by Kristy Tate
***
When Drake arrived at the Marx house, he found Trevor and Penny boxing on the back lawn. Drake winced as Penny landed a right hook on Trevor’s chin. Melinda, lounging on a chair, bounced up when she saw Drake. He braced himself as she approached. Melinda deserved his full attention, she had paid for it, but he was distracted by Penny jumping around in her shorts and boxing gloves. He reminded his ego that she had insulted his writing, but his id didn’t care.
Flushed and intense, Penny’s concentration didn’t flinch from Trevor’s face. Drake wanted her to look at him like that. Penny fought like a girl, punching forward from her shoulder without using the muscles in her back or tapping into the strength of her legs.
Melinda wrapped her arm around Drake’s waist and gave him a squeeze, reminding him of why he’d come. Turning his back on Penny and Trevor, trying to ignore the sounds of gloves landing on flesh and the corresponding “gotcha” and “take that,” Drake handed Melinda the completed manuscript.
Her smile faded as understanding then disbelief dawned. “What’s this?”
Since it had Geared! Written across the title page in thirty-six Garamond font, he thought it pretty obvious, but he answered her anyway. “Your father’s biography.”
“But…his birthday isn’t for another month and the cottage—”
“Is a little crowded,” he finished for her.
Melinda pressed her lips together and frowned at Penny. Turning away from the couple on the lawn, she drew Drake through the French doors and into the den. “Then send her away.”
Drake shook his head, but his words failed him when his mom walked into the room in a sheer caftan covering a polka dot bikini. “Mom?”
“Drake darling, there you are.” She breezed over and planted a kiss on his cheek. She smelled of sun lotion and Crystal Noir. “I told Maggs that we wouldn’t be able to keep you away.”
“Actually, now that I’ve finished the—”
Melinda cleared her throat when her father walked into the room.
Drake stumbled for only a minute. “Now that I’ve finished the project, I won’t be staying at the cottage any longer.”
“Oh, sweetie! You can’t leave—where will you go?”
“You should listen to your mom,” Melinda told him, her voice hard. “Mothers always know best.” She held the manuscript away from her as if it might explode. “I’ll read through this, but I don’t see how it can possibly be finished.” She glanced at her dad then said, “I’m sure it’s not done.” Tucking the manuscript under her arm, she headed back out to the patio.
Watching her leave, Drake had a sinking feeling that Melinda expected to toy with him for the rest of the summer. She’d find every dangling participle and comma splice and misplaced modifier to keep him in a laundry cycle of editing and rewriting. For her it had to end at Don’s birthday, but that was still two months away. With slumped shoulders he followed Melinda.
Red-faced and panting, Penny and Trevor took off their gloves.
“Oh Maggs, wait,” his mom called from behind the bar. “I’d love to see you and Drake spar.”
“Mom!” Drake raised his eyebrows at her and she smiled with that superior Mom smile that said, “I know what I’m doing.”
“Oh, come on, darling, be a sport.” Mia settled onto a lounge and adjusted the wide brim of her hat to block the sun. “There’s nothing like a little marital sparring to start the morning.”
He wanted to ask, “Then why aren’t you at home sparring with dad,” but he swallowed his words.
“I’m sure Drake doesn’t want to fight,” Penny said as she undid the gloves.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure he does,” Mia said.
“Moms always know these things,” Melinda said.
Drake shot her a dark look.
Trevor laughed and punched him in the chest with his padded glove. “I’ve worn her out for you. She’ll be an easy knockout.”
“Well, she is a knockout,” Don said. “Step up, boy. You’d be doing us all a favor. I’d love to watch her go another round.”
Drake stared at Don. He was tempted to tell Don to fight Penny himself, but the thought of Penny anywhere near Don Marx made him ill. He didn’t want Penny fighting anyone, and he didn’t want anyone, especially Don Marx, watching her. “Penny and I fight best in private.”
Two, three, four beats of silence told him he had made a serious mistake.
Chapter 39
The men, ever alert, raised their spears to the sky and poised for attack. They sprang into the tide before the oarsmen nosed the ship to shore. With roars born of both fear and courage, they raced across the beach and thundered to the village with Hans in the lead.
From Hans and the Sunstone
“What did you call her?” Melinda asked.
Mia tried to cover for him. “Maybe you’re right, you should take her home.”
Penny took off her gloves and threw them at Drake’s head. “No one takes me anywhere.”
“I’ll take you on.” Drake needed to stall to deflect questions. He picked up Penny’s gloves and tossed them back at her one at a time. She caught them easily.
He held out his hands for Trevor’s gloves.
“Why did you call her Penny?” Melinda asked.
“Pet name,” Drake said, but a quick look at Trevor’s and Melinda’s faces told him that they didn’t believe him. Melinda studied Penny through suspicious eyes then pulled out her phone. If she didn’t already know, she would soon.
“Maybe we should keep our sparing behind closed doors,” Penny said to him.
He shrugged as he laced up the gloves. “This won’t take long.”
“What does that mean?” Penny asked.
Drake shrugged again. “Are you ready?”
Two seconds later he lay on the ground with a throbbing eye.
“Oh good one, Maggs!” His mom called.
Drake sat up and pressed his gloved hand to his eye. Penny had found her muscles.
His mom and Melinda fussed over him. Trevor and Don Marx stood further back, both smirking, secure in their own testosterone. Drake wanted to fight them all. He wanted redemption, validation…and an aspirin.
“I told you we’re better behind closed doors,” Penny said, looking down at him.
“I’m sure it’d be a lot less humiliating,” Don said, smothering a laugh.
Melinda shot her dad a reproachful look before turning to Drake. “Are you all right?” He didn’t like the gleam in her eye.
“I’m fine,” he barked. He had never barked before, at least not that he could remember, but he’d never been flattened by a girl before either. Penny reached down to help him up. He took her hand, pulled her down, and rolled over so that he had her pinned. He held both her hands over her head, his knees pinched her sides, and his face hovered above hers.
She squealed.
“Apologize!” he demanded.
“Never!” She twisted beneath him. “Admit that you were beaten by a girl.”
“I let you win.”
“Then I shouldn’t have to apologize.”
“Good point.”
She stopped squirming. “Can I get up now?”
“So you admit that I’ve won?”
“Never!”
“Then I guess we’ll have to stay here all day.”
“You can’t stay here all day!” Trevor interrupted. Drake had forgotten they had an audience. As typical when he was with Penny, all he could think about when he was with her was her. “You have to win a chili cook off!”
“That’s right, Drake,” Penny told him. “I’ve been eating beans.”
He lowered his face so that their noses were almost touching. “If you think I can be scared off by a little flatulence, then you don’t know me very well.” Standing, but not relinquishing her wrists, he pulled her up, hauled her over his shoulder, and carried her to the cottage.
Chapter 40
Peel and grate a potato (a red potato is best). Mak
e a poultice out of it and keep it on the black eye for 20 minutes. Potassium chloride is one of the most effective healing compounds, and potatoes are the best source of potassium chloride. This remedy is also works for bloodshot eyes.
From Losing Penny and Pounds
Stunned, Penny didn’t know what to do. Kick, scream, and demand to be put down? He deposited her on the porch swing before she could decide.
“Just so you know,” he told her, facing her with his hands on his hips. “I’m still really angry with you.”
“About the book or about your eye?”
“Both, actually.”
Penny folded her arms across her chest. “Well I’m not sorry for either one, and I’m not going to apologize, but I can make poultice for your eye.” She bounced out of the swing and brushed past him.
“Never mind, it’ll match my lip,” he called after her.
“I’ve been hard on you.” She rummaged in the fridge and pulled out a large potato.
“Poor me.” He settled down where she’d been sitting. “As much fun as this has been—black eyes and split lips aside—I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?” She stopped grating the potato for a moment and then began again with increased vigor. Soon she had a lovely potato poultice.
He probably expected more of a response, maybe an argument, but when she didn’t say anything, he said, “My eye is fine.”
Penny bit her lip. She mushed the poultice into a wet cloth and stood before Drake. “Hold still.”
Drake held up his hand to stop her.
Anger flashed through her. “I made you poultice, and you are going to wear it!”
“Are you really mad about the poultice?” Drake took a deep breath.
“Yes! Why else would I be upset?”
Drake frowned, but he held still and looked up at her.
She held the poultice above his face. “You have to close your eyes.” Penny leaned against his knees and applied the cloth. “How’s that?”
“Move it a little to the right.”
She adjusted it, lifted it off, and stood back. “I want to see the bruising.” She cocked her head. “It’s not very purple.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“I did knock you down.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t bruise the right color for you. Do you want to try again?”
Penny blew out a “No.” Even though she sort of did want to knock him down again.
“We both know that in a month you’ll return to California and I’ll go back to school, so whatever we start is doomed by a deadline.”
She slapped the poultice back on his eye and he flinched. “What exactly have we started?”
“You tell me.”
“You’re the professor, you’re the one who makes up the tests and the rules, you should know all the answers.”
“Maybe this time I don’t.”
“So you’re going to leave before you can find out? Did you even read your book?”
“This is not about the book.” Drake stood abruptly, and the poultice fell to the floor with a splat.
Penny picked it up. She’d save it. A potato poultice was also good for bloodshot eyes, and she expected to be crying as soon as Drake slammed out the door.
Chapter 41
The cowards fled at the Vikings approach. A few men, those without women and children, pursued, but most returned to their charred homes, hoping to find their loved ones unharmed.
From Hans and the Sunstone
Paulson’s Pond lay between two small rolling hills. Bright green and dotted with yellow buttercups, the hills sloped gently to the pond. Water lilies, cat tails, and pussy willows grew along the water edge where frogs and ducks laid their eggs.
A couple of young mothers and their children picnicked on the lawn. A small wooden pier extended over the water, and two boys sat at the edge, their feet dangling over the murky pond. An older gentleman was helping a young boy with a fishing rod. Drake fought back a tidal wave of memories as he sat down on the grass. Fighting would be counterproductive. He should welcome the memories, after all they were what brought him here.
He had spent the day reading Penny’s rewrite, and as much as he hated to admit it, the story haunted him. Reason told him that he needed to be working on his class syllabus, but he couldn’t get the Vikings out of his head, so he’d returned to his industrial poems. He missed the poetry he’d written with Blair. If he were honest, he’d admit that he missed the poetry more than he missed Blair.
And then, as if thinking about her summoned her, he overheard Blair singing about Winnie the Pooh’s Hundred Acre Wood. Sitting up and looking past an enormous maple tree, he spotted Blair and a young girl.
A large cat looked down on them from a branch of a pine tree, and the girl noticed and called to it. The cat flicked its tail at the wispy, blond girl. If not for her Lucky Charms T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and sparkly pink flip-flops, Drake would have thought her a fairy.
“It won’t come when you call,” Blair told her. “It’s not a domestic cat.”
“What does that mean?”
“It doesn’t belong to anybody. It’s wild and it catches its own food.”
“Does it live alone?”
“It lives with other wild cats. They’re called feral.”
“Oh, look at the baby ducks!” the girl squealed as a mother duck and her young paraded by. “Will the cat try to eat the baby ducks?”
“I think it probably prefers rodents.” Blair cried out in pain and Drake sat up.
“What’s wrong?” the girl asked.
Blair sat down hard on the grass and pulled her ankle close to inspect it. A bee clung to her skin. “That was uncalled for,” Blair told the bee as she flicked off its tiny, lifeless body. She looked at the welt already forming and pinched it. “I think I’ll feel better if I just sit here for a minute and try to get this bee’s stinger out of me,” Blair said to the child. “You can feed the ducks without me. Just make sure to stay where we can see each other.”
The girl hesitated a minute. “Can I help you?”
Blair shook her head as she tried to scrape out the stinger with her fingernail.
The girl gave her lonely look, and then with bread in hand, she walked closer to the water. The ducks recognized an instant food source and began to waddle in her direction. “Feed the birds and what do you get?” Missy quoted a line from the movie Mary Poppins, “Fat birds!”
Blair took a noisy bite out of her carrot then placed the bitten off end on her bee sting.
“Is that helping?” Drake sat down next her, his knees poking into the air.
“Drake, what are you doing here?”
He shrugged without a comment.
Blair squinted at him, her gaze lingering on his swollen lip and bruised eye. “What happened to you?”
He chuckled and touched his eye. “I’ve taken up boxing.”
“Seriously?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“It’s just so not you.”
“Are you eating a carrot? That’s so not you.”
“I’m changing, Drake,” she said somewhat sheepishly and with a laugh.
“I liked you the way you were.”
She leaned back and looked into his face. “And I liked you too. I still like you.”
He cleared his throat. “Did you like my poems?”
Her face blanched.
“The ones we worked on together?” he pressed.
“Why?”
“I’m working on a collection of poems. I’ve been offered a contract with a small university press.”
“That’s wonderful! Congratulations!”
Drake nodded. “It’s supposed to be an environmental love song. I remembered coming here with you, and I came back to try and recapture…but I can’t do it.” He sat quietly for a moment. “It’s odd to see you here now.”
His thoughts turned to warm August nights when they had set up a telescope on the hill overlooking the pond.
They had watched meteor showers in the sky and saw the reflections of falling stars in the pond. Despite the astounding beauty of the nights, inevitably they would eventually become engrossed in each other.
“A Leaves of Grass sort of thing?” Blair asked.
Drake picked a buttercup and began to pluck off the petals, “I can only hope.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great.”
The girl let out a squeal as a goose pecked her shirt.
“Missy, stay away from the geese,” Blair called. “They’re mean!”
Missy dropped her piece of bread, and the aggressive goose swallowed it in a gulp. “Shoo!” Missy said, her voice shrill.
“Is she with you?” Drake asked.
Blair nodded smiling. “Isn’t she cute?”
Drake considered the child. His unwillingness to discuss children was one of the many reasons for ending their romance.
“Did you steal her?” he asked.
Blair shook her head. “Not yet. She’s a friend’s niece.”
Meeting her familiar intense blue eyes, he wanted to ask if Missy was Rawling’s niece and he wanted to ask about Aruba. Instead he asked, “So, how are you?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Blair said. “Well, except I was just stung by a bee.” She showed him her ankle, and he touched the angry red spot.
“Did you get the stinger out?”
Blair shook her head, and studied her ankle.
“You’ve got to do it, Blair.”
“I know.”
She gritted her teeth, pinched her ankle tightly, and was rewarded with the tiny bee weapon. “Got it,” she said. “I’ve been trying to write too. I’m writing a play about the history of Rose Arbor.”
Drake snorted.
“It’s much worse than it sounds,” she said. “For example, did you know that Paulson’s Pond is actually the oldest recorded farm in the district? You might think that’s interesting, but it’s not. The Paulsons raised pigs. During the Alaskan gold rush, did the Paulsons seek gold? No, they salted pork and sold it to the gold seekers. Pig farmers just aren’t all that interesting.”