by Roz Denny
Her son's repentant look cut through to Sarah's heart and drove away all lingering vestiges of sleep. She smiled. "How nice. I must be the luckiest mother on Oahu. Orchids with breakfast—like in the best hotels."
The boy's chest puffed in pride. The precarious dishes rattled.
Sarah sat up and shrugged into her robe. Then she accepted the tray. Plucking the flower from the cup, she sniffed the coffee-drenched blossom.
"Since this is a workday for me and a schoolday for you," she said diplomatically, "why don't we go to the kitchen where we can eat together? I'll carry the tray."
He waited while she climbed out of bed, then preceded her down the hall. "I'm real sorry 'bout the accident with the vase, Mom. Sorry 'bout last night too. Aunt Mitzi told me before how hard you work to pay bills." Wriggling into the breakfast nook, he promptly hefted a spoonful of soggy cereal he'd left waiting. "I jus' wanna do some things the guys who have dads do. Like fishin'."
Fishing? Sarah took her seat. That was news to her.
He kicked his feet against the table leg. "I know fishin' costs money. But now I got Gabe. It's gonna be better, ain't it, Mom?"
"Ain't, Mike?" Sarah took a big gulp of cold coffee, forgetting it had been laced with orchid nectar. After choking and partially recovering, she lectured, "Mike, Mr. Parker isn't… He…" She gave up and waved a hand. The boy looked stubborn as he slurped milk from his bowl.
"Farrell! Stop that this minute. It's rude. And I thought we covered this yesterday. No matter who ends up being your friend, you don't ever ask him to buy you anything. I want your promise."
"But I thought…" Red splotches stained his cheeks. "'Sides, you promised to call me Mike. And do I gotta call him Mr. Parker tonight?"
Sarah scraped furiously at the burned toast. "I, uh… Oh, look, it's time for you to get ready for school." She set the toast aside. "You take the school bus home today. Call Mitzi's mom if he doesn't show up, okay? I'll be home right after work."
Lower lip quivering, Mike pushed his dish aside and ran from the room.
Coward, she berated herself. Why didn't she just tell him Gabe Parker was probably no more dependable than his father had been? Because, she answered herself, he's only a boy and he doesn't deserve more heartache.
Back in her room, Sarah soon discovered it would take more than makeup to hide the ravages of a sleepless night.
As they were leaving the house, Mike hugged his soccer ball and said staunchly, "Gabe'll show up. I know." He barely stood still for Sarah to give his unruly cowlick a last swipe with a comb.
For an unguarded moment, she, too, was affected by the hope shimmering in his eyes. Yet what could she do? What could she say?
Sarah had dropped Mike off at school and was nearing Mitzi's place when the magnitude of the mess she was in really hit her. Mitzi had no more than put one foot in the car when Sarah spilled her entire story.
"Wow!" her friend exclaimed. "Quite a night. Frankly, I can't see your problem."
"I said he skipped work to go surfing."
"My brothers surf every chance they get. Sam, too. Not all surfers are flakes, you know. Maybe he had time off, or something."
Sarah didn't look convinced.
Mitzi rolled her eyes. "You're not planning to marry the guy, are you?"
"Certainly not." Sarah was indignant.
"Well, then, go with the flow."
"Mitzi, I swear, haven't you heard a thing I said? He wore thongs and disreputable cutoffs. Would you want a man like that influencing your son?"
"This is Hawaii. And you said he apologized for the way he looked."
Sarah stopped her car in front of the import firm where Mitzi worked. "I know," she said reluctantly, "but Farrell did, too, when it suited him."
Mitzi placed a calming hand on Sarah's arm. "You can't judge every man you meet by Farrell Michaels."
Sarah gazed out at the array of boats anchored in the bay. She made no comment.
Sighing, Mitzi slid from the car.
" 'Bye," Sarah said without enthusiasm. "See you at five."
"Later, gator," Mitzi chirped. Grinning, she leaned down and flashed Sarah the rocking thumb-little finger hang-loose sign of the islands.
That at least made Sarah smile. But her problems closed in again before she reached her own workplace.
In the elevator, it occurred to her that her boss, Lou Page, might offer some sound advice.
Encouraged, she entered her office, shoved her purse into a lower desk drawer and readied her computer for the day. Then she tapped quietly on Lou's door.
"Come in," his deep voice boomed.
She peeked in. "Good morning. Do you have a minute?"
The big man swiveled his chair away from the window with its full ocean view. "Always for you, Sarah. Gad, you look terrible today. Are you sick? Or is it Junior?"
Lou never called her son Farrell, and she hadn't told him about the nickname. "Thanks a lot! Edna should teach you better manners," she teased.
He reddened slightly. "Forgive me. I didn't mean—"
"It's okay." Sarah sat across from him. She knew that Edna, Lou's wife of forty years, worked diligently to hone his rough edges. "No one's sick, Lou. I'd like to ask you about the Befriend an Island Child program. Remember I said I'd signed up?"
"I remember. If I recall, both Harvey and I thought it was a good idea." Glancing over her shoulder, the older man waved someone in.
Sarah turned. Harvey Denton—one of the junior law partners, a dapper man in his late thirties—stood at the door, looking puzzled.
"Isn't that right, Harvey?" Lou confirmed.
The newcomer fingered his arrow-straight tie. "I thought I heard my name. What's the topic under discussion today?"
Sarah chewed her Up. She hadn't wanted to involve Harvey. "I came to ask Lou's opinion of a man by the name of Gabriel Parker," she said, deciding it was too late now. "Befriend an Island Child assigned my son to him."
Lou whistled, and Harvey frowned.
"What?" Sarah burst out. "Do you two know something?"
Harvey helped himself to a chair. After adjusting the creases in his pants, he said, "It's hard to believe a man of Parker's stature would volunteer to schlepp around with kids."
"Children are people, Harvey," Sarah said hotly.
"Gabriel Parker is heir to a monolithic conglomerate. I can't get a foot in the door of the Parkers' infrastructure, although they know perfectly well we could serve them better than Gibson, Gibson and Frane."
"This isn't about business, Harvey," Sarah pointed out. But his comments did explain Parker's attitude toward work. "Is he a fit companion for a child? That's what I need to know."
Lou tilted back in his chair. "The agency has a sterling reputation."
Harvey patted Sarah's hand. "I, for one, would be happy to see you manage a few free evenings."
Sarah felt her cheeks heat under Harvey's personal comments. "I'm not doubting the program's value." She turned back to Lou. "Yesterday, when he came by to introduce himself, Parker looked like some beach bum."
Lou laughed. "Grandpa Parker built boats. Old renegade surfed till he died. Didn't you request someone sports-minded for Junior?"
"Well, yes." Now she floundered. "Uh, Lou, don't call him Junior anymore. He wants people to call him Mike. I promised I would."
"Great idea," Lou agreed. "It's hardly any secret how I feel about Senior. I've always blamed myself that you met the devil in my office."
Sarah stood. "I'd better get to work and quit wasting time. Thanks, anyway. I believe I'll see if the agency has anyone else available."
The older man looked thoughtful. "I'll do some discreet checking today if you'd like."
"Would you?" She smiled gratefully. "I'd like to know. Maybe the agency doesn't screen as well as they should."
Harvey followed her out, polishing a gold cuff link on his sleeve. "I've got tickets to the opera Friday. Care to go?"
Sarah brightened, then looked away and frowned
. "I can't Friday. Mitzi and I are going to Mike's soccer game, then out for pizza afterward."
"Soccer and pizza," he sneered. "How could La Boheme ever compete with that? Ask Mitzi to baby-sit."
"La Boheme?" she repeated wistfully, then shook her head. "This is kind of a trial game against another island team, Harvey. It's important that I go."
"Suit yourself." He smoothed his expertly groomed hair. "I won't have trouble finding another date."
A terse retort rose to Sarah's tongue, but she held it in check. She certainly didn't have any claim on Harvey's life, nor he on hers. "Maybe next time," she offered, picking up a stack of files from her desk.
"Maybe," he growled. "Maybe you can work out something with Parker. Macho types wallow in physical competition—like soccer. Just take care you don't let the boy become another dumb jock, though."
"Thank you, Mr. Denton," Sarah said dryly. "I'll take that under advisement." Had Harvey always been bossy, or was she just more tired than normal? Tired probably, Sarah thought, sliding a tape into her dictaphone.
Off and on all day she tried reaching Mr. Evans at the agency. When at last she did get through, he seemed totally taken aback by her call.
"Mrs. Michaels," he said sharply, after she'd questioned Gabe Parker's credentials, "Gabriel is one of our most prominent volunteers. I think you should know we have more children than friends—there's no one else available. If you have doubts, perhaps this isn't the program for you. I'll place him with the next child on the list."
No one else available. Suddenly Sarah envisioned Mike's disappointment. She recalled the spark in his eyes this morning. "No, wait," she implored. "I, ah…" Although she felt strongly that she'd never have any rapport with Parker herself, when push came to shove Sarah couldn't deny her son. "He's dropping by my house again this afternoon. Would you give me until tomorrow to decide?"
"Fine," the agency coordinator agreed. "But not one day longer."
Sarah felt pressured as she hung up and resumed her typing. She should have just declined. It wasn't going to work.
She was leaving for the day when Lou stopped her. "Sarah, do you have a minute? I made several calls today. You'll be interested to know the hotel people gave Parker the best of references."
"Could you be more specific, please, Lou? I'm not looking to build a hotel. I'm concerned about his character."
Lou smiled. "Wish you'd been this cautious when you met Farrell."
Sarah groaned. "Not fair, Lou. Besides, two wrongs don't make a right. And Mike's too young to distinguish hero worship from what's real."
Lou shrugged. "Only thing anyone said on the minus side was that young Parker frequently makes the society news— always with a different woman."
"Wonderful! What'd I tell you? Another playboy surfer."
"You really believe he's a jerk, don't you, Sarah? As a rule, beach boys aren't featured on the society page."
"I wouldn't know." Sarah frowned. "I stopped taking the paper. I'm too tired to read it, anyway. And it's an expense we don't need."
"Time for a raise?"
Sarah flushed. "I wasn't hinting, Lou. You're quite generous."
"Apparently not if you can't afford the damn paper. I'll talk with the others tomorrow. Surely fifty dollars a month is in order."
Sarah hugged him impulsively. "Even ten dollars would come in handy now that I have to replace my car's air conditioner."
"Is it time I go hunting Farrell again? Why don't you tell me when he quits sending support?"
Sarah averted her gaze. "Because you're busy enough. Because I can't pay you for the legwork and, if you must know, I don't like the hard-luck stories he has DeeDee write me when he does finally send a few dollars."
Lou snorted. "It's news to me that woman can write. Dammit, Sarah. The man cleaned out your bank account. He took what your dad left you for upkeep on the house."
Sarah moved toward the door. She didn't dare tell Lou that Farrell thought he'd earned the money—suffering through a marriage with someone he called "an albatross." Once he found out she was pregnant, he considered the money he took his due for "services rendered." He'd said as much in a room filled with his surfing crowd one day. Even now, the memory humiliated her.
"I have to pick up Mitzi," she said abruptly. "Thanks again for all you've done. See you tomorrow, Lou."
"You're the daughter I never had, Sarah," the old attorney muttered. "If I ever see Farrell again, I might just strangle him with my bare hands."
Times like these, Sarah thought she might just let him.
Mitzi waited on the corner in the humid heat. "Where've you been?" she said when Sarah pulled up. "I bought us soft drinks, but they're warming up."
"Sorry I'm late." Sarah accepted her cup gratefully. "I was talking with Lou and the time got away."
"Oh?" A delicate black brow shot up. "Did you, by any chance, ask him to shake Farrell's tree again?"
"I didn't ask. He volunteered. Actually, I asked him to run a check on Gabe Parker. The conversation digressed from there."
"Really?" Mitzi shook back her long black hair and took a swallow of soda. "I polled my office today. All women." She grinned. "I doubt you want to hear about all the panting. I must say I can't wait to vet this hunk. Word is, he has money and great pecs."
"Exactly," Sarah sniffed. "I'm sure he's the god of Muscle Beach. But I don't happen to feel like falling on my knees when he flexes his biceps." She made a face. "What'll I do?" she wailed. "Mike will hate me if I nix Parker. But what'll he learn from a guy like that?"
"Well, he'd have all the third-grade girls at his feet."
"Mitzi."
"Okay, okay. I was joking." Mitzi held the cool cup to her cheek. "Way I see it, you don't have much choice. Give it a whirl. If he turns out to be a skunk, I'll have Osamu break him in half."
Sarah laughed. "Mitzi, my friend, without you I'd never laugh." She swung into the Kealohas' drive. "Now scram. I don't want to be late. If Parker shows up and I'm not there, he'll think I'm a lousy mother."
"Call me, huh? Let me know what you decide. Suspense kills me."
"I wish I'd made arrangements for Mike to stay at your mom's after school. It'll be harder to be objective with him there." Suddenly she snagged Mitzi's arm. "Do you think I'm wishy-washy?"
Mitzi paused, half in, half out of the car. "I think you're trying to be two people. Supermom and Superdad rolled into one. But that's positively all I'm going to say on the subject. G'night."
Heading home, Sarah took side streets, hoping to beat the traffic.
Bang!
Sarah jumped as though she'd been shot. Her car began to wobble. "Wouldn't you know it?" she seethed. "Not a tourist to be seen and me with a blown tire." Well, she'd changed tires before. It didn't mean she liked tackling one in this heat. And no telephone, either—not that she had anyone to call. She climbed out to survey the situation.
At least her spare tire had air in it. Which wasn't always the case. Sarah muscled it out of the trunk and wrinkled her nose at the grease that came out of nowhere to stain her khaki skirt. But grease was only the beginning. Before long, sweat molded her blouse to her back and she had grit under her fingernails—those she hadn't snapped off. Her hair tumbled from its clasp and clung wetly to her neck long before she had the tire mounted. Frazzled, she wiped her hands on an old towel she found in the trunk and slammed the lid closed.
When she finally arrived home and saw the blue Porsche, she groaned. To make matters worse, the blasted thing looked as if it had been newly waxed and polished for the occasion. She crawled out of her tired old Mustang and shut the door viciously. Her high heels clacked against the concrete walkway as she approached the house. When she tried the front door and found it locked, she gnashed her teeth. Darn. Where the heck were they?
Then she heard noises in her backyard. A boyish laugh, followed by a man's deeper tones. Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't realized until now how often she'd dreamed of hearing such sounds.
> Quietly she tiptoed over to the side gate. The sinking sun shot threads of gold through two bright caps of hair. Even from this distance, Sarah could see her son's eyes gazing intently up into Parker's—which were the same deep blue as his own.
A bell sounded a warning in her head. Those two could pass for father and son. Sarah felt an unreasonable urge to race in there and snatch her child away. "That's silly," she whispered. But in her distress, she dropped her purse.
The noise attracted the man's attention. He tossed Mike the soccer ball and rushed over to retrieve her scattered things. "What happened?" he asked, looking up at Sarah's smudged face. "Are you all right? You weren't in an accident?"
Sarah didn't like him at her feet, didn't like the fact that he was so clean in his white pants and crisp shirt. Especially compared to her… Movements stiff, she stepped backward. "I had a flat tire, that's all," she said as her son came bounding over. "Sorry I'm late."
"Wow, Mom, I didn't even know you was late. Gabe and me are havin' fun."
"Gabe and I are having fun," Sarah corrected automatically. "And it's were late."
The boy cocked his head. "But you wasn't here."
"Mike," she said in exasperation. Then realizing her voice had risen, she sighed and blotted a cheek with her forearm. "Did you ask if you could call him Gabe?" She snatched her purse out of Parker's hands and felt a small shock as their fingers touched.
"He did," the man said, slow to draw back his hand. "I hope you don't mind. If he called me Mr. Parker, I'd be looking around for my dad."
Sarah sighed again.
Gabe studied her a moment and saw the tiredness. "You look like you've had a rough day. We could postpone this meeting."
"No," Sarah almost snapped. "Mr. Evans wants my decision tomorrow. We may as well get it over with."
"You make it sound like an execution," he said half under his breath. More loudly he continued, "Why don't you relax a few minutes, Mrs. Michaels? I'm sure you'd like to shower and change. Mike and I'll finish practice."
Sarah didn't want him being so damned magnanimous when she was acting like a shrew. She didn't want him here, period. Yet she could see from the adoration on Mike's face her problems were multiplying like rabbits.