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“I called her to say hello before I came north,” Ray said.
“I went through San Clemente around Christmas last year,” Spencer said. “She seemed fine then.”
Ray rolled the oil around the pan. “She’s doing great. Big house, rich hubby. Most importantly, she’s happy. And I’m happy for her. You don’t have to pussyfoot around my feelings.”
Spencer nodded skeptically.
Ray laughed and spread his arms. “Hell, it’s been over twenty years. I haven’t exactly been alone all that time. How do you like your steak?
“Medium-rare.” Spencer eyed his father over the rim of his glass. Ray was always up, but tonight there was something a little manic about him.
Ray threw the steaks in the pan where they sizzled and sputtered in the hot oil. Spencer got plates out of the cupboard and carried them to the small wooden table tucked against the wall. A bentwood chair sat on either side. “How about giving me a preview of your new CD after dinner?”
“Oh, you don’t want to hear your old man play. Let’s take a run into Victoria. We could hit some clubs, catch up with each other.”
“I still haven’t caught up with my sleep. I was planning on an early night.” Spencer got knives and forks out of the drawer and returned to the table. With his back to Ray, he laid out the cutlery. “What do you say? Just a tune or three right here.”
Silence.
Spencer straightened, turned. “Ray?”
The sober expression on his father’s face made the bourbon churn in his stomach.
Over the sound of the sizzling steaks, Ray said quietly, “I can’t play for you. I pawned my guitar to buy the food.”
Spencer felt the world shift on its axis. Ray had pawned his guitar? It was like the Pope giving up religion. “No way.”
“The band went bust,” Ray said, suddenly looking years older than fifty-two. “I haven’t worked in almost a year. I only came here because I had nowhere else to go.”
MEG CAME THROUGH THE DOOR of the bungalow, textbooks piled in her arms. In the kitchen Patrick sang in his hearty baritone, “‘I am the ruler of the King’s navy,’” then switched to a falsetto for the chorus, “‘Yes, he is the ruler of the King’s navy.’”
“Can I watch TV, Mom? Thanks.” Davis took off for the living room and in less time than it took her to shout, “Keep the volume down,” she could hear Daffy Duck lisping his way to destruction, and Davis chuckling like a maniac.
Meg kicked the door shut and shuffled into the dining area of the kitchen to set her pile of books on the table. Patrick had changed out of his uniform and into linen slacks and a matching taupe shirt. He’d donned an apron and was at that moment waving a carrot baton in front of Noel’s cage. Noel cocked his head to one side and squawked, “Na-vy!”
Meg took in Patrick’s grin. “You got the promotion!”
“It’s not official...but I’m ninety-nine percent sure.”
“Oo-ooh, that’s so great,” Meg squealed, and ran around to hug him. “What will be your official title?”
“Lieutenant Patrick Warren, at your service,” he replied with a snappy salute and clicking heels.
“Very impressive.” Containing a smile, she stepped back to study him, one finger laid alongside her cheek. “But don’t you think the frilly pink apron rather mars the effect?”
“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport.” Patrick went back to the kitchen counter and began tearing lettuce into a salad bowl. “There’s just one teensy-weensy little thing you should know.”
“What’s that?” Meg eyed him narrowly. Patrick’s teensy-weensy little things generally turned out to be the size of battleships.
“I might have given the selection panel the impression I was married. With a son.”
“Patrick! How are you going to pull that off? And why? I thought it was against navy rules to harass people for their sexual orientation.”
“That’s official policy, sweetcheeks. Sure, I could win a case if it came up, but after all the trouble I go to being discreet, I don’t want the publicity. Daddy would not be amused.”
“He’s some high-mucka-muck in the navy, isn’t he?”
“My dear, he’s practically an admiral.”
“How amused is he going to be when he hears you’ve got a family you haven’t bothered to mention?”
“He’s based in Ottawa. Gossip doesn’t travel that far east. A harassment suit would.” Patrick ripped at the lettuce as though storming the beaches.
“Patrick, does your father know?”
“I told him a couple years ago. He hasn’t disowned me or anything, but he doesn’t like it spread around.”
“Oh. Well, okay, I’ll be your cover. Those navy types aren’t going to come poking around the house, are they?”
Patrick flapped a hand. “I doubt it. But if anyone calls whose voice you don’t recognize, can you throw in a reference to ‘my husband, Patrick’?”
“I’ll try to remember,” Meg said, and reached for a carrot stick.
“Those are for Davis,” he said, slapping her hand away. “So how did it go at the university?”
Meg let her shoulders sag. “Emotionally exhausting. Terrifying. Weird.”
“And you haven’t even started classes yet.” He pushed an open bottle of chardonnay across the counter. “Pour yourself a glass of wine and tell me all about it. I’ve been prostrate with curiosity about your mysterious phone call.”
Meg got herself a glass of wine and sat on the bar stool across the counter from Patrick. “That was my new honors supervisor who called.”
Patrick stopped tearing lettuce. “Go on. Is he a hunk?”
“You could say that. But mainly, he’s Davis’s—”
“Mom, when’s dinner?”
Meg gave a start. Drops of cool wine spilled over her fingers. “Davis! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I wasn’t sneaking, I was just walking,” Davis said with an expression of bewildered hurt. “Is it dinnertime yet?”
“Almost,” Patrick said. “How about setting some plates on the table, champ? That way dinner will happen a lot quicker.”
“Okay.” On his way to the cupboard, Davis paused at the recycling bin to pick up a plastic yogurt lid. Forgetting about the plates, he wandered around the kitchen, swooping the lid through the air. “Bweep. Bweep. Bweep. Bweep.”
“Davis,” Meg said. “The table.”
“I’m a UFO. Bweep. Bweep. Bweep.”
Meg exchanged a glance with Patrick. Some days were better than others. Unfortunately Davis’s bad days often seemed to coincide with hers. She got up and pulled a stack of plates out of the cupboard. “Earth to Davis,” she said in her best automaton voice. “Transport circular space stations to planet Table.”
“Bweep. Bweep. Bweep.” Davis took the plates.
They got through dinner. Then Davis’s bath and bedtime story and the ritual arranging of his toys around the edge of his bed. Then the bedtime song. Twice. When he was finally tucked in, Meg remembered they hadn’t played catch. Well, she wasn’t foolish enough to mention it now.
She returned to the kitchen and gratefully accepted a cup of decaf from Patrick.
“So, where were we?” Patrick sat opposite Meg at the table and added a spoonful of sugar crystals to his coffee.
Meg ran a thumb around the rim of her cup. “My supervisor is Spencer Valiella—Davis’s father.”
Patrick ceased stirring his coffee. “No!”
“Yes.” She didn’t need to explain the complications. She’d told Patrick the whole story years ago, ruining his best silk shirt with her tears in the process. But she hadn’t cried over Spencer in years. And she refused to start again now.
“So how do you feel about this?” Patrick asked.
Meg sipped her coffee. “Confused. Worried. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“You’re going to tell the man,” Patrick said firmly. “Right away, before you start lying about it.”
“I’ve been lying by omission for years.”
“And feeling guilty about it, right?”
She couldn’t deny it. “Spencer’s got his own life. How’s he going to feel if he suddenly finds out he’s got a kid?”
“Good question. Tell him and find out. For all you know, he might be thrilled.” Patrick paused. “Do you still love him?”
“I haven’t seen him in seven years. In all that time he’s never so much as sent me a postcard.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Meg ran a hand down her hair and pulled up a fistful of ends for inspection. The chemistry between her and Spencer had to do with lust, not love. “No, of course I don’t love him.”
“Hmm.” Patrick sounded unconvinced.
She made a face. “He’s probably already planning where he’ll be going after he leaves here. A son would be an inconvenience.”
“You’re not giving him credit.”
“Okay, I agree Spencer has a right to know. But I have a right to protect my child from hurt. Do you have any idea what it would do to Davis to meet his father only to have him leave again? As he will.”
“You can’t be sure of that. Anyway, a part-time father is better than none.”
“The last thing I need is him popping in and out of my life every six months.”
“You’re not over him.”
“I don’t know,” Meg wailed, and propped her head in her hands. “Everything’s finally coming together for me. Davis is about to start school and he’s got more than enough to adjust to right now. You know how hard transitions are for him.”
Patrick wagged a finger at her. “You’re rationalizing . This Spencer character should be paying support, if nothing else.”
Meg gazed wearily at her friend. “I know he would if I asked. But I made the decision to have Davis. Nobody else. I can do it on my own. And get my degree.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me, darling. I’m not your mother.” Patrick lifted his cup with slender fingers and drank.
“The problem will be keeping the two of them apart,” Meg went on. “I’m dropping Davis off at my dad’s on Saturday while Spencer and I go kayaking. One look at Davis and Spencer will know he’s—” Meg froze, her head tilted toward the hallway. “Did you hear something?”
Patrick put his cup down quietly. “No.”
She got up and tiptoed into the hall. Crouched behind the door was Davis. Meg went cold all over. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“How long have you been sitting there?”
“I don’t know.”
She took him by the hand and tugged him gently to his feet. It was hard to be cross when she knew the medication made him wakeful, but she felt sick thinking about what he might have heard. “You’ve got to get used to early nights, honey. When school starts, we’ll have to be up early.”
“Can I stay up for a while?”
“No.” She led him back down the hall to his bedroom. “Did you hear what Patrick and I were talking about?” She hoped her interest sounded casual.
“Kayaking. Can I come? Please?” Davis tugged on her hand. “I’ve always wanted to go kayaking.”
Relief made her knees weak. He must not have heard the whole conversation. “This Saturday Grandpa’s taking you golfing with him. Remember I told you about it in the car?”
“Oh, yeah,” Davis said happily as he climbed back into bed. “I like Grandpa. He lets me keep the tees.”
“Good night, honey.” Meg placed a kiss on his forehead.
“Can I have my song?”
“You had it already.”
“Can I have another one?”
“No. Good night. And stay in bed.”
DAVIS WATCHED HIS MOM close the door. His eyes remained open, adjusting to the darkness. Mom had said the guy she was going kayaking with was named Spencer. His dad was named Spencer. But if this man was his dad, Mom would have told him. Grown-ups acted real dumb sometimes. And sometimes they lied. But not Mom. She never lied to him. And she wouldn’t keep something that big a secret.
Gradually Davis’s eyes drifted shut despite his best efforts to keep them open. Images floated through his head. There was water all around, and islands, like when he and Mom went on the ferry. Only he wasn’t looking down at the water from above. He was in a kayak. A two-seater. A man sat behind him, paddling. Davis couldn’t see the man’s face, but somehow he knew it was his dad. Drops flew off the paddle blades as they rose and fell, splashing on Davis’s cheeks. His father’s strong strokes were taking them toward the tall black fins of the killer whales. Davis drifted deeper toward unconsciousness. Just before he went under, he saw Tommy’s face floating mysteriously above the kayak. Davis smiled at him. See, Tommy, I do too have a dad.
SPENCER PAUSED outside Doc’s room in the cardiac unit. Now that he was here he almost didn’t want to go in and see his mentor diminished. One fallen idol was bad enough.
But when he’d come by the other day, Doc had been asleep. So Spencer put on a smile and strode into the room. “Hey, Doc.”
