by Luanne Rice
“That’s right,” the woman said, her voice edgy, as if she didn’t like the cops being mean to Maggie’s father. “I didn’t see a soul.”
“Pity,” the cop said, but Maggie no longer cared about the officers’ sarcasm or meanness to her father. Her attention was pulled to the woman. She gazed down at Maggie’s father, her expression something between a frown and a look of pure worry. Maggie must have been staring so intensely the woman felt it. Because suddenly she raised her eyes, looked across the room, locked her gaze with Maggie’s, and gave her a wonderful smile.
She was their new baby-sitter.
Maggie’s heart kicked over. They had had so many. Roberta, Virginia, Dorothy, Beth, and Cathy. None of them were bad, but none of them lasted. The job was too hard. Maggie’s father worked such long, intense hours, he needed someone extra responsible to take up the slack. Someone extra smart, extra nice, extra good, someone who cared when their father had a cut on his head and gave Maggie a great, huge smile to let her know everything would be okay.
Let her be our baby-sitter, Maggie thought. She liked the woman’s eyes—dark blue-gray, like the Sound at night. But, oh! Turning her head, now her eyes caught the light and looked deep green, like a river. Her eyes were alive and deep, filled with the kind of mystery that would make her a good storyteller. Maggie didn’t care about how the laundry was done, and she didn’t care whether eyes were blue or green. She cared about stories.
Mrs. Wilcox, the next-door neighbor, opened her front door and walked down the sidewalk. The police stopped her, asking questions about what she’d seen and heard.
“You need stitches, Counselor,” the EMT said, making notes on his pad.
“It’s nothing,” her father said.
“Hey, you want a scar to make you look tough around the creeps you see in prison, that’s your deal. But you’re gonna have to sign off on it—acknowledging that you’re denying my first-rate medical advice.”
Seeing her father reach for the pen, Maggie’s heart stopped.
“No,” she whispered.
Only she must have screamed, because every single person in the room turned to look at her, and Mrs. Wilcox gasped. Brainer came tearing in from the den, straight to her side.
“Maggie, I’m okay,” her father said, smiling to reassure her. Streaks of blood were drying on the side of his face, on his white dress shirt.
“Yeah, he is,” the EMT said, trying to set her at ease. “I was just busting him—don’t worry.”
Her father pushed off with his right hand, standing up, and Maggie felt the sob tear through her lungs, screaming through her skin. “DON’T STAND UP!” she cried. “Let them take care of you! Don’t walk, Daddy!”
“Maggie, I’m fine,” he said, grabbing for her. “It’s not like your mother—it’s just a superficial cut—nothing serious at all.”
“Sit down, Daddy,” Maggie wept, pushing him onto the couch. “Please, please. Let them take care of you! Please, Daddy, please!”
“Maybe she’s right,” the woman, the baby-sitter, said softly. “Why don’t you just do that? Sit down a minute … and let them give you the stitches. It would make her feel better.”
Maggie cried and shuddered, feeling her father’s arms around her, hearing the woman’s quiet voice and somehow suddenly, completely, loving her for it. This stranger had come out of nowhere that awful, bloody Tuesday morning to take care of their family. She was saving her father’s life.
“What’s your name?” Maggie heard her father ask in that flat, unfriendly way that made him sound like the lawyer no one liked, the hard-planed voice designed to drive everyone away from him, from them, and leave the O’Rourke family alone with their private tragedy and dirty clothes.
“Kate,” she said. “Kate Harris.”
“Fine, Kate Harris,” Maggie’s father said, his voice just as flat but even icier than before, a frozen lake of a voice. “I’ll have the stitches, but you’ll have to get them off to school. Maggie and Teddy. Mrs. Wilcox, can you help her out?”
“Of course, John,” Mrs. Wilcox said.
“We’ll have to work out the details afterward,” Maggie’s father said.
“You’re on,” Kate Harris said, and Maggie suddenly felt a hand on her head. The fingers were light and cool, and they moved down to take her hand, gently easing her away. Maggie didn’t even put up a fight.
She drifted out of her father’s embrace. He was watching her, and she felt him wanting to take it back—not get stitches, but walk her to the bus stop and then hurry to his office. Maggie’s stomach was in a knot, but Kate Harris crouched down to look her in the eye and melt the knot away.
“He’s going to be fine,” she said. “He’ll be very brave and let them stitch him up. When they’re done, they might even give him a lollipop.”
“Why?” Maggie asked, her mouth tugging up in a smile.
“To treat him, for doing the right thing even though he doesn’t want to do it.”
“I don’t want a lollipop,” her father said, sounding as sullen as Teddy did when he had to do the dishes.
“You might not want one,” Kate Harris said, her smile so pretty and gentle it pulled Maggie even closer to her, “but you might need it. A little sweet now and then never hurt anyone. Right, Maggie?”
“Right,” Maggie breathed. Her eyes filled with tears, but for the first time in longer than she could remember, from happiness. Kate Harris was her new baby-sitter. She had landed on their doorstep, just like Mary Poppins or a new baby, just like a basket filled with the most beautiful summer flowers imaginable.
“Right,” her father said, his voice very edgy and hard, but it didn’t matter. Kate Harris had gotten him to sit still and get stitched, taken care of by the proper authorities, so he didn’t stand up, sit down, and suddenly die—just like Maggie’s mother.
Kate Harris had just saved her father’s life, and Maggie loved her for it.
SPEND THE SUMMER WITH LUANNE RICE
In a powerful and transcendent story of renewed trust, unwavering faith, and hidden courage, Luanne Rice takes us on an unforgettable journey to the heart of one family—the mighty McCabes—as they discover what it takes to face the turmoil of life’s unexpected turns and the true meaning of love, family, and forgiveness.
Luanne Rice
THE PERFECT SUMMER
A Special Original Paperback Release
On sale July 29, 2003
wherever books are sold
This edition contains the complete text
of the original hardcover edition.
NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.
SAFE HARBOR
A Bantam Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Bantam hardcover edition published February 2002
Bantam mass market edition / January 2003
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2002 by Luanne Rice
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001049954.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For information address:
Bantam Books, New York, New York.
Visit our website at www.bantamdell.com
*
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1745 Broadway, New York, New York 10019.
*
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada
eISBN: 978-0-553-89714-2
v3.0
<
br />
