“Did you thank Mr. and Mrs. Delaney?” Laurel tried to act like she hadn’t just been caught by her son making out with a man. A man who wasn’t Peter’s father.
“Yeah.” The teen did his best to act normal. Sullen. “I’ve got some homework to do.” He averted his eyes.
“Where are your sisters?”
“They’re playing with Anna and the dog.” He wouldn’t look at his mother, just stared at the wood planks on the deck.
“Okay. I’ll be home soon.”
Mark could tell Laurel, though soundly shook up, tried her best to keep it together. But things had just gone wonky, and he sensed payback would be involved. Making Mark wish he’d broached the subject on his mind—dating Laurel, which, after witnessing their kiss, had to officially and obviously be on Peter’s mind, as well—yesterday when he’d taught Peter how to paint the gazebo.
Tossing a cold bucket of water on them couldn’t have done a more thorough job of putting out the passion they’d been working up.
“I need to talk to him,” she said.
Mark saw the near panic in her eyes as she took off after her son.
“I’ll have Keela bring the girls over when they go home.”
“Thanks,” she said, already down the deck stairs and heading for her house.
*
Confused and worried, Peter rushed blindly across the street for home, to his room, where he slammed the door. Didn’t Mom care about Dad anymore? Would he lose her, too, if she fell in love with Mark?
Anger washed from his head downward, concentrating around his chest. It felt tight and hurt. He’d thought Mark was his friend, but now he wondered if they’d been hanging out together only so Mark could get to his mother.
He wasn’t a friend. He was his enemy. No way could he talk to his mother about it, because she’d take Mark’s side.
There was a knock at his door. “Leave me alone!”
“I want to talk to you,” his mother said.
“I said leave me alone!” He hated that his voice cracked on alone. He’d locked his door, knowing she’d want to face him after her betrayal.
But there was only one person he wanted to talk to. His dad. And he was gone.
Chapter Six
Monday, Mark waited for Peter at the regular spot on the beach at four o’clock, but he didn’t show. He’d opted not to bring the refurbished surfboard, thinking it might come off as a bribe, and now he was glad he hadn’t. After Peter’s obvious disapproval of the kiss Sunday night, the last thing Mark wanted to do was make the kid angrier.
He waited a full twenty minutes before texting Peter. Where are you?
Nothing. Yeah, the kid was ticked off all right.
After a half hour of riding waves, Mark headed back to the beach and on to the B&B, ready to face Peter and apologize for any distress he may have caused him. But then what? Quit seeing Laurel? Not gonna happen. He’d just found her, and she’d been a great surprise. Truth was, he didn’t want to give her up because her son didn’t want his mother to have a life after Dad. Peter needed to understand that, ready or not, life kept moving forward. And his dating Laurel didn’t mean anything serious would happen. How could it when he hadn’t gotten that far in his personal plans? Their dating also didn’t mean Peter’s life as he knew it would change.
He arrived at Laurel’s as she carried two handled tote bags of groceries from the car.
“Let me help you with that,” he said, her smile brightening his mood as he took the next two totes out of the trunk, but it always did. Once inside the kitchen, he placed the bags on the island counter. “Is Peter home?”
“Wasn’t he supposed to be with you?”
“He didn’t show up for his surf lesson, and didn’t respond to my texts.”
She stopped unloading canned goods and stared at Mark, obviously stunned. In the next second she dug through her shoulder bag for her cell phone and made a call. “Peter, pick up, it’s Mom,” she said after a few seconds. “Please pick up?” She huffed, the color beginning to drain from her cheeks, and dialed again. His stomach constricted. She dropped her head back in frustration. “It went right to his messages.”
Mark stepped forward, touching her unsteady hand. “At least we know he got your call. When’s the last time you saw him?”
“This morning.” Her eyes glistened with early tears. “He was angry, wouldn’t talk to me last night, but he got up and dressed for school like he always does. Didn’t say two words to me at breakfast, though.” She sniffed and reached for a tissue on the sink counter. “I dropped him off at school before I took the girls to kindergarten. He barely acknowledged me when he got out, just made a grunt when I said I loved him.” Her lower lip quivered. “What if he’s run away?”
Mark took her into his arms, but she stiffened instead of relaxed. “Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe he’s hanging out with his friends and wants to upset us. He’ll probably show up for dinner.”
Her brows crashed down with a disapproving expression. “I can’t wait that long! I need to know where he is now.”
“Listen, today’s my brother’s day off. He can help us.”
Panic widened her eyes. “What if he’s run away? Where would he go?”
“If he’s run off, Conor and I will find him, I promise.”
There was only so far a kid could go on foot. Who knew if he had money for the bus. Would he have the nerve or the wherewithal to head back to Paso Robles on his own? Did he know how to get there, and once he got there, what would he do? He’d never mentioned friends back there.
“What’s he wearing today?”
She thought for a second, her eyes brightening. “His father’s old T-shirt.”
“The Bart Simpson one?”
She nodded.
It was probably a clue that Peter had his dad on his mind after seeing his mother with Mark last night. “Where’s your husband buried?”
“He’s not. He wanted to be cremated, and we scattered his ashes here in the ocean.”
He and Peter had talked about a lot of things while they waited for waves. One of them was the best places to have a complete view of Sandpiper Beach and the ocean. “I’m going to check the pier. I’ll call Conor and let him know what’s going on.” He took off running north to the small fishermen’s pier.
Mark had told Peter where his favorite spot was when he needed to think. If his father was buried at sea, it might make sense to want to spend some time thinking about him up there.
He got to the pier and asked around, but none of the regular fishermen had seen him. Then he got an idea, a wild idea, but he didn’t have a clue where to start. He also called Conor.
“Got a problem. Peter’s gone missing. Can you help?”
Within five minutes, Conor met Mark back at the B&B, where he pulled to the curb in his muscle car and waited for Mark to get in. “I called it in. Does Laurel have a recent picture?”
Mark rushed back to the porch. “We need a picture for the sheriff’s station.”
“No luck at the pier?”
Mark shook his head.
She rushed inside, then shortly back out to the porch. “Just got his school picture last week.” She handed a typically uncomplimentary five-by-seven school photo of Peter to Mark, who rushed it back to the car.
Mark dipped his head to Laurel, who waited anxiously on the porch. “Call me the instant you hear from him.”
She nodded, obviously trying to keep it together, while having to hang back with her daughters and pretend everything was okay, so they wouldn’t freak out, too.
“I’ll take this to the sheriff’s station,” Conor said. “I’ll tell them to get all the details from Laurel,”
“Sounds good. I’ll check the beach where the school kids hang out,” Mark said, taking some comfort in knowing the department didn’t waste time on protocol before considering any kid missing. These days, the sooner they were found, the better the chances no one got hurt, whether the kid took off intentional
ly or not.
Mark figured it only made sense to check the closest locations before heading up the hillside, so he agreed. “Let’s go, then. Meet you back here in fifteen minutes.”
Conor drove at breakneck speed up the street, and Mark jogged toward the beach and the area where most of the high school kids congregated. As expected, there was a large group of kids, and Mark spotted the group who’d messed with Peter the first day Mark had met him. He approached the tall guy.
“Have you seen Peter lately? He didn’t show up for his surf lesson.”
The tall kid curled out his lower lip, thinking, then shook his head. “Not here. Saw him in gym class, though.”
“What period was that?”
“Fourth.”
Before lunch. That could mean anything. “Any of you guys have classes with Peter Prescott?”
“You mean pee-pee?” one smart-ass replied with a snicker. “Yeah, I’ve got art with him.”
“What period?” Mark ignored the desire to deck the kid.
“Fifth.”
“Was he there?”
“Yeah. He’s good at painting. Never misses.”
He’d figured out Peter’s whereabouts up until two-ish. It was nearly five now, and with the days getting shorter, the sun set between six and six thirty, so he rushed back to the B&B and met up with Conor.
“Let’s drive by the school,” Conor suggested. “Maybe he’s still there.”
He gunned the engine, and they made it to the high school in near record time. A few stragglers were still hanging around the red brick administration building. Sandpiper High had less than five hundred students, tiny as far as high schools went, which was to their advantage.
“Any of you know Peter Prescott?” Mark asked.
They looked at each other, and one scrawny girl with long brown hair raised her hand.
“You see him after school?”
“Yeah. He was walkin’ toward the beach.”
Minimal help, but at least he hadn’t headed for the city bus system, and they knew his whereabouts until 3:00 p.m. And Mark hadn’t seen a hint of him at the pier or hanging out with the other kids on the beach.
“I’m going to follow my hunch on this,” Mark said to Conor. “Let’s go to the dunes and catch that trailhead.”
“The place we used to go?”
“Yeah, the cliffs. Peter and I talked about that place once. Maybe he’s hiding out there. He was wearing his dad’s old T-shirt today. They scattered his ashes at sea off the pier, but he wasn’t there. The ocean’s all he’s got left of his dad.”
“And the view’s awesome from there,” Conor added.
“Exactly.”
Once they parked and took off toward the sand dunes to find the trail up to the secluded cliffs, Mark explained how Peter had caught him kissing Laurel after dinner last night.
Conor tightened his chin with understanding. “That could be tough. How long’s his dad been dead?”
“Around two years, I think.”
Conor gave Mark a thoughtful glance. “So you and Laurel?”
“Yeah. I think.” Mark kept hiking, gravel sliding under his shoes, feeling odd admitting it to his brother. “Probably not after this, though.”
“You can’t let a kid keep you from seeing her if there’s something going on.” For being the fittest man Mark knew, Conor sounded very out of breath as they climbed the steepening trail.
“Laurel would be the one to make that decision.” Mark used a boulder to propel himself forward. “And honestly, I’m not sure where it’s going with Laurel, just that I like being around her, and I’d like to keep seeing her. Beyond that?”
“Well, that’s a start, man.”
After today, whatever they had going on was probably finished, anyway.
They’d forgotten how tough the hike to the top of the cliffs were. Conor wondered aloud if Peter was in good enough shape to make it.
“He’s skinny, but he’s been doing the exercises I said he had to, to learn how to surf, and his leg strength has changed noticeably.”
“He’s got a hundred less pounds to carry up this hill, too.” Conor stopped to catch his breath, then used an ancient bush limb to push off again. “At least we got a good workout today.”
Mark hoped all their effort wasn’t for naught. “We’ve got to find him. Laurel will freak out if we don’t.”
“We’ll find him.”
“Peter!” Mark yelled as they got close to the top of the cliff trail. Nothing.
“Peter!” Conor called out. “If you’re there, answer us, man.” Nothing.
Then, “Leave me alone.”
Mark glanced at his brother and smiled. “Not gonna happen.” They reached the summit, and saw Peter ignoring the wood bench, sitting on a boulder instead, knees up, chin resting on top, looking out to sea. He had to be cold with the kicking-up breeze whipping through that oversize, threadbare T-shirt.
“There you are,” Conor said.
Mark didn’t say another word, just climbed up next to him on the rock and sat, leaving a safe distance between them. Peter glanced at him, anger flashing in his eyes.
“Like I told you that day, I used to come up here to think.” He glanced at his watch: ten to six. The sun would set shortly, and if Peter was cold now, he’d be freezing by then. “I hope you got all your thinking done because we need to climb down before it gets too dark to see.”
Conor was already using his cell phone. “Laurel, we found him.”
“Your mother’s been worried sick,” Mark said, doing his best not to sound accusatory. “And you must be hungry. Let’s get you home in time for dinner. We can talk later.”
The boy didn’t budge. Mark heard Conor calling the sheriff’s station. He reached for Peter’s arm, to help him down, but Peter yanked it away. “Look, I get it, you’re pissed that I kissed your mom. We can talk about that, but not here. Let’s go.”
In true Peter fashion, he continued to stare out to sea, doing a great job of pretending Mark didn’t exist.
Mark needed to get real. “It’s two to one, man. You gonna go down on your own, or are we gonna carry you? Your choice. Either way, we’re taking you home. Now.”
With his lower lip curled inward, teeth clamped on top, Peter reluctantly stood. Mark offered his hand again. When Peter took it, his eyes had already welled up with tears. Once they were off the boulder and back on the trail, Mark wanted to hug the kid, which surprised him, but he only patted him on the back, not wanting to push his luck. “We’ll talk about this all you want. I promise. But first, let’s get you home.”
*
Laurel rushed to the car when Mark brought Peter home. She couldn’t help the tears of relief, and didn’t care if Peter minded if she hugged him. The twins didn’t really understand what was going on, but they knew their brother hadn’t come home when he was supposed to. She’d made sure they understood he was in trouble because of it. May as well lay down the rules with them now rather than later, when it might be too late. Like today. She’d never expected Peter to run away.
“Where were you?” Claire asked.
“Are you in trouble?” Gracie also asked.
He didn’t answer, ignoring them. Surprisingly, Peter let Laurel hold on to him longer than she expected. Maybe he was shook up, too.
“Please don’t ever do that again.”
His glance shot downward. There was so much to talk about.
Laurel lifted her line of vision and seized the opportunity. “Conor, could I ask you a big favor?”
“Sure.”
“Could you watch the twins while we have a talk?”
“I don’t want to talk,” Peter groaned.
“Too bad, buddy, we’re talking. Now.”
Conor went still. Quickly realizing he’d been caught off guard, he shifted his eyes to the little ones. She’d left him no choice, and being a conscientious peace officer, she knew she had him over a barrel. “Uh, I guess so.”
“Thanks,
man,” Mark said standing nearby, obviously relieved.
Claire and Gracie looked up toward the sky to be able to take in all of Conor Delaney. They probably thought he was half giant. They’d met him Sunday night, so he wasn’t a total stranger, but Laurel sensed their apprehension, since they hadn’t interacted much then. She touched both of their shoulders and bent forward. “Conor is Mark’s brother. He’s a nice man, and he’ll watch you guys for a little bit, okay?”
“Okay,” Claire, the leader, said.
“Do you play Legos?” Gracie, the practical, asked.
“Sometimes.” No longer resisting the last-minute plan, Conor gave a halfhearted smile and followed them inside.
Laurel guided Peter through the door, aware that Mark followed. “Um, Mark, can you make Peter a sandwich? I’d like to talk to him alone for a minute.”
“Sure,” Mark said.
“Not hungry,” Peter mumbled.
“I’m sure you are.” Laurel used her eyes to encourage Mark to step out for a little while. He caught on and followed her lead. “Let’s go in here.” She led the way to the front sitting room, then closed the pocket doors behind her. Peter reluctantly sat, and she sat beside him.
Instead of starting off scolding him for scaring her to death, as she may have earlier, she held back on her emotions and went for the heart of the matter. “First off—” no point in wasting time “—you’ve got to know that no one will ever replace your father.” She took his chin in her fingers and turned his head so his eyes met hers. “He is your one and only father. I wish you’d had more time with him. God knows, I wish he’d never gotten cancer, but we don’t always get our wishes.”
Peter must have still been raw from running away and getting caught by the very person he most likely never wanted to see again—the man who’d dared to kiss his mother—because he broke down and cried.
She edged closer to her son and drew him near. “I know you miss him. I do, too. I know it makes you angry that he died. It makes me angry, too.”
After a few moments of letting Peter get his feelings out through tears, then offering him a tissue or two, she continued. “It’s been two years since Daddy died, Peter. I’m not saying you have to forget him. I’d never do that. We’ll both always remember him. But I want you to try to understand that our moving to Sandpiper Beach was to help us all move on.” She glanced at him while he blew his nose.
Soldier, Handyman, Family Man Page 11
