Sandcastles Under the Christmas Moon

by Vickie McKeehan

  “It’s so odd because River’s usually so grounded.”

  “Her files indicate she had a normal pregnancy.”

  “Absolutely. On her last visit, she was so upbeat. This isn’t like her to be so…unreasonable. Could it be a mother’s intuition and there really is something wrong with Eli that you didn’t detect?”

  First ghosts and now intuition made Quentin squirm in his chair. “I’ll keep an open mind but as far as medicine goes, that baby is fine.”

  “It’s just that she’s so smart. You know she’s an archaeologist with a list of degrees as long as my arm.”

  “Brent mentioned it. She runs the Chumash Museum. I had a long talk with him before I let them go home. Even though I don’t know her, I got the impression from him that this is totally out of character for her.”

  “Wait a minute. Now that I think about it, there was something a little odd about a visit she had two weeks back.”

  “How so?”

  “While Doc was in the middle of the ultrasound, River claimed she saw images of two babies on the monitor. Doc made a joke about it and that was that. Nothing more was said.”

  “Might’ve been a precursor to this, building something up in her head that wasn’t there.”

  “Did you caution Brent to keep an eye on her and the baby?”

  “I did. But I’m still very uneasy about letting them go home. Maybe I should have insisted they stay another night instead of suggesting the early checkout.”

  “They have to go home sometime.”

  Beckham darted back into the room. “Gram says she’s not hungry. Can we eat now?”

  “Sure. Are your hands clean?”

  “Sheesh. Sydney made me wash them twice.” Beckham grabbed his paper plate off the counter and piled it high with several slices of the pie. “How will Gram get better if she doesn’t eat?”

  “We’re feeding her intravenously for now,” Quentin explained. “The nutrients are in addition to the chemo she’s getting. This way there’s less of a chance she’ll get an upset stomach if she stays away from solid food.”

  The trio settled around the table in the breakroom as Jimmy Chew pranced around Beckham’s legs hoping for a handout.

  Quentin leaned back in his chair to get a good look at the canine in question. “So this is the troublemaker?”

  In response, the pooch came over and put his head in Quentin’s lap. “Looking for a little sympathy there, huh, buddy?”

  “He’s a charmer all right,” Sydney noted. “And aptly named.”

  “Did you do your homework?” Quentin asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sydney will back me up. She checked over my algebra,” Beckham groaned as he snuck the dog a bite of pepperoni.

  Sydney snapped her fingers for the dog to sit and was shocked to see Jimmy oblige. “For a guy who has a lot on his mind, Beckham pretty much aced his math. He only got three problems wrong.”

  “That’s great,” Quentin said, biting into his own food. “How’s everything else going at school?”

  Beckham merely grunted without a verbal answer and kept eating.

  Sydney was about to take a bite out of her own slice of pizza and stopped. “Beckham, why don’t the kids talk to you on the bus?”

  Sensing that the adults probably weren’t going to lighten up any time soon on the persistent needling, Beckham caved so he could eat his meal in peace. “Because they don’t like me.” He shrugged. “It’s okay because when they do talk to me, they’re always mean. So, I’d rather they leave me alone than pester me or worse, knock me down or beat me up.”

  Sydney and Quentin exchanged heart-wrenching looks. “Does that happen often?” Quentin asked.

  “What do you think?” the kid snapped back.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since fifth grade.”

  “Is it the same group of kids?” Sydney asked.

  “Yeah. Could we change the subject? I don’t want to talk about it or think about it while I’m eating. It makes my stomach hurt.”

  Sydney leaned back in her chair. She kept her tone casual as she reminisced about her own childhood. “That brings back so many memories from when I was a kid and how this certain group used to make fun of my name. Steven Roan was the leader of the pack who took to calling me squid. Where he got that I’ll never know. But back then I remember wishing my parents had named me anything but Sydney, even Louise would’ve been an improvement.”

  “I wouldn’t peg you for a Louise,” Quentin commented. “I didn’t have a name issue. The kids picked on me because I was Native and lived with my grandmother. Because I had no parents and kept to myself it made me different and therefore a target for bullies. This kid Benny, I remember him because he was the worst of the lot. He used to call me a fatherless bastard and then proceeded to make nasty comments about my mother.”

  Beckham’s eyes perked up. “What did you do about it?”

  “I tried to avoid him but that didn’t work because I saw him every freaking day at school. Benny was everywhere, playground, restroom, cafeteria. You can’t avoid a bully. Anyone who suggests that has never dealt with one, can’t confront them either because that just makes them madder. Bullies are nuts.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I got the crap beat out of me a lot. It was a tough time in my life. But I prevailed. I made good grades, graduated, and got the hell out of there. On the other hand, Benny didn’t turn out so well. He ended up doing forty years in Corcoran for attempted murder. Last time I checked he couldn’t even stay out of trouble on the inside long enough to get paroled.”

  Sydney sent him a disgruntled look, disappointment written all over her face. “What was the point of that story? That’s a terrible example. What does Beckham get out of a story like that?”

  “Bullies are frontrunners to psychopaths,” Quentin remarked. “The point is to stay out of their way. In my neck of the woods that means keeping your head down and hitting the books so you won’t turn out to be a loser like the proverbial psychos usually do.”

  Beckham cut his eyes to stare at Quentin. “I’m with Sydney. What good does that story do anybody?”

  Quentin bobbed his head. “What do you want to do about these people that pick on you then? What’s your answer?”

  “I leave them alone and hope they leave me alone.”

  “Do you want me to talk to the school?”

  “It wouldn’t do any good. One of the worst ones is the principal’s son, Kyle Hargraves. He almost broke my nose last spring.”

  Sydney let out a shriek. “Well for God’s sake. I should go over there and give Mr. Hargraves a piece of my mind.”

  “Mrs. Hargraves. She’s the principal,” Beckham corrected.

  “All the better to have a woman to woman talk with her.”

  Beckham’s eyes grew wide at the idea. “Would you really do that?”

  “You just watch me. If that little scuzzy Kyle bothers you again, you let me know.”

  “Sure. But I don’t see how you’re going to stop it by running to his mother.” Beckham angled toward Quentin. “Do you think I could borrow one of your books?”

  “Any time. Which one?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I just want to read to Gram. She loved to read before she got sick and now she says her eyes hurt to do it.”

  “If you aren’t picky, I have a hardcover in my office, John Grisham’s The Street Lawyer.”

  “I think she’d like that.”

  While Beckham spent time with his grandmother, Sydney and Quentin tidied up the breakroom.

  “That boy’s had an awful string of bad luck,” Sydney noted. “I can’t help but worry about him.”

  “Would you really go storm the middle school?”

  “Damn straight I would. You’ll see a nasty confrontation if Kyle doesn’t leave Beckham alone. In fact, I’m thinking of pulling Julianne in on this. As the elementary school principal, here, she knows everyone in the school district. And
if I bend Logan Donnelly’s ear, or better still, Nick Harris, they already hate the idea of the older kids having to ride that bus all the way over to San Sebastian. Maybe we could designate the other half of that empty school building for the middle school kids.”

  “That’s a fine idea, but it won’t help Beckham. By the time you get all that sorted out, Beckham will be starting his freshman year. That’s high school and a totally different ballgame. Don’t go counting on the Kyles of the world straightening out any time soon. It likely won’t happen. By the way, thanks for the pizza.”

  “No problem. Why didn’t you mention that you lost your dad the same way Beckham did his? And then lost your mother the following year? You must know exactly how that boy feels.”

  “I absolutely do. But my grandmother is still around. His situation is a lot tougher or soon will be. To stand on the sidelines and watch him hurt like this is churning me up inside.”

  She put her hand on his cheek. “What happened to your surgeon God-like complex that I hated so much?”

  He laughed. “I must’ve ditched it for the bright lights here in Pelican Pointe.”

  They were suddenly very close, almost cheek to cheek. He titled his head, pressed his lips to hers. Plundering that mouth, everything locked into place. She tasted like spicy marinara and Italian seasoning. The blend was hot and fiery, an explosive burst of flavors. He took his time and savored, ran his hands up and down her back like he’d done it a thousand times before.

  She locked her arms around his neck, gave back and dug in, let the heat build.

  It didn’t take long before Quentin eased back but continued to gaze into those hazel eyes, enthralled by their color. “That probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “I’m off duty.”

  “But I’m not. Turns out, I’m hot for Nurse Reed.” He nuzzled her chin with little nips.

  “How hot? Because I’m not exactly fighting you off here, now am I?” To prove her point, she latched onto his hips and brought him closer. “Let’s find out what you can do in the second round.”

  The challenge had him crushing his mouth to hers. This was no taste, more like capturing and taking what he wanted. And what he wanted was to conquer.

  But this was no place for a quick romp. A reality check kicked in just in time to remember that Beckham was down the hall reading to his very sick, elderly grandmother.

  “Any other time…” he began.

  “Yeah. Maybe it’s for the best,” she muttered and patted his chest. “That was intense. We’ll have to carve out time for round three. But right now, I have to deal with getting a wound-up teenager and a surly dog off to bed.”

  “I don’t envy that,” Quentin confessed. “Do I need to talk to him before he leaves?”

  “The boy or the dog?”

  Quentin laughed again. “Your choice.”

  “Nah, if I have trouble I’ll threaten him with no TV. Without any friends, he seems to spend a lot of time in front of the tube.”

  “Except for when he’s out rummaging through dumpsters for anything worth selling or eating.”

  “That’s pitiful,” Sydney noted.

  “And then some. If you’re ready to go, I’ll go round him up.”

  “But it’s only ten o’clock,” Beckham stated for the third time. “Why should I have to go to bed so early?”

  “Because I’m exhausted and you look like you could drop. You wore out the dog two hours ago. Look at the poor thing. He didn’t bother to sniff a shoe before he plopped down on his pillow. Jimmy’s been snoring for thirty minutes. Now get to bed.” When he started to protest for a fourth time, Sydney held up her hand to stop. “Not another word, Beckham Dowling. Go. To. Bed. Now.”

  She celebrated the small victory when he finally gave up and clomped off toward the guest room.

  Tired after the recent long hours at the clinic, she wanted nothing more than to drop into the comfy bed across from Beckham’s room. But something drew her outside. She took a seat in the courtyard. It was a beautiful starry night over the bay. The fragrant air wafted on the breeze and made her realize how much she loved living here.

  Her mind drifted to Quentin. That kiss had smoldered, causing that long pull in the belly to signal she’d done it again. Hadn’t she learned the hard way that the nurse-doctor romance was nothing more than a cliché, something she’d promised to avoid?

  “Well, what’s the verdict? Is Quentin the man for the job?”

  The abrupt voice had her jumping. She recognized Scott, had seen him many times before walking around town. Hayden and Ethan had warned her about him. But until this second, he’d kept his distance, never bothering to say a word to her until now. “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, you had major doubts. After two days seeing him in action, what do you think? What are his chances of him making it here?”

  “I’m…I’m…not sure. Wait a minute. That’s not true. You’re standing here muddling my brain.” When Scott just kept staring at her, she went on, “I got off to a very rocky start with him. We’re getting to know each other a little at a time. But I feel better about his abilities as a doctor. He’s obviously smart and knows medicine. That’s the most important factor, knowing his stuff.”

  “He closes himself off, though. You’ll have to be aware of that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He tends to isolate himself from what’s happening.”

  “I hadn’t noticed that. But he cares about people. You have only to look at where he is right this minute, taking care of Charlotte, jumping right into getting her the right chemotherapy, refusing to leave her alone, even sleeping at the clinic so he can keep an eye on her. And look how he worries about Beckham. I think I might’ve made a mistake questioning his heart.”

  “So you think the mighty surgeon will eventually fit in?”

  “I do now.”

  “Good. Then you’ll likely have to help him tear down the wall he’s carefully built around himself over the years.”

  “What wall?”

  “Quentin doesn’t trust easily. His confidence level is down. He’s not real high on hope these days.”

  “Why do you say that? Because he got shot?”

  “That didn’t help. With what’s coming he’ll need an ally.”

  “What’s coming?”

  But Scott had already gone.

  Annoyed, she left her perfect spot in the courtyard and went back inside. More than confused, her head a jumble, it was hard to admit she’d had a conversation with a dead guy. She couldn’t wait to talk to Hayden about it. Maybe her sister could clue her in on what it meant.

  She crawled into bed with questions humming in her brain. Were there dark clouds forming on the horizon? Was there something she’d missed? What exactly was coming? She hated cryptic messages meant to leave her hanging. Even more, she disliked the people who delivered them.

  Twelve

  Sydney crawled out of bed at five-thirty. She didn’t exactly like getting up that early, but years of working the seven to three shift had her built-in alarm clock programmed for that ridiculous wake up time.

  But then apparently so did the dog. Jimmy needed to go out and immediately headed for the sliding glass door.

  She made a pot of coffee, set out the makings for pancakes and when the dog meandered back in, she poured him a bowlful of Purina.

  While the pooch crunched on his breakfast, Sydney sat down at the kitchen table to go over the conversation she’d had with Scott, who seemed to know an awful lot about Quentin. How was inside information obtained by a ghost anyway? How did that work? Ethan or Hayden might be able to shed light on it, but for her, the encounter had left her with a lot of troubling thoughts. The nuts and bolts of how Scott knew so much had kept her up trying to figure it all out.

  At six-thirty without any prodding to get up, Beckham walked into the kitchen fully dressed and ready for school.

  Sydney turned from the stove, gave h
im a motherly onceover. The boy needed new tennis shoes, new jeans, new everything, she decided. But he’d showered and washed his hair which had him smelling like fragrant vanilla beans. He’d put on clean clothes, even though his shirt had a missing button and the jeans had rips in the knees. She wasn’t sure that was the style these days or if this outfit was the best he had. “I see you’re an early riser like me.”

  He gave her a shrug and dropped down on one knee to give the dog a soothing rub behind the ears. “Are those pancakes I smell?”

  She grinned. “And bacon. Take a seat.” She plated a stack for him and handed it off. “What do you do for lunch? Bag your own or take a chance on whatever the cafeteria dishes out?”

  “I usually eat one of the apples Mrs. Delacourt brings by. She said they come from her co-op, but I’m not sure. I’ve been up there to see her huge garden and I didn’t see any apples hanging on any of the trees.”

  Once again, his comments left Sydney stunned. “You eat an apple for lunch? For a meal? That’s not enough.”

  “Sometimes two. They last for a really long time. Mrs. Delacourt brings other stuff by the house, but Gram and I usually eat that right away, and before you know it, there’s nothing left over to pack for lunch.”

  “That won’t do,” Sydney said as she went to the refrigerator and got out fixings for a roast beef sandwich.

  Surprised that she’d take that kind of interest in him, Beckham watched her pile on the luncheon meat between two pieces of bread before slapping on a slice of cheese and topping it off with a generous spread of mayo.

  This must be what it was like for other kids who had a mother, he thought. Gram was okay, but she was old and oftentimes forgot to take the extra steps to make sure he ate a meal. He yearned for that kind of love and attention.

  After sliding the sandwich into a baggie, she got out a brown paper sack, dropped in a carton of yogurt and a banana. “There, that took less than five minutes to make. That should keep a growing boy like you from starving to death before you get back home this afternoon.”