Summer Shadows

by Gayle Roper

  Karlee shifted, and her cast struck Celia’s knee.

  Celia winced, but whether from pain or embarrassment, she didn’t know. Either way, the spell was broken.

  “That’s a very little car.” Karlee pointed to the sports car. She looked at the two tall men. “How do you fit into it?”

  Rick grinned at Celia before answering. “We fold ourselves up again and again like you fold a secret note to a friend.”

  Karlee bit for just a minute; then she shook her head. “You do not!”

  Rick placed a finger on her nose. “You’re right. We do not.”

  “I think red is pretty,” Karlee said. “My car was black.”

  “No, sweetie,” Celia said, pointing to their battle-scarred Yugo. “It’s white.”

  “Not our car. Mine. My car what hit me.”

  Twenty-two

  KARLEE LOOKED AT the astonished faces staring at her. “But it was bigger than that,” she added, pointing to Rick’s car.

  Celia knelt beside Karlee. She searched the child’s eyes, wishing she could see into her mind. “Are you certain, honey? It was a scary time for you, and I don’t expect you to remember.”

  “I’m certain,” Karlee said, nodding for emphasis. “It zipped around the corner and boom! It got me.” She stared at her cast for a minute. “He got lots of other cars too. It was so loud!”

  Celia nodded. Her mind flew in a thousand directions all at once. One thought, a ridiculous one no doubt, was that black was very close to navy blue. Could it have been Rocco deMarco after all?

  As if thinking of their father brought Walker and Jordan into existence, they raced from next door.

  “Hey,” Jordan said, peering at Karlee with bright eyes. “Your bruises are worse than yesterday. How come?” Clearly he was a match for his mother in diplomacy.

  “Mrs. Winsky said my face has to get a glorious purple before it begins to get grotesque green and yukky yellow.” Karlee giggled. “She said I’m a living rainbow, and most people don’t get to be so lucky.”

  “Who’s Mrs. Winsky?” Walker asked, staring at Jess.

  “I never got to be that lucky.” Jordan pulled a long face, looking up in surprise when the adults laughed.

  Walker looked too, and his eyes widened until they filled his whole face. “Jordan.” His voice was an awed whisper. “It’s Duke Beldon. Look. It’s Duke Beldon!” His voice rose in volume as he spoke, the last words shouted.

  Celia watched as Rick and Marsh exchanged a look.

  “Sorry, guys.” Marsh stepped between Rick and Walker. “This is Rick Yakabuski, a friend of mine. He’s come for a visit, so we don’t want to bother him with all that you-look-like stuff.”

  “But he’s Duke Beldon,” Walker persisted. “I see him on TV all the time.”

  Jordan nodded. “Reruns. Every day. Three-thirty. Fox Family.”

  “I guess I’ll have to watch sometime to see if he looks as much like me as people say,” Rick said lightly.

  “He does.” Jordan was emphatic. “A lot.” He turned to Karlee and Jess. “You eating at Abby’s again?”

  “Not Abby, Jordan.” Jess looked horrified. “Mrs. Patterson. You have to call her Mrs. Patterson. Only rude children call adults by their first names.”

  Well, Celia thought, maybe Aunt Bernice was good for something after all. She’d harped on that point often enough over the year they were with her. It had been another of her pointless harangues, pointless because Jess and Karlee always called adults Mr. and Mrs.

  Jordan thought for a full second, then nodded agreement with Jess’s statement. “Okay. Mrs. Patterson. Can we eat with her too? Dr. Schofield’s here to see her again.”

  Celia caught Marsh’s jerk of surprise and displeasure. Hmm. Interesting. She wasn’t foolish enough to think Karlee was the attraction again—if she had been that first time he’d come. Apparently neither was Marsh.

  “He talked with Mom for a while,” Walker said. “Then he went upstairs.” He pointed his chin toward Abby’s steps.

  “Jordan! Walker! Get over here!”

  Celia’s head swung with the children’s to see Vivienne deMarco, resplendent in tight white pants and a soft rose top that made her look pretty in spite of the petulant set to her mouth.

  She stalked down her front stairs. “Get over here, you two! Right now!”

  Walker and Jordan turned back to Celia, ignoring their mother. “Can we eat here?” Jordan repeated. “Please?”

  “Get over here,” Vivienne screamed again, “or I’ll get your father after you.”

  Both boys turned to her. “Is Dad still here?” Walker asked, hope filling his voice.

  Celia flinched in her heart. She’d heard that same note of longing in Jess’s voice when she asked about Eddie. “Go on, guys. When your mother calls you, you are always to go to her.”

  “What if you don’t want to?” Walker asked quietly. “It’s so much more fun over here.”

  “Yeah,” Jordan agreed. “I don’t even remember when our house was fun.”

  “Oh, guys,” Celia said, her voice tight with tears. “I’m sorry, but kids have to obey their moms. That’s the way it has to be.”

  “Why?” Jordan asked. “Because they’re bigger?”

  “Because we’re supposed to be smarter.”

  If Celia had ever seen skepticism, she saw it in the faces of the two boys.

  “Come on, Jordan.” Resigned, Walker took his little brother’s hand and started to pull him toward home, only to find that Vivienne had stalked over to join them at the curb. The woman opened her mouth, ready to explode. Celia braced herself.

  Then Vivienne noticed Marsh and Rick.

  The pout disappeared, replaced by a silky smile. “Hello,” she purred. “I’m Vivienne.” She rested a hand on Rick’s arm. “I’ve met Marsh, but I haven’t met you, handsome.”

  Celia almost gagged. “Vivienne.” There must be something she could do to prevent the woman from drooling all over Rick. “Didn’t you want to take the boys home?”

  Vivienne smiled sweetly at her sons. “I think they want to stay.” She turned her smile on Rick. “Why don’t we all stay?”

  “What about your husband?” Marsh didn’t look all that happy at the thought of Vivienne staying.

  She waved her hand like she was shooing away a fly. She moved to within an inch of Rick, then cast a glance over her shoulder. Celia glanced over at the deMarcos’ too, and sure enough, there was Rocco standing in an upstairs window, staring down at them.

  Whatever game Vivienne was playing, it was cruel and uncalled-for.

  Rick ignored Vivienne, no easy task since he could barely breathe without bumping into her. “Celia, I think you need to place a call about Karlee’s information, don’t you?”

  “I do.” She reached into her bag for her cell phone. “Kids, why don’t you go play on the beach? We’ll call you.”

  Walker nodded like an old sage. “They’re going to do adult stuff, and they don’t want us around. Come on, guys. Let’s go.”

  Jordan and Walker were on the sand before Karlee and Jess took three steps. Celia had to admit that a pair of firecrackers like those two boys could reduce any mother to screaming after a while, let alone someone as high-strung as Vivienne seemed to be. She pulled Greg Barnes’s card from her bag.

  “The cops again?” Vivienne’s voice reverted to shrill. “Rocco didn’t have anything to do with that accident. You’re nuts if you think he did.”

  Celia nodded but said nothing. She punched in the number as everyone, including Vivienne, followed Marsh onto his porch. Vivienne made certain she was next to Rick, and Celia smiled to herself at his less-than-delighted look.

  “She told you it was black?” Greg asked.

  “Black and bigger than a sports car, or at least the one parked at the curb out here at Abby’s.”

  “Well, the black is right, so maybe the size is too.”

  “The black is right?”

  “There was paint re
sidue on the cars that were hit.”

  “Oh.” She felt somewhat deflated, having imagined her information would break the case wide open. She thought for a minute. “Can you tell the make of the car from the paint?”

  “Yes,” Greg Barnes said.

  Celia waited but he said nothing further. “Right. Roger wilco, over and out.”

  He laughed. “Call if you learn anything else.”

  She hung up. “They’re making progress, but they’re not sharing the details.” She nodded to Marsh, told Rick it was nice to meet him, and smiled without enthusiasm at Vivienne. After she called the girls back from the beach, she reached for Karlee to carry her upstairs.

  “I can walk up by myself.”

  “Sure you can,” Celia assured her, “but I missed you today and want to hug you. I promise my hug will last only as long as it takes to get you up the stairs. Once we’re up there, I’ll be hugged out, and you can walk by yourself.”

  Karlee grunted, but she let Celia pick her up. As she squirmed to get comfortable, her cast thumped Celia on the vulnerable spot on her elbow.

  “Ow. Watch it, sweetie.”

  “Here. Let me.” Before Celia even realized his intent, Rick Yakabuski gathered Karlee in his arms. He smiled at the little girl in his easy, natural manner. “You’re going upstairs?”

  Karlee smiled back. “To Mrs. Patterson’s house. She’s having us for dinner.”

  Celia watched her daughter and the large handsome man. Oh, to have someone so drop-dead gorgeous hold you and give you that amazing grin. He said he wasn’t Rick Mathis. Could have fooled her.

  Rick strode to the steps. Celia watched a frustrated Vivienne grab both her boys by their wrists and stomp home. It must rankle when a man preferred a four-year-old to you. Celia smiled broadly as she followed Rick upstairs. She watched with interest as Rick and Sean met, each cautiously sizing the other up. It wasn’t quite the territorial posturing of Sean and Marsh, but it was a close second. Did Sean give off a scent that only men picked up, one that automatically raised their hackles?

  Mrs. MacDonald had made stuffed pork chops that melted in your mouth. Celia couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything so tasty and so classy. She never cooked anything like this, and it was a cinch that Aunt Bernice hadn’t. She cleaned her plate, wishing she could lick it to get all the wonderful flavors.

  Even as she delighted in the food, Celia was conscious of the discord between Abby and her mother. Oh, they were scrupulously polite to each other. No yelling or name-calling here. But they also weren’t talking to each other beyond, “May I have the salt, please?” At least Abby wasn’t. All her comments were directed at Celia or Sean. The tension made Celia nervous. Even the girls sensed something was wrong and darted looks between Abby and her mother. Sean seemed oblivious. How typically male.

  Dessert, a homemade chocolate cream pie, was almost finished when Sean jumped slightly. He grinned, reaching for his belt. “My beeper vibrated. It always surprises me, though you’d think I’d be used to it by now.” He pushed back from the table as he read the number. “Excuse me a minute while I make a call.” He stepped out onto the deck, dialing his cell phone as he went.

  When he left the room, the women ate in silence. Celia wracked her brain for some way to help defuse the friction that fairly danced around the room. No ideas came. She never had been good at dealing with controversy.

  Sean hurried into the room. “I’ve got to go. An emergency.” He looked at Abby and smiled that heart-stopping smile. “I’ll call.”

  Abby managed a small smile back.

  “Oh, Abby,” Mrs. MacDonald sighed as the sound of Sean’s footsteps trailed off. “He’s wonderful! Handsome, rich, established. You are so fortunate to have him interested in you.”

  “Too bad I’m not interested in him.” Abby rose, taking her dirty dishes to the kitchen.

  “But Abby,” Mrs. MacDonald began.

  “I will not talk about it.” Her clipped voice left no room for arguing or discussion. Mrs. MacDonald sat with her lips pursed, expression stony.

  As she rinsed the dishes for Abby to place in the dishwasher, Celia couldn’t decide which woman made her more uncomfortable—Abby with her refusal to talk or her mother who chattered like nothing was wrong. Either way, she wouldn’t be sorry when it was time to go home. She’d had her fill of living with tension at Aunt Bernice and Poor Uncle Walter’s.

  Immediately she felt small-minded. After all Abby had done for her, the least she could do was manage an evening of polite, veiled hostility. After all, she had had a lot of practice, and none of it was directed at her, a most pleasant change. So she smiled and talked about Pinky and the spa, ignoring the fact that all she got from Abby were occasional uh-huhs and yeahs.

  As soon as the dishes were finished, Celia turned to her daughters. “Want to go for a quick walk on the beach before we have to go home?”

  “I’ll come with you,” Abby said, almost running out the door. As the women walked across the sand at a pace Abby could manage, the girls scampered ahead. In less time than it takes to think about it, Walker and Jordan came tearing over the sand to join them.

  Celia eyed Abby. “Is it my company that you want, or your mother’s that you are avoiding?”

  Abby was silent for a minute, staring at the little wavelets kissing the beach. “I know I’m wrong, Celia, but I’m so upset I could scream.”

  “She loves you.”

  Abby nodded. “I know. She just doesn’t love wisely. I feel like she’s ripping my life from me. At this rate, I’m going to end up hating her.”

  “Whoa, Abby.” Celia glanced back at the house. “It can’t be that bad.” Bad was your mother lying around watching old movies and eating candy all day while you did all her work.

  “Do you hafta vacuum right now?” Mom would ask from the sofa where she reclined like Cleopatra, surrounded by true confession magazines and beer. “No. No, you don’t got to do it now.”

  When she was thinking instead of feeling desperate and ill-used, Celia used to imagine slaves fanning Mom with palm fronds while others fed her figs and honeyed candies, à la the famous queen of the Nile. Of course Cleopatra was probably more gracious than Mom, but then everyone was more gracious than Mom.

  “This is the best part of the movie,” she’d gripe. “The vacuum noise will be too loud for me to hear. Get out of my way! I can’t see. Go do the laundry or something. And don’t forget to change the beds and clean the bathrooms. They ain’t been done for a long time. Oh, and I don’t think there’s any more bread. You got any money?”

  Like she had some way to get money.

  Bad as being the household drudge was, her mother’s suspicions were worse. She could never figure out a way to fight them.

  “I know you’re sleeping with that no-good-for-nothing Eddie,” Mom had screamed after Celia’s third date with him.

  Celia felt something shrivel inside. “Not me, Mom. I’m only fifteen. I don’t want to have sex. I’m trying to be a good Christian. We just went to a movie.”

  “Christian, my foot. You just want people to think you’re a good girl. That’s why you go to church. Well, I could tell them a thing or two. Don’t think I couldn’t. You’re just as phony as the rest of them.”

  “I’m not, Mom.” Why she always tried to convince her mother, she didn’t know. A psychologist would say it must be some deep desire for approval, something she knew she wouldn’t ever get, but something she desperately wanted. She tried to tell herself that it was enough that God loved her. While she didn’t know what she’d do without God’s love, it was so hard to be emotionally orphaned.

  “You think I don’t know what the kids of today are like?” Mom stared at her with contempt. “I watch TV. You’re not as pretty as those girls. If they have to put out for a date, you do too.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “Who’d have thought I’da raised a tramp?” And she was gone, back to the Fred and Ginger movie, swaying
to “I Won’t Dance.”

  By the time Celia was seventeen, running away with Eddie seemed the natural, logical thing to do. Anything was better than staying under her mother’s roof.

  Talk about out of the frying pan.

  Twenty-three

  CELIA WATCHED THE man with the gray ponytail sticking out the back of his baseball cap. He wore a ratty T-shirt and baggy shorts with a fanny pack about his waist. He was walking slowly down the beach, swinging something back and forth in front of him. “What’s he doing?”

  Abby smiled. “Oh, he’s looking for treasure in the sand. That’s a metal detector he’s swinging.”

  The children spotted the man too.

  “Look, Walker,” yelled Jordan. “Let’s go find out what he’s doing.” He took off at a dead run. “Come on, everybody,” he called back over his shoulder.

  Jessica looked at Celia, pleading without words for permission to race after Jordan and Walker.

  “Clooney’s okay,” Abby said. “I met him last week when he found a beautiful bracelet in the sand.”

  Celia was uncertain. Strange men. Little girls.

  “Put your imagination away,” Abby said with a smile. “Besides, we can see everything that goes on.”

  “Hold you sister’s hand,” Celia called.

  Jess nodded, and she and Karlee followed the boys as fast as Karlee could move.

  “Maybe he’ll find them some money,” a deep voice said from behind them, sending that soothing honey feeling flowing along Celia’s nerve endings again.

  Celia made a face. She still hadn’t combed her hair or put on makeup, and when she glanced down at herself, the oil spots on her shirt seemed to grow as she looked, covering her whole front.

  Ah, well, Lord, I wouldn’t want to impress a beautiful man now, would I?

  She looked over her shoulder at Rick. “With my luck, he’ll find them each a penny.”

  “You never know,” Abby said. “He wears a diamond stud earring that I’d love to own. He said he found it with his detector.”