Somebody to Love(11)

“So I’ll zip up there, spend a little money, flip it, zip back down here, find a place for us to live, and we should be all set before Nicky starts kindergarten.” She folded a cashmere hoodie. “It’ll be fun. It’ll be good for me.”

“And what about a new book series? Think you’ll get some writing done up there?”

The million-dollar question. “I hope so. I figured my father’s crimes would hurt sales, right? But no. The opposite, and now my publisher is all over me for another idea before the notoriety fades. Can you believe that?”

“Well, that’s good, I guess. That you’re wanted.”

“Yeah.” It was good; it was just a little disheartening to picture writing another sappy series, rather than that elusive, noble, touching Charlotte’s Web kind of masterpiece she’d been hoping to pull off. Attitude is everything, the Holy Rollers chided. “I’m really excited to get started.”

That’s better! the HRs cheered. They’d aged to about twelve and giggled a lot these days.

“So I was thinking,” Lucy said, shooting her a little smile. “No kid for three weeks…you should have a fling.”

Parker snorted.

“No, no! It’d be great! A summertime romance with some hot sailing dude or a fisherman. I’m thinking George Clooney in The Perfect Storm—”

“His character dies.”

“You can do a little swimming, eat some lobster, do whatever else they do in Maine, but live a little, Parker. Find a summer hottie and get it on, girl! What do you say?”

“I cannot believe I’m hearing this from you, of all people. Princess Purity turned pimp.”

“Listen, you’re the one who admitted to watching Neil Patrick Harris’s Emmy speech eight times.”

“I’m up to eleven, actually. And I’m convinced I could turn him straight.”

“Yeah, okay, we all have that dream. But a fling would be great, Parks! Come on. Who was the last guy you slept with, Parker?”

“No comment.”

“Oh, crikey! Was it Ethan?”

Parker winced. “Nope. No, it wasn’t.”

“It was. Oh, my gosh. Ethan, who is now married to your best friend.” Lucy grabbed another sweater and folded it. “That’s both sick and sad.”

“Please stop pimping me. It’s so unlike you.”

“Right. Remember that singles thing you made me go to last year? Who was pimping whom?”

“What’s pimping?” Nicky burst into the room.

“Yes, ladies, what is it?” Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a grown-up thing,” Parker said. “It involves, um, baby making.”

“Gross,” Nicky said.

“Exactly,” Parker agreed, looking at Lucy with a smile.

Fling, Lucy mouthed.

“Daddy couldn’t find me,” Nicky said, jumping on the bed and rolling amid Parker’s clothes like a puppy. “I was in the pantry, and he couldn’t find me.”

“I didn’t know we were playing, Nick,” Ethan said. “You’re supposed to answer when I call.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Her son began trampolining on the bed. “Guess what, Mom?” Bounce! “Daddy says—” bounce “—our plane leaves—” bounce “—in four—” bounce “—more—” bounce “—hours!” He jumped off the bed with a thud. “And I might get some peanuts from the waitress.”

Parker’s throat tightened. She ran a hand through Nicky’s hair, which was still baby-soft. Don’t change too much while you’re gone. “You’ll have so much fun, sweetheart.”

“I know it. You should come, too.”

“Well, I’ll be up in Maine, so I’ll have a vacation, too. And Daddy will bring you up there when you get back. It’s really pretty. We can eat lobster. Maybe go sailing.”

“Okay. Kiss Elephant.” He held up his stuffed animal for a smooch. Parker obeyed, then gathered her son in her arms, breathing in his salty little-boy smell.

“I love you, Nicky,” she whispered.

“I love you, too, Mommy,” he said. Then he wriggled out of her arms, seeming to see her suitcases for the first time. “We won’t live here ever again?” he said, his voice quavering.

“No, honey. I’m sorry.”

“Then I want a house just like it.”

“We’ll have a smaller place. Like Daddy and Lucy’s.”

“I want this house. I’m gonna come back here and live!”

“Nicky, pal,” Ethan said, “this house is really big. It’s meant for lots and lots of people. But the new house will be yours and Mommy’s. And you can help pick it out, right, Parker?”

“Definitely.” She gave Ethan a grateful look.

“I want it to be purple.” Nick folded his arms across his chest.

“I love purple,” Parker said.

Ethan glanced at his watch and gave her an apologetic look. “We really should get going.”

This was it. Three weeks—twenty-three days, if one was counting, and Parker definitely was—without her son. She picked him up again and held him tight, relishing his strong little arms around her neck. “I love you, Nick. I’ll call you every night. And we can use Skype.”