Maybe it was time to get a little selfish.
Duncan was waiting in her bed, working on his laptop. His silk striped pajama top was open at the neck, showing off the sunburn he always got when he came to San Gabriel. His mouth had a sullen cast to it, but as soon as he looked at her over the rims of his glasses, he shifted. He must have seen something unfamiliar in her expression, because he set aside the laptop and patted her side of the bed.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” he said. “Can we give our little convo another chance, now that I’m not so distracted?”
“Our little convo?” She stayed in the doorway, unwilling to get any closer to him.
“You wanted to know why I thought we should get married.”
“Right.” Truthfully, other concerns had taken over by now, but that one still loomed.
“The thing is, I feel different when I’m with you, Mari. I don’t have to prove anything. It’s comfortable. Homey.”
“Homey?”
Duncan shoved his glasses back up his face, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “That sounded all wrong. What I mean to say is, I want to come home to you. I’ve been giving all my attention to my career and only a tiny bit to you. Look at the way I was at dinner. I barely heard what you were saying; you were like an irritating buzz in my ear. I’m not proud of that, Maribel. If we get married, it won’t be like that anymore. Don’t you want to save me from being a hopeless workaholic?”
His usually charming smile fell flat. “So that’s why you need me? To keep buzzing in your ear until you stop working?”
“Maribel. Don’t be harsh. That’s not you. You’re always so lovely and soft; that’s what I love about you.”
“Duncan.” Her abruptness took both of them by surprise; she even jumped a bit. “What do you think of my work?”
He blinked behind his horn-rims, like a blond, bland owl. “Your work?”
“Not my waitressing skills. My photography. What do you think, really? Your honest opinion.”
“Not bad, if you like that sort of thing,” he answered promptly. “Pretty good, in fact. Not my cup of tea, but I’m not ashamed to be marrying the creator.” He offered a conspiratorial smile.
Not ashamed . . . hadn’t she read about this in a psychology book? If he came up with the word “ashamed,” then he was ashamed, no matter what he said. Or had been. Maybe he’d convinced himself he wasn’t.
“Define ‘that sort of thing.’”
“Excuse me?”
“That sort of thing. The sort you don’t like but maybe other people do. What sort of thing? Come on, Dunc, it’s not difficult.”
“What’s gotten into you, baby? You’re not usually like this. And where did you go when you stormed out of the restaurant like that? I’ve been waiting for hours.”
“Diversion tactic.”
“What?”
Never had she been so grateful for her obsession with parenting books. Not that she’d ever imagined she’d be using her knowledge on Duncan.
“I’m not falling for your diversionary tactics. What sort of thing is it that I create?”
“Sweetie, it’s not such a big deal. I like photographing people. You like nature. I find nature clichéd. But did you ever think it might be a good thing we’re not in the same field? We’re not competing against each other.” He laughed, as if the entire idea of the two of them competing was, well, laughable.
She turned away, mostly to avoid throwing something at his smug face. Instantly he was out of the bed and striding to her side. He put his hands on her shoulders just the way Kirk had, but the shivers Duncan inspired felt more like spiders skittering up and down her arms. Time was, he’d been like a meteor streaking through her life at unpredictable moments. Where was all that dazzled, starstruck awe he used to inspire?
“Come on, baby, let’s table this for tonight. I love you. I want to marry you. Still do, even though you walked out on a fabulous raspberry terrine.”
“You stayed for dessert?”
“Ran into an old Exeter friend of mine. We hung out for a while and caught up on old times. What was I supposed to do? Crawl home and hide under the blankets? Watch Lifetime and gorge myself on Haagen-Dazs?”
She pushed his hands away. The very sight of him, sandy-haired and self-satisfied, his mouth quirked to produce his supposedly witty quip, made her gag. “I’m going to check on Pete.”
“Honey, we can get through this. After six years together, we can get through anything. Right?”
But as she gazed at the sleeping lump of her son, she wondered if they’d ever really been “together.” He was never around when she really needed someone, and she’d never asked him to be. He’d been more of a glamorous god occasionally descending into her life. Never a partner or a helpmate.
Was that a basis for a marriage?
But the next morning, after a restless night sleeping next to Duncan, who kept trying to throw his leg over her thigh, she knew she wasn’t ready to take any drastic steps. She needed to think things through before she made any irrevocable decisions.
Around nine, while she was making banana pancake batter, her phone rang. Electric thrills ran through her at the sight of Kirk’s number. Duncan, still in his silk pajamas, was immersed in a new series of text messages and barely noticed when she answered, breathlessly, “Hello?”
“Maribel, it’s Kirk.” His voice, deep and resonant, brought to mind a quiet wind rustling pines in the forest. Her heart felt as if it would burst out of her throat, it was pounding so hard.
“How are you?”
“Embarrassed. Apologetic.”
“No need. Really.” She shot Duncan a surreptitious look, but he was muttering furiously at his iPhone. “I’m the one who should be.”
“I . . . uh . . .” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to let Pete know that I’ve located Gonzalez, Hagrid’s former owner. He’s in Colorado. I sent him an e-mail letting him know we found Hagrid, though I remembered his name used to be Z-boy. Short for Zeus.”
“Zeus? Like the god Zeus?”
Duncan looked up, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Yep. No idea why. Not sure why I forgot either, because the guys at the firehouse call me Thor, and Gonzalez always got a kick out of that. At any rate, I’ll let Pete know as soon as I hear anything. For all we know, Gonzalez lost track of the dog and wants him back.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful! I mean, if he could be reunited with his real owner. Even Pete would be okay with that.” Pete was in his room, staging his usual late appearance at breakfast when Duncan was visiting.
“It seemed like a good solution all around.”
“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Pete’s gotten so attached to him in such a short amount of time.” She bit her lip. Hagrid wasn’t the only one Pete had gotten attached to.
“Maribel . . . wait, don’t hang up. I’ve been beating myself up all night over the things I said.”
“This isn’t . . .” Feeling her face heat, she glanced at Duncan, who, mercifully, seemed oblivious to her embarrassment. “Wait, you’re saying you didn’t mean those things?”
“Oh, I meant them. Every word. And then some. But I didn’t mean to dump all that on you. You have enough to worry about.”
“Oh.”
He was doing it again, trying to spare other people the trouble of . . . what? Worrying about him? Caring about him? But she couldn’t say all that, not with Duncan sitting right there in his tan-and-white—sorry, fawn-and-mint—striped silk.
“So don’t feel awkward next time I come into the coffee shop, okay?”
“I won’t. But . . .” She trailed off, hating the fact that she couldn’t speak freely. Words choked in her throat like debris piling up at a dam.
“And don’t feel funny about the photos. I think they’re a good investment.”
She murmured, “If you like that sort of thing.” Duncan looked up sharply.
“So we okay?”
“Of course.�
�� She hung up numbly. Even the phone felt funny in her hands, as if the sensation of it was muffled. Duncan’s voice seemed to come from some other planet.
“Who was that?”
“Oh, just a friend.”
With a sidelong glance, she noticed the suspicious furrow between his eyebrows.
“Of Pete’s.”
“A friend of Pete’s?”
“Well, of both of us. There’s this dog, and Pete’s really worried about him, and this fireman is helping find the owner, and . . .” But Duncan had apparently heard enough to realize he wasn’t really that interested. He waved a hand and went back to his texting.
“I’m going to let Pete know the pancakes will be ready soon.”
“Mmmhh.”
She knocked on Pete’s door, then went inside. Pete was, as usual, sprawled facedown on the floor, chewing on the end of his pen, his notebook under his chin.
“Pete, I . . . uh . . . Kirk called about Hagrid.”
Pete looked up eagerly. “Yeah?”
“He might have found his original owner.” When Pete scowled, she added, “That’s good, right?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“His owner abandoned him, that’s why not! He doesn’t deserve to have him back.”
Maribel walked all the way in and sat on his bed. ”We don’t know that. Maybe he just lost him.”
“Same thing. If I had a great dog like Hagrid, I wouldn’t lose him. That’s just stupid. I bet Hagrid ran away from him. He’s probably a big jerk.”
“Pete. Let’s give him a chance, huh?”
“You always say that. Give him a chance, give him a chance! I’m sick of giving people a chance. What difference does it make anyway? Nothing changes!”
Maribel knew what he was talking about. Duncan. How many times over the years had she urged Pete to give Duncan a chance?
“Sweetie, I know you don’t really like Duncan. But he’s been there for us, right? He’s never walked away. That counts for something, doesn’t it?” She didn’t say out loud the other part of that thought—he’d never walked away, unlike Pete’s father.
“No, it doesn’t. He’s never here to begin with. And when he is, he doesn’t do anything. I mean, not anything fun.”
“Like play wizards, for instance? Or Dungeons and Dragons?”
“Like anything,” Pete said fiercely. “You can marry him if you want, but I don’t have to talk to him. And I’m going to name the giant slug who lives in the Cave of Torment after him. You can’t stop me.”
“I guess not. Artistic license.”
“And I’m naming the fire dragon Kirk.”
“Because he’s a fireman? That makes sense, I guess.”
“No, not because he’s a fireman. Don’t you ever listen to my story? I have to tell the whole plot all over again! The fire dragon’s really a nobleman, see? He was cursed by a witch who turned him into a dragon who gets burned by the sun. That’s why he’s a fire dragon—he catches on fire. It’s really painful but he never cries. And no one understands what’s happening to him, so they’re scared of him, but he’s really noble and kind and rescues people in the middle of the night when the sun can’t burn him.”
Maribel opened her mouth but couldn’t speak a word. Kirk the Fire Dragon. Noble and kind. Burned from the sun.
Did Pete know about Kirk’s cancer? Or had his imagination concocted a good reason for Kirk to work on his motorcycle in a place sheltered from the sun?
“Does he . . . um . . . what happens to Kirk the Dragon?”
“Mom, I don’t know! I’m only on chapter three of Book One. And there’s going to be at least seven books. But I know what happens to Duncan the Giant Slug. He’s going to get squished. A big boulder is going to—”
“Okay, okay, I get it. Anyway, pancakes are just about ready, honey. And please don’t squish Duncan until after breakfast, okay?”
“Fine.”
After she left Pete’s room, unable to face Duncan yet, she took shelter in the bathroom. The scent of rose-petal potpourri greeted her, along with the sight of her pale face in the mirror.
The image of Kirk as a fire dragon pounded through her brain. It was eerily perfect. There was something else Pete had said, that it didn’t matter that Duncan had never walked away, because he’d never really been around to begin with.
Abandonment wasn’t the problem here. It had already happened. This time they’d been pre-abandoned by a distracted, self-absorbed workaholic.
But whose fault was that?
Maybe she’d never wanted Duncan around that much. Maybe that’s why they’d lasted six years. They’d never had to confront anything difficult until now.
Maybe her son was right. Maybe she should have listened to him a little more. Maybe she needed to tear off her rose-colored glasses and get real.
Chapter Eight
* * *
KIRK HANDED THE keys of his Harley to Bruce, who’d answered his Craigslist ad.
“Take it easy. Speed limit’s thirty-five around here. And I know all the cops.”
“No worries, dude.” Bruce, a young snowboarder from Tahoe, kick-started the Harley and grinned. “Suh-weet. Be right back.”
He roared off. Kirk leaned against his truck, which was already heating up from the morning sun. He ought to go inside, but the hell with it. Before long he’d be far away from the intense desert rays. Besides, he needed to conserve energy for the important stuff: packing and thinking about Maribel.
Two weeks had passed without a single encounter with her. Two crucial weeks during which Kirk felt something die inside him. He’d taken his shot. Bared his heart. Spilled his guts. He’d never done anything so tough in his life. Firefighter exam, chemotherapy, the decision to leave San Gabriel—it all paled next to the leap off a cliff he’d taken under Maribel’s incredulous hazel gaze.
Bruce zoomed back into sight and veered into the driveway, stopping on a dime before he hit the truck. The kid could ride, no doubt about that. “You got all the maintenance records?”
“Yup. Not much there; it’s been a good bike. Couple tune-ups, that’s about it.”
“Harleys, man. They don’t need much.” Bruce passed his hand reverently across the still-purring body. “Why you selling her again?”
“I have to leave town. Moving to Alaska.”
“Alaska? You a snowboarder too?”
“No, no. I . . . uh . . .” Kirk eyed the guy’s sunburned face. Wouldn’t hurt to warn him. “I got skin cancer. It could come back. I decided I’d be better off somewhere where the angle of the sun isn’t so direct. Alaska’s so far north, the UV index is a lot lower.” Bruce was goggling at him. “You wear sunscreen?”
“No.”
“Tell you what. I’ll give you two hundred dollars off the price of the Harley if you spend it all on sunscreen.”
“Rad. Thanks, dude.”
“So you want the bike?”
“Hellz yeah.”
A couple thousand dollars richer, Kirk watched his bike ride off into the midday sun with Bruce the Snowboarder. It ought to make him sad, but it just added to the growing hole in his heart. One more snip of the ties binding him to San Gabriel and his old life.
His big regret was that he hadn’t been able to give Pete one more ride on the bike before he sold it. He hadn’t seen the kid since the night he babysat him. Every time he checked on Hagrid, he saw that someone had brought food for him. Maybe Maribel was bringing Pete to the warehouse. Or maybe Duncan was.
But he’d finally gotten an e-mail from Gonzalez and needed to share it with Pete, so he’d left a message for Maribel and any day . . . hour . . . minute . . . he’d hear back from one of them. And that would be the final loose end. One last beer with the guys, one last viewing of the desert sunset from the tailgate of his truck, and he’d be gone.
PETE WAITED TO call Kirk back until his mother had shut herself in her bedroom with her laptop. Ever since Duncan’s last visit, things had been diffe
rent. The wedding was off, along with the move to New York, even though she still talked to Duncan on the phone. And she’d been nice about driving out to see Hagrid—but mean about Kirk, saying she needed some time to sort everything out.
He had no idea what that meant, but if it meant less Duncan, he was all for it.
When he heard the sound of his mother’s voice, Skyping from her bedroom, he dialed Kirk’s number.
“Hi. It’s Pete.”
“Hey, buddy. I’ve got good news for you about Z-boy. Hagrid.”
Pete’s stomach dropped. Even though Kirk was cool, he was still a grown-up, and their ideas about good news always differed from his. “What is it?”
“Gonzalez e-mailed me. He didn’t leave Z-boy behind on purpose. He said the dog jumped out of the truck when they left the shop. Ran away and wouldn’t come back, no matter what they did. They stuck around for another day trying to lure him back with fried liver and bacon, all his favorites, but he didn’t bite. They never saw him again. He was really happy to know we’ve been taking care of him.”
Pete did a silent air-punch of glee. Hagrid had run away. That mean he wasn’t Gonzalez’s dog anymore. “Cool.”
“There’s more. He’s willing to pay to ship Hagrid to Colorado if we can get him into a carrier. He’s got a friend flying out of San Gabriel tomorrow; he can take him.”
“What?”
“He misses Z-boy. Says he’s a special dog. He told me his whole history. He was trained as a rescue dog for San Gabriel County Search and Rescue. Then he got injured in an earthquake rescue. Said he still has a limp, but I never noticed it.”
Pete mumbled an answer. He’d noticed the limp right away, but that was because he cared about Hagrid so much.
“Anyway, they retired him with honors, and that’s when Gonzalez adopted him. He has a plaque floating around somewhere. So I guess we have to convince Hagrid—Z-boy—to let us put him in a carrier. What do you say we go out and do it together?”
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