House on the Beach

by Linda Barrett

  “And I’m Sam Parker,” said the last man at the table.

  Laura recognized the features. Had to be Matt’s father. Same jet-black eyes and long sooty lashes, same well-defined mouth. But the hair was strictly salt-and-pepper, heavy on the salt. “Happy to meet you,” she replied. And that’s all she said.

  “Heads up,” called a female voice. “Here comes fresh coffee, steaming hot for my guys. Just the way they like it.”

  Laura looked up. A petite older woman winked at her, mascara intact, then turned to fill the mugs on the table. “Our French toast is the best in town. Made from challah bread with a dash of vanilla. Our omelettes are the most delicious with fresh veggies and fresh eggs we get every day…”

  “Do you grow the chickens in the backyard also, Dee?” Chief O’Brien asked. “You work too damn hard. Sit down and take a load off.”

  “Oh, pipe down, Rick. I love managing this diner, being with folks.” The blonde turned to Laura as she set the coffeepot on the table. “Don’t pay attention to him. The Chief always says I work too hard, but I think he’s jealous. Too much time on his hands. My name is Dee Barnes, by the way.”

  “It wasn’t my choice to retire,” said the cop, his eyes never leaving the woman standing near him.

  Dee Barnes patted his shoulder, her expression changing to concern. “I know, Rick, I know. Mandatory retirement issues. But you’re too darn young to have nothing to do,” she said, exasperation once more in her voice.

  “And you’re too damn young to have aching feet all the time!”

  Laura looked from one to the other, feeling the zap of electricity in the air, and smiling as the other ROMEOs at the table started whistling and clapping.

  “Okay,” said Bart, tapping a spoon against his cup. “The day can officially begin now. Dee and the Chief are at it again.”

  “Whoa,” said Laura. “I thought Pilgrim Cove was a quiet, peaceful town.”

  “Oh, sweetie, you’ll have a great time here,” Dee reassured her. “You’re at Sea View House, so not to worry.” She turned toward the table in general. “Now, who’s having what?”

  Laura watched the woman memorize the orders. All nine of them, including hers. She took the Chief’s order last, querying him only with a raised eyebrow, and then she disappeared in a flash.

  Laura sipped her coffee, trying to digest everyone and everything.

  Then Doc Rosen said to Bart, “Don’t forget to give Laura our special business card.” The rest of the men nodded and murmured agreement.

  “Sure, she’ll get a card. I wouldn’t forget such a thing,” said Bart, reaching into his shirt pocket and presenting Laura with a larger than normal size business card. Laura examined it. On one side in bright red ink was the word ROMEOs. On the other was a list of every man’s name, phone number and special skill printed in blue.

  “We all take a particular interest in the tenants of Sea View House,” said Bart. “I’ve been handling the rentals for twenty-five years, and some of us are on the board of the William Adams Trust. It’s been a happy place for most people, and we want you to start your visit knowing you’ve got friends to call on if you need us.”

  “Hear, hear.” The ROMEOs raised their coffee cups in unison.

  Either she’d fallen through the Rabbit Hole or she was surrounded by the most wonderful group of men on earth. Laura wasn’t sure. And she wasn’t asking for clarification.

  “Thanks,” she said. “That’s quite a welcome.”

  “It’s easy to welcome a blue-eyed, fair-haired angel,” replied Bart with a wink and an exaggerated brogue.

  Why, the gent was flirting with her! “Angel, is it?” said Laura, in the lilt of the Irish. “I believe you’ve been kissing the Blarney stone again, Bartholomew Quinn.”

  Chuckles came from everyone, even from Dee who was deftly serving breakfast platters without interrupting the conversation.

  “She’s got your number, Bart,” said Sam Parker. “I haven’t enjoyed such a good laugh in the morning for a long time.”

  Laura felt herself grin like a jack-o’-lantern. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gently teased anyone or cracked a joke. It felt good to make people laugh. Very, very good. She took a deep breath, then exhaled. At that moment, she was stress-free. Her body felt like a relaxed rubber band, and she had no desire to be anywhere else.

  Until she heard the deep masculine voice above her.

  “Good morning, gentlemen…and ladies.”

  Laura looked up into Matthew Parker’s strong face. He nodded at her, but his smile was for the waitress and the men.

  Sam and Bart began to speak simultaneously.

  “Have you met Laura McCloud?”

  “Did you meet Laura yesterday at Sea View House?”

  Matt paused, then smoothly replied, “Briefly, just as I was leaving.”

  “Then take a moment to join us,” suggested his dad, waving him toward a chair.

  Matt shook his head. “Sorry, no time. And you have no time either, Pop. Our guys are out on other jobs, the ladies are both out sick, and I need coverage at the store while I go to the middle school. Every boy’s bathroom is stuffed…those kids….” He shook his head. “The janitor can’t handle it.”

  Sam stood up at once. “I used to do it all,” he said to Laura, “the emergency calls as well as the business management, but this darn arthritis…can’t turn those wrenches anymore. And even Doc can’t cure it.”

  “But I can help you at the store,” said Doc Rosen, getting to his feet.

  Matt looked at his dad, deep affection in his eyes. “Someone else can deal with the wrenches, Pop, as long as you still play a mean piano and keep your fingers nimble enough to ring the cash register.”

  Everyone laughed, and Laura found herself joining them until she felt a pair of ebony eyes studying her. Assessing her. No words spoken. No smile for her. Then Matt turned to leave, the two ROMEOs with him.

  And Laura wished he had smiled. She focused on Bart once more, concentrating on what he was saying.

  “Everyone in that Parker family can play a mean piano. Without any lessons. Matthew, himself, is the Pilgrim Cove version of Billy Joel. A real piano man.”

  “And his kid brothers were even better….”

  Bart nodded. “True, true. But Jared’s gone, rest his poor soul, and who knows where Jason is now….”

  Laura stood up. Fascinated as she was, she couldn’t afford to get involved in anyone else’s life. Her curiosity about one thing, however, had been satisfied. She’d discovered how a plumber knew so much about voice. Apparently Matt had told the truth when he’d told her that he had a good ear.

  She should have told him the truth about her mom. He would have understood her need for privacy. Not that she’d lied—but she’d avoided the heart of the matter. The next time she saw him, she’d explain.

  No she wouldn’t! Too complicated. Sometimes, the less said, the better. She’d nod politely if they crossed paths again.

  By three o’clock that afternoon, Laura needed a nap. She explored the town, noted the location of Parker Plumbing three blocks from Quinn Real Estate, went grocery shopping for perishables, unpacked them, set up her computer and audio attachments in one of the spare bedrooms, and had taken a three-mile walk on the beach. A brisk walk. It was amazing how completely at home she felt when she let herself into Sea View House after the walk. She’d been in Pilgrim Cove only twenty-four hours and already felt as if she’d been there forever.

  And now she couldn’t stop yawning. She plopped onto her queen-size bed and closed her eyes. It was wonderful having no schedule. She could sleep whenever she wanted.

  IN A WEEK, she’d established a routine. A long walk on the beach each morning, then chores and professional work. She slept every afternoon and woke up famished. And she ate as if she were rediscovering food. Even her own plain cooking tasted good.

  On the evening of her one-week anniversary in Pilgrim Cove, she decided to celebrate with a meal
at The Lobster Pot, the restaurant recommended by everyone she’d met in town while doing her errands.

  After her nap, she showered, shampooed and towel-dried, catching sight of herself in the full-length bathroom mirror hanging on the back of the door. She didn’t pause to look at her reflection. She knew only too well the effect the surgeries and the chemotherapy had had on her body.

  Besides, she didn’t want to think about all that now. It was behind her, and as Dr. Berger had said, “In your particular case, the ten-year survival rate is ninety-six percent. Go, have a good life!”

  And she was trying to do just that. But…she couldn’t pretend it had never happened. At least not until she’d survived five years.

  Most of the time, however, she felt great. She looked better now, too. Her walks on the beach had added some color to her winter-pale face. Pressing against the sand had provided resistance for her leg muscles, so she was toning up. Maybe she’d join a gym when she got back to Boston.

  And her hair? A woman’s crowning glory? Laura grinned as she combed her tangled locks. She’d stop complaining. So what if her curls rivaled Little Orphan Annie’s. Didn’t women pay for permanents? At least she had hair! She’d donated her wig five months ago to the special program at her hospital and then tried to learn how to handle ringlets.

  This evening she chose a soft merino wool navy-blue turtleneck and navy blue slacks topped with a brick-red wool blazer. On her feet were her favorite black leather low boots, comfortable in every way and still stylish. A little makeup, some lipstick and she was out the door.

  The parking lot was crowded. She’d expected it to be on a Friday night. She drove carefully around the building and got a space in the back. She walked up two shallow steps to a wide wraparound porch, probably filled with outdoor tables when the weather was milder, and continued to the front of the building, inhaling delicious aromas with every step she took. Her stomach growled, her salivary glands went into action, and she geared herself up for a long wait. After being tempted by The Lobster Pot’s savory fragrances, she wasn’t interested in eating anywhere else that evening. Until she opened the door and literally bumped into Matt Parker as he stood, broad back to the entryway, talking to the hostess, his two boys and father surrounding him.

  He caught her before she completely lost her balance, his hand strong and sure on her arm.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly. “Thanks. I’m fine.” She wasn’t usually clumsy. Why did she have to start now? She looked down and saw the tear in the carpet that she’d tripped on.

  “You need to inform Maggie and Thea,” said Matt to the hostess. Then he looked at Laura. “Bart’s daughters own the place. Maggie Sullivan and Thea Cavelli. You met Joe Cavelli last week at The Diner. He’s Thea’s father-in-law. Charlie’s father.”

  “Slow down,” said Laura with a laugh. “I don’t think I’ll ever keep all of this straight. It sounds like everyone’s related to everyone else.”

  “Not quite, but we all feel like family around here,” said Sam, joining the conversation. “It’s good to see you again, Laura McCloud. Enjoying Sea View House?”

  “Absolutely. All I do is eat and sleep! It was the right choice for me.”

  “Well, how about joining us for dinner and eating some more?” asked Sam, his voice as warm as his words.

  “She might have other plans, Pop,” said Matt.

  The hostess intervened. “I can get another seat at a round table now, or she’ll have a thirty-minute wait. You guys know how Friday nights are around here.”

  Laura groaned inwardly. She didn’t want to go where she wasn’t wanted, and it was clear Matt wasn’t thrilled about her sitting with them. Not that she blamed him. “I don’t mind waiting.”

  “Ridiculous,” said Sam.

  Just then, Matt’s younger son—skinny with golden-brown eyes—stepped toward his father. “Who—who—who’s the la-a-a-dy?”

  Matt sighed with a sound of capitulation and tousled the boy’s light brown hair, before turning to Laura. “Would you like to join my family and me for dinner, Ms. McCloud?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “JUST A MOMENT.” Laura held up a warning finger to Matt and squatted until she was eye level with his son. “My name is Laura,” she said in a slow, relaxed manner, her diction precise. “And your name is…?”

  “C-Casey!”

  “I’m happy to meet you,” said Laura, keeping the same rhythm of speech and giving him a high-five.

  The kid slapped her hand and grinned.

  Laura straightened to her full five feet seven inches, and glanced at Matt, who was a picture of confusion as he looked from her to his son. “I’d be happy to join you, Mr. Parker, but not as a guest. I’ll pay my own share.”

  His eyes darkened, if that was possible. He stepped behind her and she felt his warm breath against her ear as he whispered, “Afraid I’ll want my wicked way with you?”

  She shivered. Right down to her toes. Whether it was due to the exquisite sensitivity of her earlobe or to the instant visual she had of making love with Matt, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she’d shivered. And that Matt must have felt it. A correct conclusion, she surmised, when she heard his contented chuckle.

  “The table’s ready,” said the hostess, holding several menus in her hand. “Follow me.”

  “You heard the lady,” said Matt, still smiling. “Follow her.”

  Laura would rather have walked out the door, but she held her head high as she made her way toward their table sensing, rather than seeing, Matt right behind her. The restaurant boasted three separate eating areas, she noticed, each accessed by the wide central aisle they were walking down.

  When they reached their table in the main dining room, she felt Matt gently massage her shoulders as he helped remove her jacket. “Relax,” he whispered, and held her chair until she was seated. All the while, three pairs of Parker eyes watched every move Matt made.

  “Thank you,” Laura said, wondering if this was the first time the youngsters had seen their dad in the company of a woman other than their mother.

  “Did you eat here earlier in the week, or is this your maiden voyage on the good ship Lobster Pot?” asked Matt conversationally, indicating the nautically themed interior.

  “Maiden voyage,” replied Laura, glancing at the informal surroundings. The wood-paneled room was dotted with framed, colorful fishing and boating posters, each with a caption beneath the picture. She took a moment to study them. One showed a chubby baby in a pastel-blue-and-white sailor suit facing the audience with the caption: “It’s a buoy!” And down the wall from that one were two young teens in a sailboat with the caption: “Wouldn’t you rudder be fishing?”

  “Oh, my! Who thinks of this stuff?” Laura wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan.

  “How about that one?” Sam indicated a poster that proclaimed Pilgrim Cove to be “A hull of a place to live.”

  Laura acknowledged that pun with a chuckle and a shake of her head.

  “Dad, Dad. Wha—Wha—what’s so f-f-funny?”

  But it was Brian who answered his brother. “You’re too young, Casey. They’re spelling jokes and—” he paused “—and definition jokes. Like b-o-y and b-u-o-y.” He turned to the rest of the table. “Anyone got a pencil? I’ll show him.”

  Impressed at the older boy’s concern for his brother, Laura reached for her purse. “I do,” she said, handing him a refillable lead model and a piece of scrap paper. Was this the same kid who’d wanted to vaporize her last week when he’d seen her with his dad?

  She watched Brian print the words and listened to him explain. He repeated the procedure with “rather” and “rudder,” speaking slowly and smoothly. She looked at Matt. “He is remarkable,” she whispered.

  “I’m glad you think so,” he replied. “No hard feelings?”

  “Of course not. He’s only a child.”

  “An eleven-year-old miniature adult—unfortunately.”

  Laura studied the two
children again. “You’re a lucky boy, Casey, to have such a terrific big brother.” Casey grinned, but Brian turned red. Shoot! Preteens got embarrassed so easily.

  She looked at the walls for another colorful distraction. Either corny or funny would do. “Hey, guys. There’s a good one.” She pointed to an impressively large sign in the center of the wall. “The Lobster Pot—Where No Lobster Is A Shrimp!”

  Now that was funny. Laura grinned and sat back in her chair, totally relaxed as everyone started to laugh.

  Then Casey said, “I—I—I don’t get it.” And everyone cracked up. Including Casey, who evidently just wanted to be part of the fun.

  Matt winked at his son. “Don’t worry about it, sport. It’s vocabulary for another day.” He looked around the table, his gaze settling on Laura. “Are we ready to order?”

  “Lobster,” she replied without hesitation.

  “Lobster.” “Lobster.” “Lobster.” Each one replied consecutively, barely glancing at the menus.

  “Well, that’s easy enough,” said Matt. “Five lobster specials.”

  “And what a great choice that is! And so rare in a seafood restaurant!” An auburn-haired woman approached Matt, patted his shoulder and Sam’s, but walked directly to Laura. “Hi, and welcome to Pilgrim Cove and to The Lobster Pot, the best fish house on the East Coast, or at least in Massachusetts.” The woman extended her hand but never stopped talking. “I’m Maggie Quinn Sullivan, daughter of the one and only Bartholomew Quinn and partner in this restaurant. Since I’m not a modest woman, I’ll tell you right out I’m a darn good cook, better than my sister, but don’t mention that to her.”

  “Not a word. But I bet she says the same thing!” Laura laughed and shook the woman’s hand. “I can’t wait to put you both to the test. I’m famished!”

  Maggie called to one of the wait staff. “Get a round of clam chowder over here before we lose a customer to starvation. It’s on the house.”

  “Your sister is Thea Cavelli, right?” asked Laura. “I feel like I’ve been studying for a Pilgrim Cove exam.”

  “Not to worry,” replied Maggie. “You’ll know everyone soon enough.” She looked up. “Good, here comes the chowder.” She stood aside and waited as the waitress served the steaming thick soup.