Summer Shadows

by Gayle Roper

  You idiot, Winslow! You should not have asked that question. It had just popped out, the next logical step in his thoughts, but it led to a forbidden topic. To explain would mean to explain Colton West, something he knew he’d eventually have to do if his feelings for her continued to escalate. But not yet. He wasn’t certain when, but not today.

  “It’s all right,” she finally said, her voice bright, encouraging. “I know about your Marguerite.”

  He froze for a minute, then stepped back from her so he could see her face. She was smiling at him with that wonderful verve of hers, that joy that sprang from her heart in spite of her troubles. He enjoyed her, admired her, loved to spar with her, and couldn’t remember a woman he’d ever felt so at ease with.

  But talk to her about Colton West?

  How did she know about Marguerite, and how much did she know? He had protected his secret for so long, refusing interviews, using his reclusiveness à la J. D. Salinger and Harper Lee as a PR ploy. His anonymity had worked like a charm on sales. He knew that if he acknowledged Colton West to her, she’d want to tell the world. She was a no-pretenses woman, allergic, he was certain, to secrets.

  She waited, eyes bright, for him to tell her about Colton West, but as time stretched and he said nothing, her face shuttered.

  “Oh.” She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, tears glittered. “I see how it is. I open up. You don’t. Foolish me. I thought we were friends who trusted each other.” She gave him a sad little smile, turning back toward the house without saying another word.

  He was beside her in two long strides, catching her arm. “Abby!” He didn’t know what else to say, but he knew he couldn’t let her walk away.

  “Let go, Marsh,” she said in a small voice. She wouldn’t look at him.

  “Abby, don’t be like this.”

  “Abby, don’t be like this?” She tried to pull her arm free.

  He tightened his grip. “I–I can explain.” But the words caught in his throat.

  “I thought—” she began, then brought a hand to her mouth like she was holding words back.

  He could imagine the words. I thought we had something special developing. I thought we were honest with each other. I thought you liked me.

  Liked her? If he was honest with himself, he was probably falling in love with her, which scared the stuffings out of him. She wasn’t Lane; he knew that. Still, no matter how many times he told himself she was different.…

  “I need to go, Marsh.” She pulled her arm free. “I need to be alone.”

  He couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t let her walk away thinking he didn’t care. He grasped her elbow to steady her on the sand, pacing himself to her.

  “I don’t want my father to know,” he blurted.

  “I already figured that out.” She stopped and looked at him, her eyes serious and sad. “I think you’re being foolish. I think he’d be proud of you.”

  Marsh made an indecipherable noise deep in his throat. Like she knew.

  She saw his skepticism and turned away again. “Right. What do I know? I can’t even figure out how to get along with my own parents. How could I ever know about you and yours?”

  Marsh knew with unnerving certainty that the next few minutes would greatly affect the rest of his life. Even Fargo knew something was wrong. He sat beside them looking from one to the other with a worried expression. Perceptive animal. Too bad he couldn’t give advice.

  “How did you find out?” Marsh managed to ask around the lump in his throat.

  “When I was on your porch, I started picking up the papers scattered all over the floor. I read part of a chapter.”

  “Ah.” Brilliant riposte, Winslow.

  Her lips pressed together, but he wasn’t certain whether in anger or distress. “I’m sorry. I read what was intended to be private.”

  He watched her, marveling that he had so hurt her by his simple hesitation. He felt uncomfortable yet strangely pleased that he affected her so. He knew he didn’t mean to wound her. To the contrary. He wanted to protect her, to care for her, to be with her.

  “Nobody knows but Rick and my agent. And you.” He paused, lifting her chin so she would look at him. She stared off into the distance beyond his left shoulder. Not quite what he wanted, but at least he could see her face. “I want you to know that I trust you with the information. I know you will protect it.”

  She became very still beneath his hand. Slowly her eyes focused on his face, and he could see the faint glow of hope in them. “I’m not used to sharing myself, Abby. The last time I did …”

  “Lane?”

  He nodded. “I decided after that fiasco that it was safer to keep my own counsel. Then she married Dad and, well, you know how things are.”

  “But don’t you see?” She laid her hand on his arm in her earnestness. “Your writing is an area that is not controversial. Lane is touchy ground between you and your father, quite understandably. Your teaching is something he should be proud of, but because it smacks of too much religion to him, he isn’t. But Colton West?”

  He rested his hand over hers as it lay on his arm. He couldn’t believe how much he liked to touch her. Almost as much as he liked to talk with her, debate with her, laugh with her. “I write hack Westerns, Abby. Why should that impress him?”

  “You do not!” The light was back in her eyes as she defended his work to him. “You write good books, and they’re made into first-rate TV movies staring quality actors like Rick Mathis. How many people can say that about their son’s work? Marsh, Colton West is your bridge to your father.”

  He studied her, eyes narrowed. Was she right? “I never saw it that way.”

  “I want you to know something.” She spoke so seriously it made him nervous. “Though I don’t think you need to keep your authorship hush-hush, I will not reveal your secret. You have my word.”

  He looked into her beautiful face. Dear Lord, what have I done to deserve the friendship of a wonderful woman like her? “Thank you, Abby.” He bent, kissing her cheek.

  She gave him a hard stare. “Do you have other secrets I should be aware of? Because if you do, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me now. After all, you know all mine.”

  “That’s it.” He hooked his arm about her shoulders. “I’m really an uncomplicated guy.”

  “Yeah, right.” She laid her hand on Fargo’s head, as he leaned against her. Marsh stared at the animal who had apparently given her his sympathy in the recent discussion.

  Traitor, Marsh thought. But I don’t blame you. I like leaning against her too.

  She scratched behind Fargo’s ear and he leaned harder. She in turn had to lean against Marsh to remain upright.

  Thanks, old man. You’re a good dog. I apologize for calling you a name.

  “What about Rick?”

  “Rick?” He was confused for a moment. “Ah, Rick.”

  She nodded. “He really is Rick Mathis, isn’t he?”

  “His name is Rick Yakabuski.”

  “Okay, maybe he was born that, but he’s Rick Mathis, right?”

  “It’s not my secret to share, Abby. You can’t tell anyone either, not even Celia. Especially not Celia.”

  “That’s not fair. She needs to know.”

  He shrugged. “Probably, but it’s Rick’s choice. All he wants is to be treated as a real person. If Celia knew who he was, would she be as comfortable with him? Would she go out with him? I can tell by your expression that you’re not certain. Neither’s he. I promised I’d keep his secret, and you promised you’d keep mine.”

  “About Colton West.” Clearly she didn’t think that Rick was included in her bargain.

  Marsh took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him, dislodging a grumbling Fargo from his new leaning post. “Let Rick be the one to tell her. It should be news that comes from him, not from us.”

  “If he hurts her …”

  Marsh nodded. “I’ll help you beat him up.”

  “Mrs. Patt
erson! Dr. Winslow! Look at what Walker found!” Jordan came running down the beach toward them. He waved his arm, signaling them to hurry.

  Marsh looked beyond Jordan. Walker was bent over, prodding at something with a stick. Vivienne stood back a ways, looking with disfavor at whatever Walker had discovered.

  “I think we should go rescue whatever the kid has,” Marsh said as he started walking, pulling Abby along. He glanced down at her. “You will let Rick tell her, won’t you?”

  “Let’s just say I won’t say anything unless some major catastrophe arises.”

  “Good enough.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll tell him he’s heading for trouble if he doesn’t level with her.” He gave a rueful snort. “Secrets separate. I learned that lesson.”

  “Just so you learned it,” Abby said, smiling.

  “Stop smiling like the Mona Lisa. It makes me feel like I just lost and you just won.”

  Another seraphic smile. “Good. But I think we both won.”

  As they drew close to Walker, they saw that he was poking a jellyfish. He was being quite gentle for a seven-year-old boy, though Marsh thought the jellyfish might argue the point.

  “Isn’t it cool?” Jordan asked.

  “There’s lots more in the water,” Walker said.

  Marsh turned to the water where the creatures bobbed just below the surface. “Looks like a colony of them is passing through.”

  Vivienne shivered in disgust. “How can we go in the water with those horrible things? They sting.”

  “I hate to bump into them,” Abby said. “Or step on them. That’s when they sting.”

  “I want one,” Jordan said, tired of vicarious appreciation of Walker’s treasure.

  “You can have this one,” Walker said generously. “I’ll get me another one.”

  “Wow! Thanks!” Jordan squatted beside his jellyfish, poking it with his finger.

  “Jordan,” his mother squawked in her usual dulcet tones. “Don’t do that!”

  Jordan, of course, ignored her, just as Marsh had known he would.

  Walker waded into the water, swinging his stick first at one jellyfish, then another.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Vivienne advanced to the water’s edge, hands on her hips. “I told you not to go in the water. A shark might get you.”

  Marsh looked at Vivienne. Was that worry he heard in her voice?

  Walker ignored his mother with the same practiced ease as Jordan. He was up to his shorts when he slid his stick under a jellyfish and lobbed it into the air. It flew straight at Jordan who ran screaming to hide behind Marsh. The poor jellyfish hit the sand with a splat mere inches from Abby.

  “Walker!” Abby put on her sternest teacher face. “Get out of that water this minute and leave those poor creatures alone. Do you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” yelled Jordan, sticking his head out from behind Marsh’s legs. “Or she won’t save you from drowning this time. She’ll let you float to China.”

  “That’s Europe over there, sport.” Marsh pointed to the horizon.

  “Europe, China, who cares. He’ll float there or drown!” He yelled the last two words at his older brother.

  “That’s okay,” Walker yelled back as a wave hit his stomach. “Dr. Winslow can save me this time.”

  “Not me,” Marsh said. “I’m not swimming with the jellyfish. They’re slimy.”

  “She won’t save him again?” Vivienne, confused and distressed, looked from Jordan to Walker to Abby to Marsh. “What do you mean, save him? What are you all talking about?”

  “It was the first day we were here, the day you told us not to go in the water.” The ever-talkative Jordan pointed at Walker. “He went in anyway, and it got over his head. He couldn’t touch bottom.” He pointed at Abby. “She ran in and pulled him out. Just swam right out to him. It was neat.”

  “Tattletale!” A livid Walker raced out of the ocean. “Tattletale!” His fists were balled, ready to pummel his little brother.

  Vivienne reached out, grabbing Walker as he flew past. She held his squirming body against her, wet shorts and all, but her attention was on Abby. “You pulled him from the ocean?”

  “She scared me to death,” Marsh said. “I saw it all from my porch.”

  Vivienne stared at Abby. “You saved my son’s life?”

  “I don’t think he meant to be disobedient,” Abby said. “I think the water carried him out before he realized what was happening.”

  “It’d still be carrying him if she hadn’t come along.” Jordan hopped around Walker who couldn’t reach him because of his mother’s firm hold. “He was halfway to China.”

  “Europe,” Marsh said.

  “Europe. Then Dr. Winslow ran all the way across the beach. He was mad.”

  “At her,” Walker yelled, still twisting and squirming. “Not me.”

  “You saved my son’s life,” Vivienne said again. Her face had lost all its color, and she looked like she was suffering from shock. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Abby shrugged. “There’s nothing to say.”

  “You saved my son’s life,” Vivienne repeated, clearly disturbed. She stared at Abby for a few seconds before grabbing Jordan with a shaking hand. Without another word, Walker still held close and Jordan squirming to break free, she walked across the sand to her lovely new home.

  Thirty-four

  ABBY, MARSH, and Fargo walked back from the beach just as Dad pulled into the driveway. Abby merely sighed when she saw him. If Mom insisted on staying with her, Dad might as well too. At least she wouldn’t feel so guilty when she wasn’t home. Mom would have company, and since the green shelves were now hanging in the bathroom, there was enough room for all their toiletries.

  “Hello, baby.” Dad enveloped her in a big hug, a somewhat difficult feat since Fargo insisted on pushing between them. “Marsh.” Arm still around Abby, he offered his hand.

  Marsh took it. “Mr. MacDonald. We didn’t expect you until the weekend.”

  Abby watched her father. If he caught the we in we didn’t expect you, he didn’t show it. He bent and patted Fargo on the head.

  “There’s nothing wrong at home, is there?” Abby asked, belatedly aware that there must be some reason for his coming in the middle of the week. “You didn’t lose your job or anything?”

  Dad smiled at her. “Let’s just say I was lonely and decided to do something about it. Why don’t I go up and say hi to your mother?”

  “One thing I’ll say for them.” Abby watched her father hurry upstairs. “They love each other. I hope I feel the same intensity for my husband after I’ve been married as long.” She blinked as she became conscious of what she’d said. Even after three years as a widow, there were still times when out of habit she thought or spoke of herself as a wife. Usually the realization saddened her. This time it embarrassed her. Would Marsh think she was throwing out hints?

  She bent, petting Fargo to smooth what she felt was an awkward moment. When she straightened, she gave Marsh a small smile. “I’d better go up.”

  He nodded. If he heard anything untoward in the wife slip, he didn’t show it. “You’ll be fine, Abby.” He gave her a quick, fierce hug. “You’re stronger than you think.”

  Yeah. Right. But his belief in her did help.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “If they get to be too much, just come down and sit on my porch anytime day or night. Feel free to read whatever manuscript pages you find.”

  She recognized the first offer as evidence of his kindness, his heartfelt concern, his understanding of her difficulties. She knew the second was a sign of his trust and confidence in her. She couldn’t decide which offer touched her most.

  He walked her to the stairs, giving her hand a quick squeeze before he released it. His warm smile and those devastating eyes with their gold flecks encouraged her, made her feel she could manage the days ahead with at least a modicum of grace. She went upstairs, pulled the sliding glass door open, and stepped into
the apartment.

  The first thing she saw was her mother’s packed suitcase.

  She looked at her parents. Mom’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. “What’s going on here?”

  “Well, ba—no, Abby, your mother and I have been talking.” Dad went to Mom, putting his arm around her shoulders. “We think we need to apologize to you. We were very pushy to decide Mom could stay here without an invitation from you. This is your house.”

  Abby knew her jaw had just dropped. She could feel it resting on her sternum.

  “So,” Dad continued, “we’re going to spend our vacation at a motel downtown.”

  Mom tried hard not to look upset, but it was obvious she was struggling. Abby tried not to look too happy, but she was struggling too. She also didn’t know what to say. “Oh, good,” sounded almost cruel, like she rejoiced in getting rid of them—which in a way she did, but she didn’t want to hurt these people whom she loved. On the other hand, “Oh, no,” sounded like an invitation for them to stay here after all, which she definitely didn’t mean. So she said nothing. She just kept winging lots of thank yous heavenward.

  Dad carried Mom’s suitcase and assorted paraphernalia to the car. Mom followed with obvious reluctance, Abby bringing up the rear. Puppy sat at the top of the stairs and watched through sleepy eyes. Her tail flicked from side to side like a black-and-white furry ribbon on a wand.

  “Len, are you sure?” Abby heard Mom ask. Her voice quivered.

  “Trust me, Han.” He placed a hand on her cheek. “Trust me.”

  Mom nodded, turned, and climbed into their car.

  Knowing Mom’s feelings about Marsh, about her breaking free, Abby understood she was being granted a glimpse of the depth of her mother’s commitment to her father. To trust him when everything in her screamed in disagreement had to cost Mom dearly.

  Hearing the voices in the drive, Marsh came back out, Fargo trailing. He walked toward Abby, and she automatically moved toward him, the two of them drawn, she thought, like a magnet and filings. He stopped behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder. She leaned lightly against his chest.