Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay)(24)

“I’ve heard the speech, Dad.” He worked to swallow, and Oliver was filled with sympathy. Evan had been a trouper through this whole thing, better than any parent could expect. “I, you know, don’t want to get my hopes up and…”

“Lose someone again,” Oliver supplied.

Evan glanced toward the ground, his cheeks pink.

“Trust me, son, I know how you feel.” And he took the silent admission to heart. Zoe could leave two broken hearts behind when she left next time. “We better go.” He gave Evan’s shoulder another nudge. “I’m not kidding when I say she could change her mind.”

The Jeep was still in the driveway when he opened the door, but the two women in it were making no effort to get out. They were deep in conversation, a dark expression on Zoe’s face visible over Pasha’s narrow shoulder.

Zoe looked up, a plea for help directed at him.

“Wait here for a second,” he whispered to Evan, easing the boy back into the entryway. “I think this conversation requires privacy.”

Evan agreed silently, and Oliver stepped out into the sunshine, approaching the passenger side. “Hello,” he called out.

Very slowly, Pasha’s gray-haired head turned to him. “Hello, Oliver.”

Close to a decade had passed since he’d last seen the spry little woman who claimed to be a gypsy and told the future in the craziest ways. A decade that had changed her far more than it had changed Zoe or Oliver.

“Pasha, it’s good to see you.” He reached to give her a hand out of the high-stepped Rubicon, but she quickly shook her head.

“I’m not staying.”

“Aunt Pasha,” Zoe said, frustration in her voice. “Please come in and talk.”

She closed her eyes. “I’m really not feeling up to it.”

Actually, he believed that. Her hair, once lustrous and nearly blue-black, was only about two inches long in length, silver white, and facing straight into the air. She still wore too much silver jewelry, but instead of looking festive and wild, the chains and earrings seemed to weigh her down, which wouldn’t be difficult on a woman who couldn’t hit a hundred soaking wet.

But the doctor in him saw more than the obvious.

He recognized the sallow skin, the dim eyes, the full-body wastedness that consumed cancer patients.

“It’s pretty hot to be driving around without air-conditioning,” he said.

“She normally loves the top down,” Zoe told him.

But Pasha held up her hand to stop them both. “I—I…” She turned to him again, this time looking at him as hard as he’d looked at her. “This is awkward,” she finally said.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he replied quickly. “Come inside, have something cold to drink, and—”

“Can I come out now?” Evan asked, already halfway across the driveway.

Oliver seized the opportunity. “Meet my son,” Oliver said with a smile. “Who has a hard time doing exactly what I say.”

Pasha leaned around his shoulder as Evan came running out to the car. “Hi, Zoe!” he called.

“Hey, kid. How do you like your new house?”

“I love it! Come and see.”

Zoe hesitated a moment, checking out her aunt. But Pasha’s eyes were riveted on Evan, her mouth opened in a little circle of shock. “That’s your son?” Her voice rose with an odd crack.

“C’mere, Evan.” He gestured for him to come closer. “This is Ms. Tamarin, Zoe’s great-aunt.”

“Hi.” He gave her a little wave.

“How old are—wait, wait, don’t tell me. Eight.”

“Exactly.”

Had Zoe already told her? Or was he going to get flattened by disgust when Pasha realized that this boy had already been conceived during the month Oliver had been a fixture at their little rental in Chicago, dating Zoe?

“I knew it,” Pasha said, staring and then surprising them by sliding her legs around to get out of the Jeep. “Going into third grade?”

He lifted a shoulder. “The dean wants me to skip third, but I’m not really sure if I should do that.”

“He’s advanced,” Oliver explained, putting a proud hand on his son’s shoulder. “We’re trying to decide if moving him ahead a year is the right thing to do socially.”

“He looks fine socially,” Pasha announced, climbing down with no assistance whatsoever, still focused on Evan. “Give me your hand, little one.”

Evan frowned for a moment, then reached out to shake Pasha’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She flipped his hand, palm up. “Of course it is,” she said. “Now let me see what you’ve got here.”

Zoe came around the front of the Jeep, smiling at the exchange and then at Oliver, like they had shared a secret victory. She wore an ankle-length sunshine-yellow strapless dress as bright and sexy as her tanned face and summer-blonde curls.

Evan tugged his hand away. “What are you doing?”

“Pasha only offers to read your palm if she likes you, Evan,” Zoe assured him, with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No need to worry.”

Oliver took in the scene for a moment: Zoe so sweetly protective of his son, and the old woman doing her palm-reading game, sun pouring over all of them with warmth and light.

And there went all those stupid things again. Braindead, gutsqueezed, hearthurt. Symptoms of something he really shouldn’t be thinking about with Zoe.

She’d looked at him like he had three heads when he even suggested something more serious than pool sex. She’d never change. She’d never fit. She’d never stay. Why would he even ask?

“Oh, look at that,” Pasha said, easing the boy closer.

“What?” Evan asked, unsure. “Is it bad?”

“No, it’s all good,” Pasha promised him, running her hand over his palm but mostly looking at his face with a little bit of wonder and a lot of joy. That’s what it was; she’d absolutely brightened since she’d seen Evan. “What I see is someone whose fate line joins his life line at a critical juncture. That means he’s a big thinker who knows exactly what he wants to be.”

“A meteorologist,” Evan and Zoe said at exactly the same time.

He did? How was it that Oliver didn’t know that? And Zoe did? A little guilt smashed with envy in his chest as Pasha continued.

“Oh, my!” Pasha said with an exaggerated gasp.

“What?” Evan looked concerned. “Am I going to die?”

“Heavens no. Your life line is endless, and goes right past the edge of your palm, which means once you know someone, you’ll give them your whole heart.”

That must be hereditary, Oliver thought with another glance at sunny Zoe.

“Someone…like a dog?” Evan asked, getting a laugh from all of them.

Pasha laughed the hardest, and it caught in her throat, making her cough so hard it turned hoarse and gruff.

“Are you okay?” Zoe asked, instantly transferring her touch from Evan to Pasha, shooting a quick look at Oliver, making sure he’d heard.

He had, and that cough didn’t sound good at all.

“Fine,” she rasped, but it was a good fifteen seconds until the spell subsided.

“Why don’t we get you inside?” Oliver suggested, half expecting her to freeze and return to the Jeep.

But Pasha smiled and kept holding Evan’s hand. “Of course,” she said. “I want to finish this reading because I do see something very interesting.”

They walked toward the door, Evan leading the older woman in, his eyes wide with fascination. “What is it?”

“The center X.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You’re very good at games.”

“I’m a chess master.”

“Oh, I was thinking about something a little less taxing for my old brain…”

They disappeared inside and Oliver stayed back next to Zoe.

“Well, that worked like magic,” she said, watching them disappear into the house. “He’s like the Pied Piper of little old ladies.”

“She likes him, that’s for sure,” Oliver agreed, unable to keep himself from putting a hand on her bare shoulder. Her skin was so warm and smooth he had to fight the urge to bend over and put his lips right there and taste the sun on her.

“I really thought she was going to refuse to come in,” she said.

“She was, but I guess she likes kids.”

Zoe shook her head. “News to me. And, believe me, it wasn’t easy getting her here. She thinks we’re stopping for two minutes on our way somewhere else.”

He nodded. “I can see she’s very sick.”

“Oh, is it that obvious?”