Summer Shadows Read online

  She gave a little royal wave, then turned away.

  He watched her ascend the steps, uncertain whether he wanted to strangle her for complicating what was supposed to be a calm, restful, and productive summer or applaud her for her spunk. He’d never met anyone like her. When he heard her door shut, he dragged himself back to his bed, shoved Fargo onto the floor where he belonged, and collapsed into his pillow.

  It seemed he’d just fallen asleep when he heard a little voice right outside his bedroom window yell, “Mrs. Patterson! I’m Jess. I’m here, and we can get Karlee anytime after nine-thirty.”

  Thirteen

  ABBY STOOD WITH her arm about Jess’s shoulders as they waved good-bye to Celia.

  “I’m glad you’ve come to spend the day with me,” she told the girl.

  Jess looked uncertain. Abby knew it must be hard for her to be left with a stranger. What had seemed fine when her mother was telling her about it must seem much less exciting now that her mother was gone.

  Abby turned from the landing, drawing the girl with her. “You’ll get to meet my parents. They’re coming later this morning.”

  Jess blinked. Abby could almost hear her thinking, “You have parents? But you’re old.”

  “You can think of them as grandparents for a day.” Abby smiled. “They like little girls. After all, I was a little girl once myself, and they liked me.”

  Jess giggled at that absurd picture.

  Abby nodded. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? But if you ask my father what I used to look like, he’ll show you the picture of me as a chubby little girl that he still carries in his wallet.”

  “He still has a picture of you as a little girl?”

  “A very little girl with a potbelly out to here.” Abby held her hand as far from her body as she could. “Silly of him, isn’t it?” It also indicated how he still perceived her today. “Want a doughnut and some hot chocolate?” Abby turned toward the kitchen.

  “My dad doesn’t carry my picture. He doesn’t even have one.”

  The soft words pierced Abby. She knew for a fact that being smothered was bad, but there was no question: being deserted was worse. She turned and wrapped her arms about Jess. “Oh, baby, if he doesn’t carry your picture, he’s not too smart. Anybody’d be proud to carry your picture. Lots of your pictures. You’re smart and pretty and nice.” She kissed Jess’s forehead.

  Jess gave a tentative smile. “Do you really have hot chocolate?”

  Abby nodded. “The kind with little marshmallows. I also have doughnuts with chocolate glaze and sprinkles so we can drip all over ourselves or powdered sugar so we can blow tiny clouds.”

  They had just seated themselves at the glass-topped table on the porch when doors slammed in the driveway.

  “Oh, Len,” a soft voice cried. “Look at those stairs!”

  Abby grimaced. The parents. Already. They must have left home at the crack of dawn. Before the crack of dawn. It was only—she glanced into the kitchen—eight-thirty now. She’d hoped for a couple more hours of freedom.

  “Maybe she’s on the first floor,” her father said. Abby heard him rap on the door below. She took a bite of her chocolate iced doughnut. She knew she should go to the top of the stairs and greet her parents, but she couldn’t resist enjoying her last few breaths of liberty. Besides, she wanted to see what would happen when Marsh answered. Maybe he’d chase Mom and Dad away. She smiled to herself, then felt a wash of shame. What a terrible thought.

  “How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child! Away, away!” she muttered as she quoted Shakespeare’s King Lear.

  “What?” said Jess around a bite of powdered sugar doughnut. A little cloud puffed out, making her giggle.

  “Nothing, sweetie. I was just muttering under my breath in a very unladylike, impolite manner.”

  She heard Dad rap on Marsh’s door again, more heavy-handed this time.

  The door opened. “Yeah?” a sleepy and slightly querulous Marsh asked. Well, she’d warned him company was coming early.

  Abby still couldn’t believe he had been waiting for her when she came home last night. After she got over the scare he gave her when he stepped out of the shadows like some giant assailant, she was touched that he had worried. Not that she let him know, of course.

  When she tried to assess why she appreciated his worry and squirmed under that of her parents, she decided it was his acerbic attitude. He got her dander up just as her folks did, but instead of making her feel guilty like they did, his ire gave her the freedom to fight back. Every time she sassed him or challenged him, she felt her spirit unfurling a bit more, like a tightly wound spool of multihued ribbon freed from its constraint. Curls of vibrantly colored grosgrain and satin exploded, filling her with golden-and-ruby rushes of wonder and sapphire-and-emerald vistas of hope.

  She’d never tell him, but he was her slightly grumpy, very handsome liberator. In his own special, ever so querulous way, he was God’s gift.

  “Abby Patterson?” her father asked the sleepy Marsh, his clipped voice sharp.

  “Upstairs,” Marsh growled.

  “Thanks,” Dad answered.

  “The stairs,” Mom gasped again. “They are hers.”

  “She does quite well with them.” Marsh’s sleep-deepened voice floated up to her, defending her. She felt like hugging herself. He had listened to what she’d told him last night at dinner. He had even understood! “She’s a female Sir Edmund Hillary, climbing her own private Mount Everest.”

  She heard her father’s surprised, “What?”

  “Of course I realize that the sex is wrong and the example too contemporary for her encyclopedia of women eccentrics, but it works for me. And speaking of her,” he continued, his you-woke-me-out-of-a-sound-sleep grouchiness in full flower, “I think she’s cantankerous, opinionated, and too independent for her own good. She’s also beautiful, quirky, and gives me a headache. But then I’m sure you’ve been experiencing that tightness above the left eye for many years.” With that pronouncement, he shut his door.

  She grinned. He might be a grousing wretch, but he knew how to mete out a compliment. He thought she was beautiful! And independent!

  It appeared that he’d robbed her parents of their powers of speech. The silence from below was absolute. Never had anyone told them such outlandish things about their sweet, oh-so-cooperative darling. Maybe, just maybe, they’d see her through his eyes and give her credit for being a grown-up. Maybe the weekend wouldn’t be one long how-could-you-Abby-have-you-lost-your-mind session.

  Oh, Lord, please. She looked at the wide-eyed Jess and winked.

  She’d hoped too soon.

  “Cantankerous? Our sweet Abby?” Dad’s voice reflected his outrage at the attack on his baby.

  “Well, I never!” sputtered Mom. “Opinionated? Quirky? Independent?”

  “Beautiful,” Dad said. It sounded like he’d been told she was dying, not that she was attractive.

  She sighed and got to her feet. She walked ever so quietly over to the landing and peeked down. Mom and Dad stood, faces red with anger, midway between Marsh’s door and the stairs.

  “She must move at once,” Mom said. “She simply cannot stay in a house with an uncouth man like that.”

  “She needs to come home,” Dad said. “He’s dangerous.”

  Abby closed her eyes in a combination of frustration and prayer. Lord, what am I to do with them?

  Her father glanced up the stairs and saw her. Immediately his frown gave way to a wide smile. “There she is! Hello, baby.” He rushed up the steps to gather her into a bear hug.

  Mom followed more sedately, but her pleasure in seeing Abby was every bit as real. “I missed you,” she whispered as she hugged Abby. “I felt so empty without you around.”

  Oh, Lord, help! Abby pulled away as soon as she could and turned, all business, toward the sliding glass doors.

  “Let me show you my home.” She used the word home on purpose. “But first
let me introduce my new friend Jess.” She walked to Jess, stood behind her, and placed a hand on each shoulder. Jess smiled hesitantly.

  “Why, what a lovely new friend,” Dad said. “How do you do, Jess?” He held out his hand for her to shake. Awkwardly Jess offered hers back.

  “Hello, Jess.” Mom smiled with genuine warmth. “I see Abby is sharing her favorite breakfast with you.”

  Jess looked at the half-eaten doughnuts and empty cups. “I love it too.”

  “What’s not to like?” Dad turned to Abby. “Have any more?”

  Assuming he meant doughnuts, not kids, Abby nodded.

  “Oh, let me get them,” Mom said. “Just point me to the kitchen. I’ll make a carafe of coffee while I’m at it. You know how your father loves his coffee.”

  Was there censure in that comment about the lack of coffee ready at the moment? One of the more irritating things about Mom was her ability to say something that could be construed as critical. Abby never knew whether she was being chastised or merely hearing a meaningless comment. The uncertainty drove her crazy.

  “Have a seat, Mom.” Abby took Jess’s hand. “We’ll serve you. You’re our company.”

  “Pshaw,” said Dad with a great warm smile. He was the only man Abby knew who actually said pshaw. “We’re family. Let Mom be Mom, just to keep her happy.”

  “No,” Abby said, voice clear and a shade too loud. “I will serve you. You are my guests. Sit. Watch the ocean.”

  As she turned to walk into the apartment, she saw her parents exchange one of their patented looks. She squared her shoulders. “Jess, bring our cups so we can refill them, okay?”

  When her mother reached for the cups, Abby stopped. “Jess?”

  She watched her mother pull back her hands. Then she turned and marched into the kitchen, followed by Jess. Already the weekend was too long, and they’d been here all of five minutes. How would she survive until late Sunday afternoon?

  Instant guilt grabbed her by the throat. An ungrateful child. That’s what she was. They had loved her back to life after the accident. They had put their personal lives on hold for her. Her mother had quit her job as an administrative assistant at the hospital to stay home with her.

  But, Lord, that was then. This is now!

  She and Jess were just returning to the porch, fresh mugs of hot chocolate and the box of doughnuts in hand, when there was a noisome clatter on the steps. Walker and Jordan exploded from the stairwell onto the porch.

  “Hey, Mrs. Patterson,” Jordan yelled. She could have been down at the ocean’s edge with the waves roaring in her ears, and she’d have heard him. She smiled to herself as she thought of Marsh. She hoped he had given up the idea of sleeping in.

  “I beat you!” Jordan turned to Walker and stuck out his tongue, then danced out of reach. “We saw you from our house.” He pointed to the numberless windows making up the perimeter of his home. “So we decided to come for a visit.”

  “You only beat me ‘cause I let you!” Walker shoved his little brother in the back.

  Jordan staggered but kept moving, arriving at the glass-topped table at the same time as the doughnuts. “Wow!”

  Abby grinned. “Want one?”

  “And some hot chocolate like you got?” He peered into Jess’s mug. “Look, Walker. Little marshmallows.”

  “Do you want some too, Walker?”

  He nodded, then sidled up to Abby. “Who’s she?” He was staring at Jess who was taking doughnuts from the box and putting them on the serving dish. Her concentration was intense, her forehead furrowed, but her long brown hair shone in the sunshine and her red shirt put blooms in her cheeks.

  “That’s Jess. She’s here for the day.”

  Walker nodded. “She’s pretty.” He followed Jess into the house as she went to get more napkins at Abby’s request.

  “I think the boy is smitten,” Abby said.

  “What’s smitten?” Jordan asked. No one answered.

  “Who are all these children, and how do you know them?” Mom asked. “You’ve only been here one day.”

  “There’s another coming in an hour or two,” Abby announced, smiling.

  “We live next door.” A snowfall of powdered sugar erupted from Jordan’s mouth. He pointed at Abby. “She saved Walker’s life.”

  “What?” Mom and Dad turned to Abby, horror on both their faces.

  “He would have drowned.” Jordan sipped his hot chocolate. “I told him not to go in.”

  “Napkins.” Abby rushed inside. “Where are the napkins, Jess? Is the coffee ready yet?” The last thing she wanted was to discuss her plunge into the sea. In the kitchen she found Jess looking warily at Walker.

  “Who’s he?” she whispered, moving close to Abby. “He stares.”

  Abby leaned down. “He’s Walker, and he lives next door. He likes you, I think.”

  Jess made a face. “He’s a boy.”

  Abby nodded. “Too true.”

  Jess leaned in. “Girls rule; boys drool.”

  Walker stiffened. “I heard that.”

  Jess grinned. “Good.” Napkins in hand, she sailed past him out to the porch.

  “Here, Walker.” Abby handed him two clean mugs. “Carry these to the table please. Give one to my mom and one to my dad.”

  Walker nodded, eyes still on Jess. In a daze he walked to the porch, Abby following with the carafe of coffee.

  A shrill voice cut the air. “Walker! Jordan! Where are you two? Get your little selves back in here this moment!”

  Jordan raced to the side of the porch and waved his doughnut. “Hey, Mom, we’re up here. Mrs. Patterson’s giving us breakfast.”

  “What? Were you begging again? You think we don’t have cereal?”

  “Doughnuts and hot chocolate’s better.”

  “Like she wants you two bothering her. Get down here!”

  Abby winced at the strident tone. She walked to Jordan and smiled down at his mother. She had the Sophia Loren look with lots of black hair, a creamy complexion, and a figure to die for. She’d be a very pretty woman if she didn’t look so unhappy. “Come join us. We’re just having doughnuts and coffee or hot chocolate. There’s plenty to go around.”

  Her anger undercut by Abby’s invitation, the boys’ mother seemed unsure how to act. “Oh. Okay, I guess.” She looked over her shoulder at the upstairs windows of her spectacular house. Abby looked too. The vague outline of a man could be seen through the darkened glass of one of the oversized windows. He appeared to be watching the boys’ mother.

  “Bring your husband,” Abby invited before she remembered that Walker had said his mother and father were separated.

  “Are you kidding? I don’t go nowhere with him.” She flounced over to Abby’s. Flounced. Abby watched, fascinated. She’d never seen anyone flounce before. Shoulders and hips undulated at an alarming rate. Whiplash seemed imminent. Then, as she reached the bottom of the steps, she glanced at the upper windows again. When she was certain she was being watched, she tossed her head with disdain.

  Like Mary Tudor haughtily sending Lady Jane Grey to the Tower and the ax, Abby thought. Whoever he is, he’s dead.

  “I’m Vivienne deMarco,” she announced when she reached the porch, holding out a hand with nails long enough to poke out an eye.

  “Well, Vivian, I’m pleased—”

  “No. Not Vivian. Vivienne.”

  Abby listened to the heavy accent on the last syllable and nodded. “Have a doughnut.”

  Vivienne shuddered, her hands moving to caress her hips. “Thank you, no. Cooked in fat.”

  Abby nodded, thinking of the one she’d already eaten and the one she intended to eat. “A cup of coffee then?”

  “No sugar or cream. You got any Equal?”

  Abby shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “I have some,” Mom said, diving into her huge purse. In a few moments she resurfaced, triumphant, a blue packet in her hand. Vivienne smiled her thanks as she ripped the package open and tipped i
t into her mug, her fuchsia fingernails flashing in the sunshine.

  Breakfast went well in spite of the disparate collection of participants. Still, Abby was relieved when the clock showed nine-thirty. “Jess and I have to go to the hospital to get Karlee.”

  “What hospital?” Mom looked alarmed, though Abby wasn’t certain whether at the idea that Abby knew about the local hospital after only one day in town, or that Vivienne was eyeing Dad with a predatory hunger. Dad, to his credit, seemed oblivious.

  Jess jumped up to go with Abby. “He’s still staring,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at Walker to be certain she was reporting accurately. She was.

  “He still likes you,” Abby whispered back.

  “Yuk. Maybe he’ll be gone by the time we get back.”

  “Maybe.”

  The two walked to the car. As they climbed in, Abby glanced next door. The deMarcos’ new house was built so that the first floor of living area was where a second floor would normally be. The ground floor was nonexistent. Instead the space held several pilings driven deep into the sand to support the house. The idea was to give room for a storm surge to wash right through without damaging or destroying the house. In the great storm of 1962, this end of the island had been hard hit by such a surge with scores of houses washed off their foundations. In some areas the ocean actually met the bay. Damages had been in the millions. New building codes hoped to stave off another such catastrophe.

  In the open area between the many pilings were parked the deMarco cars: a BMW convertible and a rich-looking navy blue Lexus convertible with a dented gold grill.

  A shiver went up Abby’s spine. She climbed out of her car and slowly circled the Lexus. Her breath caught when she reached the far side. There the damage was much more extensive than it had first appeared. The entire length of the car was scratched and smashed.