by Roz Denny
He held it up to the light and looked shocked. "Bless you," he mumbled. "You must be a saint."
"Sarah," Mitzi warned. "I didn't mean you should shell out your hard-earned cash to every derelict along the street. Come on. Let's go eat before he passes the word that you're a soft touch."
"But he looked so sad," Sarah maintained, turning her head to watch the old fellow's tottering progress.
Paying her no mind, Mitzi hustled her into a Thai restaurant partway down the block. She selected one of the many empty tables and sat down before she spoke. "He'll probably use the money on wine. Shall I order for us?"
Sarah picked up the menu. "Go ahead. I've never had Thai food. Something smells delicious. Maybe I should have bought him dinner."
"Sarah." Mitzi shook her head. "You should get out more."
After they'd eaten the piping hot spicy dishes that kept appearing like magic, Sarah sat back and rubbed her stomach. "That was wonderful, but terribly filling. I wonder if I can afford shoes after eating so much?"
"That's the best part." Mitzi grinned. "Food here is cheap. You could afford to eat here every night—and feed a bum or two." She winked.
"I wonder if Mike would like it," Sarah said suddenly. "He complains that my meals are boring."
"Boring food. That's a new one." Mitzi counted out a generous tip.
"Until the thing with Harvey, I didn't realize I've neglected a whole side of Mike's upbringing. Brunch at the Royal Hawaiian was as foreign to him as Thai food is to me." She lay out her own tip. "Did I tell you how upset Harvey got when Mike spilled his milk?"
Mitzi stood. "Harvey Denton is a horse's patoot. Don't get me started."
"Don't worry, I won't. I want to pick up those shoes. Then I'd better go get my child. He'll probably be asleep. Wow! I didn't realize it was so late. I guess it's a good thing I didn't take Gabe up on his offer to stay with Mike at the house. He would have missed his flight to Kauai."
Mitzi paused at the door. "You didn't tell me Gabe offered. How interesting."
"Don't make a big thing out of it, Mitzi. He felt bad about missing Mike's next soccer game, that's all."
"Sarah, why do you refuse to believe the man might actually like you? He's a normal red-blooded male, isn't he?"
"Oh, yes." Then, because Mitzi raised both eyebrows, Sarah realized how her remark must have sounded. She gave a nervous laugh.
Before they reached the car, Mitzi pounced. "Tell me. He is interested, isn't he? Gabe Parker kissed you, didn't he?"
Sarah unlocked Mitzi's side. "Kind of," she muttered, rounding the car.
"Hey, lady. Got a quarter?" A young boy emerged from the darkness and stepped so close Sarah couldn't get her car door open.
"I… I don't have any change," she said, surprised and saddened to see a boy only a few years older than Mike on the streets. So steeped in sympathy was she Sarah missed the flash of the youth's knife.
"So gimme the whole purse. I'm not fussy." The boyish grin was replaced by a look of menace.
Sarah thrust out her jaw. " 'Gimme' is not a word," she said as though correcting Mike. "And I will not give you anything. I work hard for my money. You should be ashamed."
Mitzi leapt from the car, her face ashen. "Sarah," she pleaded. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"
"Yeah, what are you?" the boy jeered. "Some goody-goody teacher?"
"I'm a mother," Sarah answered. "I'm going home to my son, and you should go home to your mother."
The boy ripped the purse from her grasp. "You're real loony-tunes."
"Hey!" An angry voice shouted from a darkened doorway. "Leave the lady be, punk. She's a friend." It was the man Sarah had given money to earlier.
The boy ran, but the old man, surprisingly light on his feet, overtook him. With little more than a brief struggle, he returned with Sarah's purse.
"Th-thank you," she stammered. "Here, let me give you a reward."
"Nope. You go home. Take care of that boy of yours. I got a grandson…someplace." Sketching a salute, he melted into the alley.
"A grandson. Where does he live?" Sarah called.
Mitzi grabbed her arm hard and pushed her toward the Mustang. "Let's get out of here, Sarah."
Sarah found that her hands were shaking so hard she had to try three times to get the car into gear. She didn't give the coveted shoes another thought. All the way home, she worried about the nice old man and his nameless grandson.
Mitzi, too, fell strangely silent. When they stopped in her driveway, she sighed. "That was awful. I wish Sam had been there. It makes me mad though, too. Honolulu is my city. I was born here. It used to be safe."
The reality of the incident finally sank in. Sarah shuddered. "If that old man hadn't come back when he did…" She didn't finish her sentence.
"Gives you good reason to cultivate a relationship with Gabe Parker."
"Mitzi. I was almost robbed. Could have been killed."
"Don't tell me. I saw. Whatever made you think you could reason with a mugger even if he was just a kid? You need a husband. You shouldn't be out alone."
"All kids have mothers," Sarah said stubbornly.
"Gadzooks. You are loony-tunes. I doubt Gabe will find your bravery commendable. I'm certain Osamu won't."
"Don't tell him, please." Sarah got out to retrieve Mitzi's packages. "I wouldn't want Mike to hear about this. What if something had happened to me?"
"Yeah. What if?" Mitzi pursed her lips as she waited for Sarah to open the trunk. "I don't keep things from my husband. I believe in honesty in marriage. Listen to me, Sarah. You should tell Gabe."
"I think you're reading a lot into one kiss and a few hugs." Sarah slammed the lid of her trunk in exasperation.
"Hugs, too?" Mitzi paused on the sidewalk. "This gets better and better. Tomorrow we're having a serious talk. Now, I'm going in. I'm glad Sam is waiting."
Sarah watched Mitzi glide away and glanced nervously over her shoulder. She crawled back inside the car to wait until she saw Osamu meet Mitzi at the door.
Mitzi's parting comment made her think as she headed for Mrs. Shinn's to pick up Mike. Her thoughts weren't happy ones. What if she didn't arrive home some night? Any court would hand over an eight-year-old boy to his father without qualm. Maybe she would tell Gabe—just to get his reaction.
The following day, Mitzi was sick. And the next, Sarah was again spared the threatened heart-to-heart, because her friend had an early-morning eye appointment. Nor did Sarah have to listen at five. Osamu had invited guests for dinner and picked his wife up from work.
Sarah had little enthusiasm for attending Mike's soccer game that evening. By lunchtime she was really in the dumps, and she drove into Honolulu to purchase the shoes to go with her dress. In daylight the streets were much less frightening. But she was in that kind of mood. No underage thug was going to steal her independence. Sarah banished all thoughts of what Mitzi—and Gabe—might have said about such defiance.
The moment she arrived at the soccer field after work, Mrs. Cline asked where Gabe was.
"I'm not his keeper," Sarah snapped rudely.
The woman frowned. "My husband is on the soccer board. He wants to ask Gabe if he'll be our assistant coach. Ned Wilson quit."
Shocked, Sarah hoped they hadn't mentioned such a proposal to Mike. He'd badger Gabe to accept. "That might not be a good idea, Mrs. Cline," Sarah said. "Gabe is…well, he…" She chewed at her lower lip and studied her toes. She hadn't told anyone here that Gabe was merely a volunteer with Befriend an Island Child. She was afraid boys like Jim Cline would tease Mike. "He's very busy with work," she ended lamely.
"So is my husband," Mrs. Cline said. "He happens to think his son is worth the extra effort."
"Mike is not Gabe's son," Sarah said tightly.
She made her way to the far end of the bleachers, more depressed than before. Was that what bothered her? Did she want Gabe to be more?
Mike saw her and waved.
She waved back. He l
ooked so grown-up. Gabe had a hand in his new maturity; Sarah recognized that. And whether she wanted to admit it or not, she missed seeing those two blond heads huddled together. Funny, but she'd never pictured Farrell at one of their son's games. Nor Harvey, for that matter.
Fortunately she had no more time to dwell on the subject. Coach followed through on his promise to start Mike. Sarah watched the boy's confident stance at the toss of the coin. Yes, Gabe deserved credit.
The whole team played well. Sarah threw herself into the spirit of the game and yelled until she was hoarse. At the end of the last quarter the score was even. She chewed her thumbnail and gauged the opposition. In the last few moments of the game, Jim Cline kicked a winning goal. Everyone stood up and cheered for the team's first victory of the season.
Sarah felt a vague disappointment that Gabe had had to miss it.
Jim's father was quite puffed up. He offered to buy pizza for all the players. Although Sarah didn't look forward to hearing Mr. Cline brag about Jim all evening, she wanted Mike to bask in the glory of winning with his teammates.
If only they hadn't gone to Arnold's Pizzeria. All she could think about was the night she'd been squashed in the booth next to Gabe and Sheena. However, Gabe had said the young woman was just a family friend, and she believed him.
That was what was so appealing about Gabe. After Farrell's many deceits, it was nice to find a truthful man.
When they finally climbed back into the car for the ride home, Mike, his face smudged with tomato sauce, stifled a big yawn and said, "I wish Gabe had been there tonight, Mom. He woulda been proud of me. I played the best ever."
"You surely did. I'm proud of you. You can tell Gabe on Saturday."
"But he asked me to call him on Kauai," Mike said as they pulled into the drive and he gathered his beloved soccer shoes and his jacket. "I got his phone number in my room. Can I call now, Mom?"
Sarah's breath caught in her throat. Maybe when Mike was finished relaying his good news, Gabe would ask to speak with her. If so, she'd tell him she'd found a dress…
"How about if you call Gabe after your bath?" Sarah negotiated, thinking the prospect would hurry Mike along.
"Gabe won't care if I'm dirty. 'Sides, he can't see me over the phone."
"I can see you, young man, and I want you clean. And you promised me you'd take more care with your English. The word you slaughtered is besides."
Sarah heard her son still muttering as he turned on the bathtub faucets. She grimaced to herself and slowly followed Mike into the bathroom, picking up the trail of clothing he'd left strewn in his wake.
"Gabe would care about a lot of things if he had to live with you," she told him. "That I promise." She shook his dirty clothes under his nose before depositing them in the hamper.
Mike giggled. "I'll bet he wouldn't. I'll ask him and see."
"Don't… don't you dare," Sarah sputtered.
"Why not?"
She was flustered. "Wh-why not?" She took a breath. "Because I said." Then she escaped, her face hot. She'd have to set Mike straight about how two adults generally came to share living quarters.
When the boy reappeared, he'd apparently forgotten their previous conversation. "I'm ready to tell Gabe we won, Mom." He hugged her.
"Do you have his number?"
He held it out. "It's got a lot of numbers. Will you dial?"
"All right." Smiling, she ruffled his clean hair as she punched in the series of numbers. Her heart felt as light and fluffy as a cloud—until the sultry purr of Sheena Maxwell drifted over the wire.
"Parker's suite."
Stunned, Sarah gripped the receiver with both hands to keep from dropping it. Pain, swift and sharp, mingled with anger. Gabe had said this was a business trip. He'd said Sheena was only a family friend. He'd lied, and the betrayal hurt.
She heard Gabe in the background, asking, "Is that Mike on the phone?"
Tight-lipped, Sarah handed the phone to her son. Tears were already sliding down her cheeks as she hurried to her bedroom.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Revenge! At that moment Sarah wanted to punish Gabe for his cavalier treatment of her feelings. When the tears had stopped, she washed her face and tucked Mike into bed as if nothing was wrong. No easy feat, considering Mike was full of Gabe saids.
However, once her maternal duties were finished, she sought refuge in her room. Thoughts of revenge again popped into her head. She pictured herself ordering the most expensive champagne at dear Sheena's party, then dumping it in Gabe's lap. Better yet, she imagined painting hot-pink flowers, the color of Sheena's swimsuit, all over his blue Porsche. Envisioning his response helped salve her shredded ego.
By morning her anger had burned itself out.
By Friday she half expected Gabe to call. All evening she let her answering machine pick up. He called Saturday afternoon, instead. It was her good fortune to have her head under the faucet. Mike answered. Sarah fumed when Mike relayed Gabe's message—that he couldn't wait to see her at the Maxwells' gala event tonight. He had nerve, Sarah gave him that.
Refreshed by a cool shower, she dressed for the party with care. But somehow she lacked the excitement with which she'd shopped for the dress. More than once it crossed her mind to plead a headache and stay home. It wouldn't be untrue, either. A blinding one had settled behind her eyes. But hiding wasn't her style any more than revenge was. Regardless of how it hurt, she would go. For Lou. For the law firm. Everything else had just been the stuff of dreams.
At seven-forty-five, her sitter was late and Harvey was early. Did she have some black cloud hanging over her head, or what?
Harvey paced her living room like a caged bear. "Sarah, it's beyond me how can you be so efficient at work and have your personal life in such shambles."
She dropped a jade earring—one of the few good pieces of jewelry she owned. It rolled beneath a heavy recliner and she paused expectantly, thinking Harvey would offer to retrieve it.
He continued to stand at the mirror, brushing imaginary lint from his jacket. So much for that assumption, Sarah thought. If she wanted to wear jade tonight, it was clear she'd have to recover it herself.
She shoved the bulky chair a few inches, puffed a bit and prayed she wouldn't split the green dress in places other than those designed. Especially when she had to get down on hands and knees. Moments later, out of breath but triumphant, she scrambled up and pushed the chair back where it belonged.
Glancing away from the mirror, Harvey eyed first the chair, then her glowing face and said critically, "Sarah, you pick the damnedest times to rearrange furniture. Go call that sitter. See what's keeping her."
Sarah's cheeks, already warmed by her exertions, blazed. Nor did it help calm her to see Harvey glare at her son, who burst, sweaty and rumpled, through the door with his dirty soccer ball. "Maybe you'd like to pick up Jeanette Lewis and come back for me," she told him, never dreaming he'd do it.
"Good idea." He stepped cautiously around the child so as not to touch or be touched. "Do try to have your domestic problems ironed out by the time we return, Sarah. You know I don't like being late."
"Domestic problems," sputtered Sarah, placing her hands on her hips. "For a nickel, I'd…" But she found herself fuming at a closed door.
"Wow!" Mike sank into the recliner. "If I was older, I'd take you to that old party. You don't look like nobody's mother."
Sarah smiled at her son. "Why, thank you." She giggled, forgetting to correct his grammar. "I'm sure by the time you reach driving age, Mike, you won't be escorting your mother around. Hey, are you okay?" She thought his face looked drawn. Pale. Sarah crossed over and felt his forehead.
He scowled. "Don't like Harvey." He shook off her hand. "Jimmy Cline and me bumped big-time in soccer practice today. Hey, I betcha Gabe'd take you. Why don't I call and ask?" He got up with some difficulty and started toward the phone.
"No, you don't, young man." Sarah caught him by his arm.
He clutched his side
protectively. "Why not?"
It would be a tempting idea if it was anyone but Gabe. This was not the night to discuss things with Mike, though. She reached for his shirt. "Gabe has other obligations, for one thing. Stop, let me look. What did you do?"
"There's nothin' to see." He tugged his shirt out of her hands.
She frowned. "Well, I didn't see a bruise. Why don't you call Jenny Sue and see what's keeping her?"
"I know Gabe'd drive you," Mike argued. "When he called earlier, he was surprised you was goin' with Harvey. He thought it was with Aunt Mitzi."
Sarah's breath stalled. The child must be mistaken. Why should Gabe care how she got there? Almost at once the doorbell pealed, and Jenny Sue Jones, the teenager who lived two houses down, burst through the door exclaiming, "Sorry I'm late, Mrs. Michaels." She tossed an armload of school books on the couch, then glanced at Sarah and stopped to stare. "Mrs. Michaels! You look cool!" She gave a thumbs-up.
"Er, thanks, Jenny Sue." Sarah nervously smoothed the clinging material over her hips. She'd never been good with compliments. "Let's talk about tonight's rules, shall we?"
"I know the rules," Mike cut in. "I'm not a little kid no more."
"I've no doubt you know them," Sarah said. "You're also good at bending them." She went on to tick off dos and don'ts, ending by asking again if he was certain he felt all right.
"I'm okay. Kinda pooped is all."
By the time Harvey returned, Mike had stopped bartering for an additional hour of television. He and Jenny Sue were working a Batman puzzle.
Harvey didn't come inside but waited stiffly at the door while Sarah gathered a lacy shawl. She had just stepped outside when she remembered she hadn't given Jenny Sue a number for the hotel. Back she went to look it up.
Harvey protested, "Surely, Sarah, you can't mean you'd actually allow them to call and disrupt your evening?"
"For emergency purposes, Harvey." Sarah barely managed to control her temper.
"How would you get home?" he asked.
He was a pompous ass. Sarah almost laughed. "Don't worry, Harvey, I'd get a cab." She kissed Mike and told him to take it easy.