice to meet you,” Parker said.

“I think she’s in her room,” Carol said. “They just got out of music therapy. She’ll be thrilled to see you.”

“Thanks.” James went down the hallway, and Parker followed.

How had she never known?

Then James stopped in front of room 111, knocked once and opened the door to a dorm-style room: a twin bed, posters on the wall, stuffed animals. Parker hovered half in the doorway, half in the hall.

“Hi, sis,” he said, smiling.

“James!” the woman exclaimed. “Hi, James! Hi!” She launched herself into James’s arms, laughing with joy. “You’re here!”

It was the woman from the photo on James’s bureau. The blue-eyed, dark-haired woman.

She had her brother’s smile.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, kissing her on the forehead.

“I had art. I made a bird. It’s not so good. I kept it, though. It’s drying. Pete sent me a teddy bear.” She picked up a bear from her bed and handed it to James, then twisted her fingers together.

“Oh, that’s a really nice bear,” James said. “What’s his name?”

“Duh. Teddy. It’s a teddy bear, James. Pete sent it.”

He gave her a look. “I know what it is, Mary Elizabeth. But you don’t have to name them all Teddy. James is a great name for a bear. I’m just saying.”

Mary Elizabeth found this pretty funny, because she stopped twining her fingers and laughed, a big openmouthed laugh that ended in a squeak. “James! That’s your name!”

He smiled and reached up to smooth her curly hair. “Hey, Mary Elizabeth, I brought someone to see you,” James said. “This is my friend, Parker. Parker, my sister.”

Mary Elizabeth looked at her a bit warily.

“Hi, Mary Elizabeth,” Parker said.

“Hi,” she said, glancing back at her brother. The finger twisting began again. “Okay, bye, James’s friend.”

“She’s gonna stay a little while,” James said. “You know the Holy Rollers, right?”

“Duh, James. The Holy Rollers and the Blind Little Bunny. You gave me a Spike doll. He’s the head angel.”

“Well, Parker here, she wrote those books,” James said.

Mary Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “You did?” she breathed. “You wrote those books? You wrote the Holy Rollers books?”

“I did,” Parker said.

The girl’s—woman’s—mouth dropped open, her fingers moving faster now.

“You like those books, right, Mare?” James asked.

“I like those books. I love those books! I have a Spike doll! They live in a tree fort!”

“We saw the movie, Mare. It was great. I’ll take you next week, okay?” James offered.

Mary Elizabeth Cahill had all the Holy Rollers books on a shelf. James had given them to her, she said. For the next hour, Parker fielded the girl’s—woman’s—questions as best she could, agreeing that yes, The Holy Rollers and the Big Mean Bully was the best of all the books, and yes, angel food cake was her favorite dessert, too, but no, she had never had a tree fort.

Throughout the interrogation, Parker kept looking at James, who sat on the window seat, his face neutral as Mary Elizabeth chattered. Occasionally, he made a joke, but mostly he was quiet.