by Jo Leigh
He waited, drumming his fingers on the counter, watching the coffee drip into the carafe and trying to figure out what he was going to say to his mom. For now, she was just glad Tilda had arrived safely, and that whatever he and Ginny were up to hadn’t put them in the headlines of her local newspaper.
Finally, as the last of the coffee dribbled down, he filled his mug and checked the time on his way to the patio. Wow. Forty-five minutes now. But then it had to be a lot for Tilda to take in. Just as he closed the sliding glass door, the silence ended.
He heard Tilda, who sounded as though she was shouting at the top of her lungs. “How could you have kept that from me all this time? You had no right!”
His heart sped up as he froze in place. There was a pause, which must have been Ginny responding to Tilda. It didn’t last long.
“Really?” Tilda’s voice shot higher. “You thought my stupid crush on stupid Cliff Browning was a reason not to tell me? You know I’m mature for my age. You could’ve told me.”
He might have heard a murmur from Ginny, but it could have been the wind.
“What about when I turned thirteen, huh? What happened then that you decided to put off telling me?”
It got quiet again. He probably ought to just take that walk. He knew the back way in from when he’d moved the patio table.
“You’re just making excuses.” Tilda had lowered her voice some, but he could still hear her. That’s when he realized the den’s window was a few feet beyond the patio. “This is so unfair. You knew I had webbed toes just like Meg’s grandmother. I mean, why won’t you tell me who my father is? Why can’t you at least stop lying now?” Tilda continued on, but now he could hear her sobs more clearly than her words.
It was way past time for him to be somewhere else. He shouldn’t have listened to any part of this. Especially when his heart went out to both of them. Tilda wasn’t wrong. But she wasn’t right either.
It had taken him a while, but he finally understood Ginny had done what she thought was best. And if she’d dragged her feet telling Tilda, it was because she was scared. After all, everyone in Ginny’s life had left her. Her dad. And Meg. Even he’d vanished without a word all those years ago, and she’d never have known the truth if he hadn’t come back to look for his sister.
To some degree, Ginny probably felt abandoned by her mother, as well. Irrational, yes, but he knew too well how grief and betrayal could trick the mind. And now, she was terrified her worst nightmare was becoming a reality. That the only person who’d loved her unconditionally would be lost to her.
The sudden clarity hit him hard.
Tilda’s voice came through again and he hadn’t moved an inch.
“...instead you lied. I thought we told each other everything! My friends have always been jealous. They think you’re the coolest mom ever. What a laugh. You lie just like everyone else. And now, I’ll never get to know Meg.” She paused. “Does Mrs. Nolan know?”
Parker couldn’t listen to another word. He went into the house, headed straight toward the guest room. But Tilda stormed out of the den and skidded to a stop when she caught him in the hallway. Despite her tearstained face, she gave him a glare that should’ve turned him to ice. She looked as if he’d been in cahoots with her mother all along.
“So obviously you had no trouble covering for Ginny and lying too, Uncle Parker. Thanks a lot for your part in ruining my life.”
He didn’t say a word as she pushed past him, purposely knocking into his good shoulder to march to the staircase.
As her bare feet slapped the wood floor, he watched her, belligerence radiating from her. But he couldn’t let go of what she’d said. He didn’t care what she thought of him, but calling her mother Ginny? No way he’d let that slide.
“Wait just a minute, young lady.”
She stopped after two more steps, but she didn’t turn around.
He said nothing. Just waited, standing quiet and still. When she finally turned, her expression was brimming with defiance, no doubt reflecting the wound to her heart.
Forcing himself to keep his tone even and low, he said, “I know you’re angry and hurt, but it’s no excuse to be disrespectful. I suggest you do some thinking before you pop off like that again. Whether you, or I for that matter, agree with how your mom handled things, she’s sacrificed an awful lot to make sure you had a good home and a privileged life. And you know as well as I do that she’s always loved you as if you were her own. I dare you to find anyone who could’ve loved you more.”
Tilda blinked, although she didn’t lower her crossed arms. He knew she was still furious, but at least she was breathing more steadily. Getting some oxygen to that big brain of hers.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, as snottily as she could, which was actually a lot less snotty than her tantrum had been. “What do you think my grandmother is going to say about all this? Think she’ll agree with you or me?”
That knocked the wind out of his sails for a minute but after giving it some thought, he knew the answer. “She’ll be hurt and confused, just like you are right now, but when she hears everything and has some time to process what actually happened, she’ll not only agree with me, she’ll be grateful to your mom.”
Tears streamed down Tilda’s cheeks as she shook her head. “How can you be on her side? Mom lied to you too.”
“It took me a while, as well,” he said. “But after a few days, I got to the right place, and I know you will too. Just try to be patient. I know she’ll answer any questions you have. But before you ask, think about what you would have done in her place, okay? Would you have given a child you already loved to someone you didn’t know? Leave her to her fate, whatever that would be? Would you have given up the life you had all carved out for yourself to become a preschool teacher instead of a world-class biologist? Would you have done something as honorable as what your mother did? I’m not sure I would have been as strong and self-sacrificing.”
Without a word, Tilda spun around and raced up the stairs. He heard her bedroom door slam.
Man, he was ready for that walk, despite the neighbors. But then he saw Ginny standing in the hallway, crying so hard he wondered if she would run out of tears.
* * *
FOUR DAYS AFTER the devastating conversation with Tilda, Ginny had finally managed to get a full night’s sleep. It was nothing short of a miracle, though it probably had a lot to do with the way Tilda was coming around. Her attitude had softened in increments, and when she’d finally called Ginny Mom yesterday, it was as if the sun had come out after a long, hard winter.
Not all was well by any stretch, and there were still moments when Ginny had no idea what to do, especially when it came to telling Tilda about her father. But that was a bridge to cross later, after Tilda had processed what she’d already been told.
Parker was another issue. It hadn’t been easy to accept that his words to Tilda had been his honest feeling. Yet, he’d been attentive and helpful. And yes, he’d also been grouchy and complained about all the calls he was fielding from Alaska, but she didn’t mind. She kind of enjoyed his grumpiness and liked to give it back to him. He was quick and clever and kept her on her toes—at least when she wasn’t so tired she could have slept on a bed of nails.
Best of all, the anger was gone. Not the sadness though. It was odd, how easy it was to forget that he’d only learned about Meg’s fate less than a week ago. And having to tell his mother had been brutal, and she still didn’t know the whole thing.
He’d gone for a long, long walk that night after telling his mom, and Ginny wasn’t even sure when he’d returned. The day after had been quiet, for all of them.
Parker came into the kitchen while Ginny stirred a pitcher of her own special lemonade.
“Is that boozy lemonade, I hope?”
“It’s ten in the morning. What’s happened now?”
“I
’m going to smash my cell phone into such tiny pieces it’ll be unrecognizable.”
“Ah. The calls of the wild.”
“Ha. Very funny. I need coffee and whatever smells so good.”
“They’re almost ready. My friend is coming over in a little while. Cricket Shaw. I’ve spoken about her before, remember?”
“Yep. Lawyer. Dad’s the surfer dude.” He sat down at the table. He’d showered but hadn’t shaved, and the scruff of his day-old beard made him look even more appealing.
Tilda walked into the kitchen, still in her robe, her hair all over the place, just as Ginny had opened the oven. “Do I smell cookies?” she asked, midway through a yawn.
Ginny was busy yanking on a mitt to take out the tray of double chocolate chip. By the time she set them on the stove top, Tilda was hovering. Her hand shot out, but Ginny slapped it away. “You’re going to burn yourself. How about some breakfast? I can make omelets.”
“Nope. Cookies.”
“I have to agree with Tilda on this one,” Parker said.
Ginny just shook her head, basking in the warmth that had nothing to do with the weather as she found a spatula.
Tilda poured herself a glass of lemonade and plunked herself down at the table across from Parker. “That was cool. Last night.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Those pictures really took me back. Meg was a wild one back in high school. Did your mom tell you that the two of them blew up the school lab?”
Tilda grinned. “Yeah. I plan on making her retelling it an annual tradition.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “We did not blow up the lab. A couple walls were damaged, that’s it.” She still couldn’t believe she’d blabbed about it in a weak moment yesterday.
“Meg was so pretty,” Tilda said. “I’d seen pictures of her before, but I never truly looked at them, you know?”
Ginny got busy making scrambled eggs. She doubted anyone would eat them, but it gave her the chance to make some peace with the heartbreak that had come with looking at those pictures of Meg. She missed her friend so much. Wished with all her heart she could have helped her. But watching Parker and Tilda go through that meeting of calm and heartache, laughter and tears hadn’t been easy. It had ended up being a kind of catharsis, although the road ahead for all of them would be long and complicated. No use ignoring that.
“My mom’s got a lot more pictures of Meg when she was younger,” Parker said. “She’ll love showing them to you. Just please, for my sake, when she tries to show you pictures of me, close your eyes.”
Tilda had her glass halfway to her mouth, but she just stared at Parker as if the idea of having a grandmother was shocking.
It was a shock to Ginny too. Along with it came a stab of fear that went straight through to her soul. The word custody hadn’t come up, at least as far as she knew. But there was no denying that their lives had changed forever.
Tilda took advantage of her distraction and snatched a cookie. After an enormous bite, Tilda smiled. “These are actually good. What’s up with this, anyway? You never bake.”
“I don’t know. I just felt like it.” Ginny quickly turned back to the eggs. She hated baking. But after Tilda had come home raving about Mrs. Nolan’s homemade cookies and cupcakes, what was Ginny supposed to do, buy her the usual store-bought kind?
Tilda grabbed three more and headed for the stairs. Although she stopped long enough to give one of them to Parker.
He winked at her. It was unforgivably cute.
Just as Ginny was about to give up and dispose of the rubbery eggs, she saw the wrapper from the slice-and-bake cookie mix she’d bought sticking out of the trash. What she didn’t notice as she did her best to hide it was Parker standing right behind her, watching the crime in progress.
He didn’t say a word, but his grin was far too smug.
“Oh, shut up,” she said as she straightened.
“Tilda’s a smart kid,” Parker said, still alarmingly close. “She’s probably figured out that you’re trying to compete with my mom.”
“I’m not trying to—I made cookies. Big deal.”
His smile broadened. “Oh, she’s going to milk you dry.”
Ginny huffed a sigh.
He put a hand on her shoulder, sending a shiver right down her spine. “She loves you. Look how far she’s come in such a short time. You don’t have to prove anything to her.”
Ginny blinked back her still-too-frequent tears. “How did you get to be so smart about teenagers?”
“They’re human, aren’t they?”
She laughed. “Sometimes.”
He laughed too, and gave her shoulder a squeeze that meant far too much to her. Even with his injured arm, he’d been quick to offer his help. He was forgiving, great company, and had played a large part in bringing Tilda out of her initial funk. But this wasn’t his life, and while she was dreading the day he left, he was probably counting the seconds.
“Hey, Mom?”
Ginny was surprised to hear Tilda’s voice coming from the foyer.
She was looking out the side window by the front door. “There’s a new FBI guy sitting in the car. He looks really cute. You should take him coffee or something. Find out if he’s married.”
Ginny coughed.
“All right,” Parker said, coming up behind Ginny. “Get away from the window.”
Tilda turned around, eyes wide, trying to hide a smile. “What? You aren’t jealous, are you? Cause you aren’t half bad, yourself.”
“Funny.” He jerked his thumb. “Step back. Ginny, they say anything to you about replacing Agent Morales?”
She lost the grin. “Yes.” Ginny saw now why Parker was concerned. “Agent Spencer is covering for a couple days, and then we’ll be free and clear. No more protective detail.”
“Okay,” Parker said, nodding, then taking a peek out the window himself as Tilda muttered something about calling Kaley and raced upstairs.
“Hey, what do you want for dinner tomorrow, so I can thaw the meat? We’re having spaghetti and meatballs tonight.” It was one of Tilda’s favorites.
His mood had shifted. He had that faraway look that Ginny always thought meant he was missing Alaska. “How about I go pick up some fresh fish in the morning, and I’ll grill it for dinner?”
“Perfect. I’ll drive you, and then we can stop at the market for more veggies. I’ll make a salad.”
“I’m okay to drive on my own. My arm’s much better.” He glanced down at the sling. “I don’t even need this anymore,” he said, but he didn’t take it off. “I’ll be making plans to go pick up my plane at La Guardia the day after.”
“Wait. You can’t be healed that quickly.” Panic started building in her chest. “And you have to be cleared by a doctor.” She wasn’t ready for him to leave. Not so soon. Not yet.
Oh, no. She wasn’t falling for him all over again, was she?
“Seriously. What if you have to turn the steering wheel hard? What if there’s extra turbulence, and you’re all by yourself? You already busted two stitches when you tried to move the storm shutters down to the cellar.”
“I’m better now. I wouldn’t put anyone, or myself, at risk by jumping the gun. You need to believe me. Besides, you must be anxious to return to your normal life. Aren’t you having students come back starting tomorrow? I’m sure they wouldn’t be happy to see a guy like me skulking around.”
“I can wait another week to pick up my schedule. I’m sure the kids will be delighted. I want you to recover. Fully. In peace.”
“I’ll be fine, Ginny. I think we both need to get back to normal. But first, I’m going to fly to Boise and spend a little time with my mom. Tell her the rest of what she needs to know in person. Then I’ll be on my way back to Alaska.”
He took a step toward the coffeepot but didn’t touch it. “I’d appreciate you no
t calling the doctor or doing anything else to stop me. Okay?”
Ginny had no choice but to put on a happy face. “I give you my word,” she said, as brightly as she was able.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
PARKER HAD GONE to the beach. Tilda was over at Kaley’s, and now Ginny was down in the dumps, waiting for her friend and trying to talk herself into rising above the unavoidable.
When Cricket knocked, Ginny went to the door and did her best to be her chipper self as they hugged and moved toward the patio. The lemonade and cookies were already out there, but the thought of food didn’t sit well.
“You look wonderful,” Ginny said. “So much more relaxed than last week. Your dad must be doing better.”
“He is.” Cricket frowned, filled two glasses with lemonade, then looked at Ginny. “I wish I could say the same about you, kiddo. You look terrible. Is this about the custody issue? Because I’m staying here longer than I expected and maybe I can help in some way.”
Instead of brushing her friend’s worry aside, Ginny started crying. It was a curse, but there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it. She’d never cried this much, not even when Tilda was a baby. Now she couldn’t turn off the taps.
“Oh, sweetie,” Cricket said, leaning forward and putting her hand on Ginny’s. “Talk to me.”
She hadn’t planned on it, didn’t think it was smart and felt like a fool, but Ginny did just that. Talked. And talked. She told Cricket everything. About Meg. About Tilda. About Danny Masters. And about Parker. Well, not all about Parker.
Cricket hardly interrupted. When she did, it was because Ginny had jumped ahead, or had skipped an important bit. But mostly she simply listened.
It felt wonderful to let it all out to a friend who wouldn’t judge her, or scold her or point out all the things she’d done wrong. When she was finally finished, a good hour later, Cricket got up, crouched in front of Ginny and hugged her hard. After Cricket returned to her chair, the first thing she said was, “So, you’ve got it bad for Parker, huh?”
