And now he had to protect his children. He couldn’t put them at risk again by allowing another woman into their lives. Brian had become quiet and withdrawn after his mother died, shadowing Matt’s every step, afraid to let his father out of his sight. Normal behavior, according to the experts, but so unlike his elder son that Matt had never forgotten it.
And at three-and-a-half years old, Casey’s speech development had begun to deteriorate. Starting in kindergarten, the public school had provided speech therapy twice a week, and it had helped. But the stuttering remained a challenge his little boy had to handle. The youngster had already had his share of teasing, but more was sure to come. And no one could protect him twenty-four/seven. Not even Matthew Parker, devoted dad.
Matt finally sat up against his pillows, hit the clock-radio button tuned to his favorite R & B station, and turned on the bedside lamp. He scanned the choices on his night table and automatically reached for the big Sunday crossword puzzle he kept there all week. No mystery or suspense fiction tonight. Real life was puzzling enough.
Had he done too good a job in persuading his kids women were not important, or even worse, that women were to be feared? Looking for reassurance, Brian had asked, “We’re fine the way we are. Right, Dad?”
In recent years, Matt had thought they were fine. In fact, more than fine. But tonight, he wasn’t sure. Laura McCloud had returned to Pilgrim Cove. Laura McCloud had affected each member of the Parker family. And now Matt wondered if his solid male bastion had been built without a foundation.
CHAPTER FOUR
LATE THE NEXT MORNING, Laura opened the kitchen door, stepped onto her back porch to sample the air temperature, then quickly returned inside and shut the door behind her. Whew! Winter was hanging on. Couldn’t be more than forty degrees outside. Her terry bathrobe was no protection.
She wondered if Matt would be able to have that promised baseball practice with the kids. Surely they’d have to postpone it. But then she pictured the eagerness in Casey’s face, and Brian’s, and Katie’s…and knew that Matt wouldn’t want to disappoint them. Somehow they’d manage to play ball.
She chuckled to herself while getting dressed. If she wouldn’t let the weather cancel her walk, why should it cancel their practice? A red turtleneck shirt, black tights and leggings topped with her made-for-the-cold ski jacket, woolen hat and gloves were her basic armor against the cold. On her feet were a pair of wool-and-silk socks and fur-lined boots with thick rubber soles. Living in Boston had prepared her well.
Exiting Sea View House through the back porch, Laura walked directly down to the beach. The ocean surged, whitecaps topping every restless wave, and the horizon was invisible, lost in a blurry mist of gray water and equally gray sky. Laura paused to absorb the scene as she always did before walking. At the water’s edge, every day was unique.
She turned north, bending into a light but steady wind, knowing she’d appreciate the push at her back on the way home. Despite the outdoor temperature, she warmed up as she strode, and her thoughts turned to last night’s dinner at the Lobster Pot.
So many personalities. So many new sights. New people. And for the most part, a lot of fun. Fun! A pleasure she certainly hadn’t expected to experience any time soon. Amazing how human nature seemed to discard expectations and rules. Her grief for her mom accompanied her everywhere, and yet she’d been able to laugh and joke last night. Maybe she needed more than solitary walks, as satisfying as they were. Maybe what she really needed was to enjoy the company of others. It was something to think about.
Almost an hour later, the house was in sight again. As Laura approached, she saw a familiar masculine figure, hands on the porch railing, his head turning one way and then another scanning the entire beach. No hat prevented his dark, wavy hair from blowing in the wind.
She called and waved to him, and could swear she saw his body relax as he turned and waited, his hip leaning against the wooden barrier.
“Good morning,” he greeted, then checked his watch. “Or afternoon.”
“Hi. You always seem to show up when I’m not home, don’t you? Come on in. I’ve been outside long enough. Did you check the pipes yet?” She knew she was babbling, something she never did unless it was scripted into a commercial. She clamped her lips together and led him into the kitchen, pulling her hat and gloves off along the way, then her jacket, and hanging them all on a coat tree in the corner of the hallway.
“I have checked the upstairs—went in through the side entrance,” Matt replied, following her into the house. “But that’s not why I came over today.”
His words and tone stopped her mid-stride, and she turned around to question him. Nothing came out of her mouth. His warm, dark eyes were fixed on her, barely blinking, as though memorizing her.
“You look…great,” he said, sounding surprised. His hand lifted and his fingers stretched toward her. “Your skin is beautiful, rosy, your hair is wonderful.” He touched a strand. “Maybe a walk on the beach is worth more than it seems.”
“Or maybe I looked pretty awful when I showed up last Friday,” she said with a smile.
He winced. “Oops. I didn’t say that! Don’t put words in my mouth.”
But she continued to tease. “The difference in one short week seems to have been impressive. And in a month you’ll be saying you don’t recognize me!” A month? Suddenly she didn’t feel like joking. A month seemed like a long time off. She’d been living her life day by day and couldn’t think in terms of months yet.
She took a teakettle from the stove and filled it with water, then pointed to a seat and waited until Matt lowered himself into it. “So, what’s on your mind, Matt?”
“On my mind?”
“Am I hearing imaginary voices, or did you say the plumbing was not your real purpose in visiting me today?”
“Yeah, I did. You’re not crazy, but it is your fault that I’ve gotten distracted.” He closed his eyes.
“It’s Casey,” he finally said. “I wanted—no, I needed—to talk to you about him.”
Laura poured them each a cup of tea and sat across from Matt, waiting for him to continue.
“You handled Casey so well last night when he chatted with you,” Matt said. “Lots of people are uncomfortable, and he picks up on their vibes very quickly. Adults often ignore him or finish his sentences for him or ask him to try harder.” He leaned toward her. “Try harder! Can you imagine telling that child to try harder? Their so-called encouragement makes him feel worse. And I can’t go around punching these idiots in the nose every time one of them hurts Casey’s feelings—as much as I’d like to. Especially when I’m trying to teach Brian that fighting with kids who tease his brother doesn’t help.”
Laura saw the pain flash across his face. She reached toward him and gathered his fisted hand into both of hers. “I’m so sorry about the bad experiences you’ve had,” she began. “Casey’s such a sweet child. I’m not a therapist, but many of my courses did involve speech pathology and communication. That’s why I can relate to Casey.” She felt the tension slowly leave his fingers, and suddenly her two hands became engulfed in his much larger one. He squeezed gently.
“Thanks for listening,” he said. “I wish I could educate the entire population of Pilgrim Cove.” A crooked smile crossed his face.
“The entire town’s not necessary,” Laura said. “Casey’s world is what’s necessary. And from what I’ve seen, the most important people in his world are already doing the right things.”
He exhaled audibly, pressed her hands again and sat back in his chair. “You don’t realize how much I appreciate your words. I’m in touch with the school therapist regularly…it’s just that the whole process takes so long. It’s hard to measure results. And in the meantime, Casey’s growing up and the events in his childhood will stay as memories. He’s had enough lousy experiences. I want him to have good ones.”
“I’m not a parent, Matt, but I’m sure you’re underestimating yourself and the home y
ou’ve provided. Casey’s a happy kid.”
But Matt shook his head. “Not always. He’s come home crying more than once. He’s sensitive, although for a seven-and-a-half-year-old, he’s got grit. He participates in everything at school. His second-grade teacher is young and understanding. And that helps.”
Laura continued to listen while Matt described Casey’s situation. The positives, the negatives. She offered no more than an occasional nod or “Mmm-hmm.”
“…and we’ve all learned to speak more slowly in the family, to take turns talking and listening so there are few interruptions.” Matt finally paused and glanced at the wall clock. “My God, I’ve talked your ear off!”
Laura immediately pulled her earlobe. “Nope. It’s still here. I didn’t mind listening at all. My pleasure.” And it was a pleasure to see him more relaxed about Casey. Not that she could take much credit. He’d talked himself around. But now she wanted to discuss the real challenges Casey had ahead of him.
“Think for a moment about what Casey needs to master,” she began. “You and I take speaking for granted, but it’s really a very complex, coordinated process from the brain to the muscles in the mouth, face, neck, tongue and throat. So when there’s a problem, it takes a long time to fix it.”
“I know, I know,” Matt admitted. “I get so frustrated sometimes.”
“Imagine how Casey feels! Life’s about communication, and he’s got seventeen vowel and twenty-four consonant sounds in the English language to master. That’s several hundred sound combinations. Give him a break!”
Matt started to laugh, a rich, deep, almost happy sound.
“And give yourself a break while you’re at it.” Laura rested against the back of her chair. “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to stop by, Matt. If I can do anything to help with Casey, just ask.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he replied. “But now, tell me about your work. What exactly does it involve?”
“Okay,” said Laura, “but it will be easier if I show you.”
She led him into the spare bedroom, furnished like a study, where her computer was set up on a table. “This is how I prepare for a taping and why I say speech is my business. I’m actually part announcer, part narrator, part actress, part listener, part computer tech, part voice coach and I’m always conscious of my diction and modulation.”
“All I see is a computer,” said Matt.
“That’s almost all I need,” Laura replied, sitting in front of the machine and turning it on. “It’s programmed with a timer, so I can pace myself as I practice. I can also set the timer, like an alarm clock. The script is on the screen, of course, and the clock runs in its own window in the corner. I also use a mike and record myself, then listen to the playback.”
“Neat,” said Matt. “You’ve got a portable skill you can take anywhere. Have voice, will travel. And don’t forget the computer.”
“The bad part is that I haven’t done any work at all since I arrived at Sea View House,” Laura said. “And there are two scripts I need to work on. My agent will be on my case soon. Norman’s got high hopes for rebuilding my career.”
“That’s great! I bet you’re excited.”
“I am, but…I guess I’m still tired. The spark’s gone out of my engine.”
“You’ve only been here a week.” Matt stepped closer to her and gently put his hands on her arms. “You need time, Laura. Grieving’s a hard process.”
His words were as warm as his touch, his voice tender. She could have melted into him had she allowed herself. “Right,” she whispered, moving out of his reach just as the phone rang.
Laura dashed back to the kitchen, grateful to focus on someone other than Matthew Parker. Until she heard Norman Cohen’s cheerful voice. And he was cheerful. Full of news about upcoming projects. He’d been busy.
“A week from Monday?” she squealed.
She listened while he explained the assignment, an opportunity she couldn’t refuse. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you next Monday.”
She had to get back in gear within nine days. Norman was right. She had a career to regrow.
“Who was that?” asked Matt.
Laura looked up, startled to see that he was still there. “That was my agent.” She nodded to the spare bedroom they’d just vacated. “I’m taping those two scripts a week from Monday. And then Filene’s Department Store wants three voice-overs for Memorial Day television ads for big summer sales. Thirty seconds each. I’ve done work for them before and they asked for me! So I’ve got to get back on the ball.”
“Does that mean back to Boston?” asked Matt, a frown forming on his forehead. “You just got here.”
She stared at him. “Do you think I dragged all that equipment for nothing? I’ll take the ferry into Boston. But it seems,” she added, “that my time to hide is over. I can’t afford to turn these opportunities down. Besides, working hard will also help me get back to myself. It’s called therapy.”
Matt didn’t say anything, but his dark eyes shone with approval. After a few moments, he turned to leave. “I’ve got to get back to the shop. The boys are there with my dad and the staff, and Saturdays are usually busy.”
She walked with him toward the front door. “By the way, did you and the kids have that practice this morning?”
He rolled his eyes in answer. “The Butterfingers Team made out just fine in my garage. Unfortunately, the walls took a few hits.”
Laura smiled. “I’m glad,” she said, “that you all had a good time.”
“Three out of four isn’t bad,” replied Matt with a wink.
MATT OPENED Laura’s front door and stepped outside, immediately noticing the drop in temperature. The gray sky had darkened while he’d been inside. He turned back, intending to knock again, but Laura was still standing where he’d left her, the door ajar.
He pointed to the sky. “See those clouds? They’re blacker than they were earlier and full of rain. The temperature is dropping, and the wind is out of the northeast.”
“Shoot! Isn’t it too late in the season for a nor’easter?”
“Not too late for freezing rain,” Matt replied. “With all the ice that can form, it’s often worse than a snowstorm.”
Laura nodded, at first looking glum, then resigned. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Here’s another one,” said Matt. “The electricity can go when the power lines get caked with ice, or more likely, when a motorist hits a pole. Do you have flashlights? Can you light a fire in the fireplace and keep it going? Is there any wood in the wood box?”
Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped and he had his answers. No, no and no.
“I’ll go to the store right now,” she said, “and get flashlights.”
“Forget it,” he replied, his tone sharp. “I’ve got spares in the truck. Take down some extra blankets because you’ve got to stay warm if the heat goes. The house will get cold quickly.”
He stomped to the curb, annoyed by his reaction. Or was he annoyed by his attraction to her?
She seemed so fragile, as if she needed to be taken care of. But not by him! Damn! How could she have all kinds of special software for the computer and not one basic flashlight! Clueless. The lady was clueless.
He shook his head. Earlier, he’d wanted to ask her out to dinner. Dinner by themselves someplace. A man and a woman on a date, if that was what two adults going out alone for pleasure was still called. Now he was glad he hadn’t asked.
The small dart of fear that had stung him two seconds ago was a reminder. Not fear of the storm, but fear of getting too involved.
Matt jerked the truck door open. He was better off alone with his boys. And that was a fact. That way his heart wouldn’t get broken again. Six years ago, his mother had died. Some said her illness prevailed because a woman with a broken heart couldn’t fight back. Those had been hard times, with one brother dead and one gone away, but Matt didn’t agree with the theory. He knew cancer was a matter of early detection
and medical treatment. Both his mom and his wife had gotten too little too late and lost the battle. They’d passed away within two years of each other. Casey had been almost four and Brian almost eight years old when their mother had died and Sam had moved in.
Matt walked back to the house, still shaking his head. Getting involved with Laura would only mean trouble, and he and his boys didn’t need any more of that. They’d make out fine without a woman in the house.
Laura still stood in the doorway, a bulky sweater wrapped around her. He handed her the flashlights.
“The batteries are good,” he said abruptly. “But call me if you need anything else.”
“I’ll be fine,” she replied, her chin raised. “Thanks for your help.” She closed the door and locked it.
Obviously she’d picked up on his critical tone—and he wasn’t sorry. For Casey’s sake, he’d promote only a professional friendship with Laura. He walked back to the van, got behind the wheel and gunned the engine. After executing the sloppiest U-turn in the history of Pilgrim Cove, he headed back to the store.
MATT KNEW ABOUT WEATHER. Laura had to give him credit for that much. Standing at the living room window, she was barely able to see the tree branches turning in the wind and rain. The stygian darkness indicated a cloud-covered sky. No moon to illuminate the outside, and only Matt’s flashlights to brighten the inside.
This was a storm for the ears, not the eyes. Ice pebbles beat against the house, an unending staccato of sound. Small tree branches snapped and whirled down the street while the larger branches stayed bowed to the ground. Coated in thick ice, every tree looked like a weeping willow frozen in place. But these trees were noisy, emitting the loud creaking sounds of changing ice formations.
The rain had started about two hours ago at five o’clock, but had quickly turned to sleet and hadn’t let up. The house had gone dark within the past half hour. Laura wasn’t worried and wasn’t cold—yet. She’d coped with winter weather all her life. She knew to choose the insulated warmth that layers of clothing provided rather than the weight of one heavy garment, so she’d donned long johns and wool socks, flannel shirt and leg warmers, sweater and a down vest. And to think, she almost hadn’t brought any of them! Her image of Pilgrim Beach had been a sunny summertime visual, but her practical side had prevailed when she’d finally packed her bags.
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