by Terri Garey
Before he quite knew what was happening, Nathan had run up and grabbed him by the hand, dragging him toward the pile of sand. Faith rose to her feet, smiling but wary. She was still wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing yesterday, jeans and T-shirt, but the jeans were rolled up to the knee, and she was barefoot.
“That’s, ah . . . that’s a pretty impressive castle,” he said to Nathan, who beamed at his praise. “Did your mom help you with that?”
Faith’s lip twitched at his attempt to be tactful.
“She helped some,” Nathan answered excitedly, “but I did most of it myself. This place is cool—is this really where you live, all the time?”
He looked down into the boy’s face, so open, so trusting. “Yep, it is. You like it?”
“It’s awesome,” Nate said worshipfully. “Thanks for letting us come visit.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned at the boy, who grinned back. “Gone swimming yet?”
“Mom won’t let me.” He shot his mother a disgusted look. “She says it’s too dangerous.”
Arching an eyebrow, he glanced at Faith, who hastened to defend herself. “I don’t have a bathing suit,” she said, “and he can’t go in by himself. Look how high the waves are; he doesn’t have his floaties.”
“Floaties?” Finn had never heard the term.
“Those dorky things you wear on your arms,” Nate told him disgustedly. “I have to wear them when we go to the pool.” The look he shot his mom was dark. “Not that we go to the pool that much.”
“Nathan!” His outspokenness embarrassed her, he could tell, her pale cheeks flooding with color.
“That reminds me,” Finn said smoothly, reaching into the back pocket of his swimsuit. “I brought you some sunscreen.”
Faith took it gratefully, while Nate rolled his eyes.
“Maybe your mom would feel better if I went in the water with you,” he suggested. “You could hold on to me.”
The boy’s face lit up. “Can I, Mom? Please?”
Looking alarmed, Faith glanced from Nathan to Finn, then back again.
“It’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “I’ll be right there with him.”
“Yay!” Nathan didn’t wait for his mom’s approval, tugging Finn toward the water.
“Hang on a minute.” Dragging his shirt over his head, he tossed it to Faith, forcing her to catch it. She did, and when he caught her looking at his bare chest, he gave her a wink.
“Whoa,” Nate said, behind his back. “Is that a tattoo? Is it real? Can I touch it?”
“It’s real, and yes, you can touch it.”
“I want one! Mommy, can I have one?”
“Absolutely not,” Faith said promptly. “No tattoos, unless they’re washable.”
Finn looked down at Nathan and shrugged. “Not much fun, is she?”
Nathan laughed up at him, and something squeezed inside his chest. He seemed like a great kid; no shyness or inhibitions. What would his child have been like, if he’d had one?
He’d never know, since he had no intention of having any.
“She’s not too bad,” Nathan said loyally, in his mom’s defense. “She just worries too much.”
“Somebody has to,” Faith murmured, reaching out to touch his curls.
“Let’s go, kiddo.” Finn found himself curiously eager to get wet. “Last one in the water has to eat worms.”
“Worms!” shouted Nate, gleefully, as he took off running.
“Hold his hand,” Faith yelled, as they raced toward the water. “Don’t go in too deep!”
Too late, Finn thought, as a wave broke over his knees. Nate’s small hand grabbed his big one without a shred of self-consciousness, and dragged him in deeper.
Two hours and half a tube of sunscreen later, all three of them were wet, sandy, and relaxed. The haphazard pile of sand had been refashioned by the scraping of seashells into a fairly decent-looking sandcastle, and Finn, having been manhandled, splashed and dunked by a boy one third his size, was feeling more laid back than he’d been in months.
“Your nose is pink.” He brushed sand from his hands, observing Faith critically, and thinking she looked rather cute that way.
“Yeah? Well, you have seaweed in your hair,” she returned, looking as relaxed as he felt. Her own hair was wild, blowing in the wind that set the waves crashing, and she was smiling.
“Do you realize that this is the first time I’ve seen you in the light of day?” he asked, reaching up a hand to find the piece of seaweed, then tossing it away.
Her smile faltered.
“The sunshine suits you. You should get out in it more.”
Nathan was throwing shells down by the waterline.
“Not a lot of time for that.” Faith sighed, watching her son with an eagle eye. “Between work and doctor appointments . . .” She trailed off, settling herself more comfortably in the sand. “It’s been a while.”
“It must be tough, having to raise a kid all by yourself.”
She shrugged. “It has its drawbacks, but I wouldn’t trade being Nathan’s mom for anything in the world.”
“Tell me more about his father.”
She shot him a glance from the corner of her eye. “Why?”
“Why not?”
Her lips thinned, but she didn’t evade further. “His name was Jason, and I haven’t seen or heard from him in five years. He’s not a part of our lives.”
“What happened?”
“Oh . . .” She shrugged again, wrapping her arms around her knees as she watched Nathan chase seagulls across the sand. “Same old story, I guess. He claimed he loved me, but when I told him I was pregnant, everything changed.” She rested her chin on a knee, not looking at him. “He didn’t want kids, pressured me not to go through with the pregnancy. Told me I had to choose between him and the baby.” Now she turned her head and looked at him, deliberately. “I chose the baby.”
He said nothing for a moment, well aware of her point.
“Did you love him?” Why the answer mattered, he had no idea.
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she shook her head. “I thought I did, once, but he was childish and selfish and irresponsible—everything I didn’t need in a man. It hurt when we split, but I got over it.” She turned her head to keep an eye on Nathan. “Besides, I had a new love, and more important things to concentrate on.”
“What about your parents?” Changing the subject, he found himself genuinely curious—according to Bert’s report, she was the only child of deceased parents, but the report hadn’t included details. “What happened to them?”
She made a noise of exasperation. “Wow. You’re being awfully direct today.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been up front with you from the start, about everything. Why stop now?”
It was her turn to be silent. A few moments later, during which they both watched Nate dipping his toes in the ocean, she spoke again. “My mom and dad had me late in life. Dad died of cancer when he was sixty-eight, and I was twenty-one. My mom never got over it. She went into a depression, spent the next few years as a virtual recluse, and passed away just after my twenty-fourth birthday.” Her voice was steady, but he saw the gleam of tears in her eyes. “One night she just went to sleep, and never woke up. It was her heart, ironically enough.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, not knowing what else to say.
She sent him a grateful look beneath her lashes, swallowing hard in an effort to keep her emotions under control. A deep breath or two later, she asked, “What about you? Your parents must be awfully proud of all your success.”
He gave a snort of laughter. “Hardly.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mom’s an alcoholic, and I never hear from her unless she needs money,” he told her bluntly. “As far as my father goes, I never really knew him—not entirely certain she did, either. He left when I was small. I never heard from him again.”
“That’s terrible!”
He shook his head, not wanting or needing her pity. “Can’t say as I blame him.” A seashell near his foot caught his eye; he picked it up and threw it toward the water, as far out as he could. “You haven’t met my mother.”
“I’m not sure I want to,” she huffed, but quickly backtracked. “I’m sure she’s not as bad as all that.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her and said nothing, which pretty much said it all.
“Finn!” Nathan’s excited shout drew their attention. “Look! A shark!”
“A shark?” Faith was on her feet in an instant, but Finn only laughed.
“It’s a dolphin,” he shouted back, getting to his feet. Heading toward the boy, he pointed out to sea. “Look, there’s another one.”
“Where? Where?” Nathan was so excited, he was jumping up and down. “I can’t see! Pick me up! Let me see!”
He did, surprised it felt so natural. Nate’s skinny little arms went around his neck; he didn’t weigh much. The guilt he’d been staving off since yesterday reared its ugly head again—what if he was wrong about the clinic in Switzerland? What if Faith’s deal with the Devil was the only way out for the kid? “Look, out there beyond where the waves are breaking.” Forcing himself to live in the moment, he raised his free hand to point out where more than one fin was breaking the surface. “There’s three or four of them, I think. They travel in groups, called pods.”
“Wow,” Nathan breathed, against his neck. “Can we swim with them? I saw some people on TV once, they went swimming with the dolphins.”
“Those were tame dolphins,” Finn told him. “These are wild.”
“Oh.” Nate was disappointed. “Can we feed them?”
He shook his head. “They don’t need us to feed them; they’re getting their own food, see?”
Ahead of the dolphins, a glittering shower of small fish broke the surface, scattering like diamonds flung across the water.
“Did you see that, Mommy?”
Faith had come up beside them. She had an odd look on her face, but he couldn’t tell what it meant.
“I see them,” she said. “That’s not something you see every day.”
“Dolphins are good luck,” he said lightly, “did you know that?”
“Are they?” She didn’t seem to want to look him in the eye. “For whom, I wonder?”
Chapter Twenty-two
Nate obviously liked him, and that worried her. When he’d seen the dolphins, it had been Finn he’d called out to, not her. He was usually a bit shy around men, since there were so few of them in their lives; Dr. Wynecke, Dina’s occasional boyfriend, the mailman—that was pretty much it. Yet this morning, when he awakened in a strange room in a strange bed, he hadn’t seemed the least bit worried once she’d explained they were at Finn’s house, and that he’d slept through the trip there.
Kids were so adaptable, so accepting. Why couldn’t she be that way?
Finn’s hair was spiked and sticky with salt water, and there was sand on his chest and shoulders from Nathan’s hands. Finn didn’t seem to mind holding him, even looked natural doing it—something she’d never expected to see, and it made her heart hurt. She swallowed, feeling as if she’d missed something that might’ve been important, had it been allowed to develop on its own.
But it couldn’t, because they had to get out of here—now, today. It had been a lovely, idyllic morning, but it wasn’t real. Reality was doctor appointments, bills to pay, and a bargain to keep if she wanted her son to live.
“I think the dolphins have the right idea,” Finn said, his voice breaking into her thoughts. “I’m starving. Anyone else?”
“I’m hungry, too,” Nate said, “but can we come back down here after?”
“We’ll see,” Faith said, before Finn could answer. She reached out to touch his knee, unable to help herself. “I don’t want you to overdo it.”
“Mommmm,” her son said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “I’m not a baby anymore.”
“Obviously not,” Finn told him staunchly, “but Mom’s in charge. What she says, goes.” He put Nate down, turning toward the house. “Let’s go raid the kitchen, shall we?”
Nate took off running, obviously still full of energy.
“Thanks,” she said to Finn as they followed at a walk. After what he’d just told her about his own mom, she was pleasantly surprised by the show of support.
He glanced at her, scooping his shirt from the sand as they passed the sandcastle. “For what?”
“For backing me up with Nate. A couple of months ago I wouldn’t have worried so much, but now . . .”
“Have you given any more thought to what we talked about last night? The clinic in Switzerland?”
She shook her head, looking away. It was a lie, of course. She’d thought about it, even though she’d tried hard not to. Not quite ready to spoil the day just yet, however, she took the easy way out and changed the subject. “Nathan!” she called. “Slow down and wait for us. You can’t go in the house all sandy like that!”
Finn didn’t press her, for which she was grateful. “There’s an outdoor shower on a side patio,” he said. “We can rinse off there.”
Not only was there a shower, but three big, fluffy towels were stacked on a lounge chair nearby. “Your invisible housekeeper is awfully efficient,” she told him. “There was a big tray of food outside our door this morning. I can’t believe Nathan’s already hungry again.”
“He’s a growing boy.”
And I’m going to keep him that way, she vowed silently to herself.
“So where is everyone?” She tried to keep the question casual, but if she was going to find a way out of here, she needed to start somewhere. Maybe if a member of the staff knew that she and Nathan were here against their will, they could be talked into helping her. “Surely this place doesn’t run itself.”
He shrugged. “They’re around.” Lowering his voice so Nathan couldn’t hear, he added, “But they’re not going to help you, Faith. I pay them very well, in large part for their discretion.”
“Please,” she murmured, touching his arm. “You can’t mean to go through with this—you can’t keep us here. Time is running out.” She shot an anxious glance toward Nate, who was distracted by the little lizards in the bushes surrounding the patio. “There’s only one night left, and if I don’t . . .”
She couldn’t bring herself to finish.
“He’s a liar, Faith. Who are you going to believe, me or him?” He didn’t need to say who “him” was, and she was relieved he didn’t. He looked down at her, green eyes intense, compelling. “There’s still time to fix this; give me the ring and I’ll start making calls right away. We can both get what we want.”
How she wanted to believe him. How she wanted to think that somewhere out there lay the answer to all Nate’s problems—some doctor, some treatment. That her son could live, that Finn could live, that maybe even the three of them . . .
“No,” she said, firmly. No time for fantasy, when reality was staring her in the face. “I’m not going to take a chance on my son’s life.”
“Is mine so unimportant?”
“Of course not.”
“Why are you being so stubborn about this? I can show you the research about the clinic in Switzerland, you can interview the doctors, the former patients . . .”
“Stop it.” She raised a hand to her head, not wanting to hear any more.
“Faith.” A note of pleading entered his voice. “Be reasonable.”
“You didn’t see what I saw,” she whispered. “You didn’t see what he showed me.”
There was a silence between them, broken only by the splash of water from the outdoor shower as Nate turned it on, full force. “This is cold!” He giggled as he stood beneath it, letting it run over his head.
“I want to do as you ask, Finn. I . . . I care about you . . .”
“Save it,” he clipped, turning away. He grabbed a towel and headed down a garden pathway that led away
from the house.
“Finn!” Nathan saw him leaving. “Where are you going? I thought we were going to get something to eat!”
“I’m not hungry anymore,” Finn tossed over his shoulder. “The kitchen is right through that door. You guys go ahead without me.”
“But Finn—” Nate ran after him, soaking wet, before she could stop him. “You said you’d show me how to play the guitar, remember?”
He paused, and that was all the time needed for Nathan to catch up. The lump already in Faith’s throat got larger as she watched her son grab him by the hand, urging him to stop. He looked down at the boy, then bent so they were almost eye-to-eye. “I’ll be back,” she heard him murmur. “I just need some time to myself right now, okay?”
For a moment Nate looked like he might cry.
“Go with your mom,” Finn told him gently. “I’ll see you later on this afternoon.”
“You promise?”
Faith had to turn away at that point, unable to bear the hopeful note in her son’s voice.
“I promise,” Finn murmured, and then she heard the crunch of gravel as he walked away.
The kitchen was huge, gleaming tile floors and granite countertops. It was empty, but someone had obviously been there recently; the air smelled of fresh-baked blueberry muffins and ripe strawberries, both of which sat on a table by a window overlooking the sea. Three place settings, and a big pitcher of orange juice.
“This is a pretty house,” Nate said. “I wish we could live here.”
“Do you?” She smiled down at him, glad to see his spirits had revived after Finn’s abrupt departure. “As soon as I win the lottery, we’ll buy one just like it.”
He shook his head, moving toward the table. “Uh-uh. I want this one. I want you to marry Finn, and then we can all stay here and live happily ever after.”
The cheerful, matter-of-fact comment stole the breath from her lungs. “There’s no such thing as happily-ever-after,” she replied, more harshly than she intended. “It’s only in fairy tales.”
“You read me fairy tales all the time,” he said, unconcerned by her denial. “Oo, muffins! Can I have one?”