Island Child

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Island Child Page 5

by Roz Denny


  "Yes," murmured Sarah. Then before she could steer the conversation back to Mitzi's incorrect assumptions about her interest in Parker, her friend had left the car. Goodness, was anyone else's life so complicated?

  Still mulling it over, she angled into her parking slot, got out and slammed the door so hard it rattled the glass. She winced, vowing to forget Gabe Parker and concentrate on work. Upstairs she attacked a backlog of reports left by one of the research assistants.

  Harvey invited her to lunch. She begged off and worked straight through. He hadn't been pleased, but it turned out to be for the best. Mitzi's cousin called to say he could take her car the next morning if she paid cash. Sarah thought she might just swing it.

  Only after she'd left the bank did her mind return to Gabe Parker. What if he didn't show up for Mike's practice? Maybe she should drop by the field.

  "No…no!" she scolded herself aloud. The man in the next car thought she was flirting. With a guilty start, Sarah averted her gaze. But the other side of the highway only reminded her more of Gabe. A frothy surf rolled gently against a brand-new white beach created by one of the big hoteliers. She couldn't remember if the complex belonged to Parker or not. All she knew was that she missed the hibiscus and orchids once bobbing in small neat yards.

  Harvey had called it progress. Sarah recalled their ongoing argument. Come to think of it, Maxwell had a hand in, too. He was big in resorts. So, of course, Sheena moved in the same circles as Gabe.

  When she got home, the house seemed unnaturally quiet. Instead of using the windfall of free time for herself, Sarah 'paced and waited for Mike's call. When she still hadn't heard from him by six, she snatched up her car keys and bolted for the door. The shrill ring of the telephone caught her midflight.

  Instantly the knot in her stomach unraveled. She raced back across the room to breath an anxious hello into the receiver.

  "Hi, Mom!" Hearing Mike's excited voice, Sarah closed her eyes in relief.

  "See, I'm calling just like you said. And Mom, Coach said I was better today. He said I'd for sure get to play tomorrow." His voice had a lilt Sarah hadn't heard lately. All at once there was mumbling at Mike's end.

  "Gabe says we gotta hurry, Mom. Says to tell you I'll be home in half an hour. 'Bye."

  "Wait, Mike—" Sarah wanted a word with Gabe about the shoes, but Mike had hung up. The fact that Parker had shown up should have earned him points with her. Somehow, though, she didn't want to give them. At loose ends, Sarah went to change out of her suit.

  She passed a full-length mirror in the hall. She rarely bothered with more than a cursory glance, but this time she stopped to study her image. Solemn brown eyes, neither young nor old, stared back at her. She made a face. She was attractive enough, but no beauty. Never had been and never would be. Thick healthy hair was about her best feature— although Farrell had called it mouse brown. He was forever after her to lighten it, as if he ever left spare money for such things.

  Turning away, she bunched what no longer seemed her best feature into a knot and secured it with pins. She'd made a lot of mistakes in her marriage. But she was wiser now.

  The roar of an engine outside cut short her assessment. Recognizing it as the Porsche's, Sarah checked her watch. Surely she hadn't been admiring herself for half an hour! No, they were early. Fearing some accident had befallen Mike at practice, she raced for the front door and arrived in a burst of speed, nearly flattening him as he flung it open.

  "Are you okay?" She grabbed him around the waist. Before he managed a word, she heard the Porsche rev and retreat. "Wait," she called. "Darn, I needed to talk with him."

  "He's gone," Mike said, poking his head outside. "Look what he gave me today." He proudly held aloft a spanking new pair of soccer shoes. "And he told Coach he'd talk to you 'bout soccer camp."

  Irrational anger stole Sarah's breath. "I don't believe this," she said the moment her voice returned. "I distinctly told you—"

  "I didn't ask or nothin'," he blurted. "Honest. He just brought 'em. And Coach asked him about camp. It wasn't me."

  "Well, you can't keep them. For one thing, they must have cost a fortune. And if I can't pay for your camp, young man, you aren't going."

  Mike's lower lip trembled. "But I kicked real good today. 'Sides," he pointed out, "I got 'em grass-stained. I don't think Gabe can take 'em back."

  "You wore them? Without asking me?" The moment Sarah placed her hands on her hips, he threw the shoes down at her feet and ran to his room.

  "You're not fair!" he shouted. "Gabe wants me to kick good. You don't care if I do. You don't care 'bout nothin' but stupid old money."

  His accusation rang inside her head. Sarah went into the kitchen and leaned on the counter. Her hands shook. Of course she cared. She wanted him to play well. It was just that she was so angry about the shoes. But why yell at the child? Gabe, now, was an adult. A too-rich irresponsible adult who enjoyed indulging his own whims without regard for the consequences. Just like Farrell had. She should have known.

  That evening, Mite refused dinner. Unhappily Sarah noticed that although normally he was quick to forgive, tonight he nursed a grudge. She looked in on him later and found him asleep, hugging his soccer ball and the shoes. Tears had left streaks down his cheeks. Anger at Gabe's insensitivity flared in her breast. Maybe it was time she spelled things out.

  Back in her room, Sarah looked up his number in the phone book. Figures, she thought, when she didn't find him listed. He probably had to hide from all his little groupies— or their disgruntled husbands.

  She flopped down on the bed and massaged her temples. What good would calling do? Mike was right. The shoes were ruined for return. That didn't mean, however, that she intended to let this slide. So much for his saying she set the rules. With any luck, by morning Mike would listen to reason.

  Unfortunately, the next day the tension between them was even worse. Stony-faced, Mike hopped from the car at a friend's house with only the most perfunctory farewell. The shoes hung brazenly over his shoulder on black-and-white shoestrings. Sarah did her best to ignore them as she issued instructions for after school.

  Once she'd left her car at the shop, she thrust the shoe problem from her mind. It was a lovely day, and the short walk to work was rejuvenating. Her peace lasted. Lou was out of town, and Harvey had an early court date.

  In the middle of typing a boring brief, it popped into Sarah's mind that she needed to resolve the matter of those soccer shoes once and for all. The agency would surely have a way to reach Gabe. "This is Mrs. Michaels," she greeted the director. "I'd like Gabriel Parker's phone number. Something has come up involving my son."

  "It's highly irregular," the man informed her. "It's up to the volunteer to give out his or her phone number." He paused. "I assume this means you've decided to let your son participate in our program?"

  Sarah paused. Too late she remembered that she'd never called him back. Faced with a yes or no situation, she could do little but say, "I… ah… yes."

  "Is this an emergency? We never give out our volunteers' numbers."

  "No," she said, losing steam. "I didn't realize it was against your rules. I'll work something out." Sarah replaced the receiver with a bang. Reaching Parker was tougher than breaking into the U.S. Mint. Well, it would have to wait until tonight's game.

  She worked through lunch again and was nearing the end of the last intricate contract when Harvey returned. He stopped, bent for a closer look at her and frowned.

  Sarah hit a wrong key, and her screen went blank. "What is it, Harvey? Now I have to start over."

  "You look harried, Sarah. Positively rumpled. It isn't like you. Aren't you feeling well?"

  Her teeth ground together. She glared up at him through a drooping lock of hair. "I feel fine. I came in early this morning. Sorry if I'm not model-perfect, but it's not as if we're overrun with clients." She struck a series of keys, and a new contract appeared.

  "Please go comb your hair and freshen your makeu
p," he said in prim tones. "I'm due to meet Layman Maxwell for Lou in less than ten minutes. I think you know what an important client he is."

  "Well, Harvey, Mr. Maxwell isn't likely to check my makeup. The man looks on me as part of the furniture."

  "Don't be difficult. You know our firm is trying to mix socially with clients like the Maxwells. That's why Lou asked us to attend the party they're throwing. I don't want Layman questioning my taste in women."

  "I'll pretend you didn't say that," Sarah said tightly. "If I embarrass you, take someone else."

  "Of course you don't, Sarah. I only meant—"

  But Sarah had snatched her purse out of the drawer and slammed through the outer door toward the ladies' room, effectively cutting off his lame apology. She wasn't doing this because he'd ordered it, but because if she stayed, she might hit him with a dictionary.

  Her hand shook as she applied a thin coating of lipstick. Why had she never noticed how dictatorial Harvey was? He hadn't seemed like that when they'd gone out together. Remembering the quiet dinners, the opera, the plays they attended, she felt her anger ebb. She reminded herself that Harvey was a junior partner, and Maxwell was Lou's client. She straightened her blouse and gave one last tug at her skirt before making her way back to the office. The incident with those shoes must have made her extra touchy today.

  Through the door's etched glass, Sarah saw that the client had arrived. He stood talking with Harvey. She caught the profile of a slender, elegantly dressed woman beside the two men. As unobtrusively as possible, she tiptoed in and slid behind her desk. Just then, the woman turned and Sarah caught the full force of Sheena Maxwell's flawless beauty.

  No wonder Gabe Parker squired her about town. Wide, almost pansy-purple eyes were enhanced by a hint of shadow. Her skin was clear and lightly tanned—just enough to be fashionable. The frothy dress she wore had "original" stamped all over it, and Sarah figured it would pay for at least two car air conditioners. She shifted her attention from the young woman's slightly petulant mouth to an expensive pair of lizard shoes that matched a handbag being twisted impatiently between pink-tipped fingernails.

  A sigh escaped Sarah's lips. Was Lou crazy for expecting her to mix with the Maxwell crowd? Nevertheless, in the office part of her job was to entertain Sheena until Harvey completed business with Mr. Maxwell. Sarah couldn't say exactly why she found the prospect so distasteful. Yet it took repeated signals from Harvey to get her moving.

  "You're looking exceptionally well, Sheena." Sarah forced a smile. "France obviously agreed with you."

  The men rewarded Sarah with grateful glances before walking away.

  Sheena's violet eyes lit with pleasure. "Thank you, Miss… Mrs…Er, do I know you?" She frowned.

  Sarah's answer was slow in coming. "Probably not. You were in once or twice with your father a few years back. I don't think you were interested in meeting the office staff. If memory serves, you were impatient to be off playing tennis or sailing."

  The young woman aimed an eloquent pout toward Harvey's office. "And so I am today, too. I promised to meet Gabriel at his marina when we got back from Maui. But Daddy absolutely refused to be late for this appointment."

  Sheena sat gingerly on the edge of the antique settee, taking care not to wrinkle her dress. "It would have made more sense to drop me off," she confided. "Then he could talk business all afternoon."

  At the mention of Gabe's name, Sarah's lips had locked in a false smile. She didn't know why the news annoyed her, especially after Mitzi's revelation. "Would that be Gabriel P-Parker?" Sarah stammered, and then was irked with herself. A cinch Sheena hadn't meant the archangel. Moreover, her question had sounded as if she, Sarah, was personally interested in the man.

  "Yes." Sheena looked up from leafing through a trade magazine. "Do you know him?" She sounded shocked. Then the violet eyes narrowed for a moment, carefully assessing Sarah—and, apparently, dismissing her.

  Sarah fought the urge to casually say that he'd barbecued hamburgers in her backyard. That would be both petty and childish and she was neither. "Uh, we've met."

  Sheena obviously expected some kind of elaboration. As none was forthcoming, she took the initiative. "I assume, Mr. Michaels has business dealings with Gabe? He's buying a runabout perhaps?"

  "Actually I'm divorced," Sarah stated flatly.

  When Sheena blanched under her perfect tan, Sarah couldn't believe she'd been deliberately evasive. More than evasive—inflammatory.

  "Just how well do you know him?" demanded the younger woman, dropping all pretense of reading the business journal.

  What was she doing? Those two deserved each other, and she had never intentionally caused problems for any of Lou's clients. Sarah grabbed up a stack of contracts that needed signatures and headed for Lou's office.

  "Well?" Sheena tapped her toe impatiently.

  "I met him through my son's soccer." That was the truth, Sarah told herself as she moved to close Lou's private door.

  "Is that all," sniffed Sheena, before the door actually shut. "I knew you weren't his type. Say, could I use your telephone? It just occurred to me that Gabriel may as well come here to pick me up. That way it'll give us more than just this evening together."

  "Be my guest." Sarah stuck her head back out into the office. "Push nine for an outside line." Retreating, she let the door slam. Not his type, indeed. As if she'd want to be a surf queen. Then she wondered how Sheena fit in with the surfing crowd. It was hard picturing her with sand under those fingernails.

  Sarah smacked the stack of reports down on Lou's desk. His desk clock bounced. She righted it and saw the time. Four-twenty. Yikes! She'd planned to pick up her car, get Mitzi and still get to Mike's game early.

  That was when it struck her. Sheena had clearly indicated she had a date with Gabe, yet he'd promised to be at Mike's game. Anger set her stomach churning. She marched out, breezed past the woman still chatting on her phone and snapped off her computer. "I'm leaving," she announced at large.

  Sheena ignored her. Turning her back, she lowered her voice and giggled, saying, "Oh, Gabriel, you're such a tease."

  Head held high, Sarah left the building. She'd be darned if she'd give Mike excuses for dear Gabriel. Of course he'd be disappointed—at first. But she and Mitzi would be there to support him. Somehow, Sarah found it comforting to know nothing had changed, after all.

  Resolutely she entered the shop to collect her car. The good news was that it cost fifty dollars less than the estimate. On the way to pick up Mitzi, she basked in the cooler air. Tonight, she'd spring for the largest gooiest pizza Arnold's offered. She actually laughed.

  "Better day?" Mitzi greeted her as she climbed in. "Mine was horrible. Oh, Lord, this air is heavenly. Sarah," she squealed, "you got it fixed!"

  An answering grin brought out the dimples in Sarah's cheeks. "Plus, your cousin saved me money on the repair. Win or lose tonight, the pizza's my treat."

  "Shouldn't you buy Mike new soccer shoes, instead?" Mitzi turned in the seat. "I mean, if Parker was right."

  "He already bought Mike shoes. It's been a hot topic at our house. Mike wore them without asking me." She frowned. "But you're right, Mitzi, I'll have to pay him back. I should have thought of that."

  "Oh, I don't know." Mitzi's expression was thoughtful. "He can certainly afford a lousy pair of shoes. And maybe it's part of the Island Child program. Did you ask?"

  "He would have said. He knew how I felt. I intended to have it out with him tonight, but when I left the office, Sheena Maxwell was on the phone arranging their date. I'm sure he won't be at the game. And I don't relish breaking that news to Mike."

  "He wouldn't do that after promising, would he?" Mitzi looked aghast. "Even I know how important follow-through is with kids."

  "Could we talk about something else? Anyway, you didn't see Sheena. She's very beautiful and, I imagine, very persuasive. Are you spending the night at our place?"

  "She's also very young for your Mr. Parker," Mi
tzi said, ignoring Sarah's attempt to change the subject.

  Sarah didn't respond, and Mitzi sighed. "I have pj's and a sweat suit in this suitcase I call a purse. No sense driving me home. Especially with Sam away."

  The two women talked little after that. At Sarah's, they changed clothes and hurried to the field. Sarah had hoped to catch Mike with friends—to make telling him easier. But the moment they pulled in, she saw him waiting.

  Mitzi reached over and clasped her arm. "Do you want me to stay while you break the bad news, or should I go find us a seat?"

  "You go ahead. Try for midway up the bleachers. I'll be along. Lordy, I don't want to do this."

  Mitzi narrowed her eyes. "Parker is dead meat. Wait till I tell Sam." She withdrew, pausing a moment to chat with Mike.

  Sarah was slow to leave the car.

  "Hurry, Mom!" the child called. "I gotta get back to the team. Why are you late? And where's Gabe, do you 'spose?"

  Sarah took one look at his bright happy face and wished she could get her hands on Parker's neck. "My, but you guys look handsome with matching shirts," she said, hugging him compulsively. "So grown-up." Her voice cracked.

  "Aw, Mom. Don't do that. The guys might see." Deftly he sidestepped and bounced up on his toes, peering into the gathering dusk.

  "Mike," Sarah said firmly, "I hate to tell you this—" she swallowed a lump "—but I don't think Gabe'll make your game tonight."

  He stopped bouncing. "'Course he will. He promised." Then when her solemn expression didn't change, his face crumpled.

  "Oh, honey." She wanted to hug him again even though he'd warned her off. Her heart ached for him.

  "I don't believe you," he said, his voice rising. "Gabe promised, Mom. He promised!"

  "What's going on here, kicker?"

  Sarah jerked around. Shocked, her eyes met Gabe Parker's cool blue gaze. He knelt to Mike's level, and Sarah was forced to watch her son throw himself into her enemy's arms. She couldn't think straight, couldn't breathe.

  "She said you weren't coming to my game." Mike buried his head in Gabe's broad shoulder. "And I said you promised." Like magic, the child's sniffles subsided.

 

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