Somebody to Love(96)

“I could definitely hide there,” Nick said. “Mommy, put my room back on, okay?”

“Sure.” She clicked on the photo of his room again. A whole lot smaller than his room at Grayhurst, not that he seemed to care. “When are we going back?” he asked. “I miss Daddy.”

“Probably next week, honey. Right, James?”

She glanced up at him, feeling a pang already. But he’d be heading back to Rhode Island, too, so they’d still see each other. They just hadn’t worked out the particulars.

“Yeah, we’re pretty much done,” he confirmed. His face was somber.

“Can I try the nail gun? Please? I’m really careful,” Nicky said.

She raised her eyebrows at James, who shrugged.

“Only with James holding it, too,” she told her son.

“Yes! Let’s make something, James! Come on, come on!” He grabbed James’s hand and towed him outside. James glanced over his shoulder.

“Be careful,” she said.

“Got it,” he answered. He smiled, and her heart lurched. Her guy, her son, together. She sneaked outside, camera in hand.

James was kneeling behind Nicky, putting on safety glasses. “You don’t want to shoot your eye out, so you always wear these,” he said.

“I love these,” Nicky answered reverently.

“Good. Now we’re gonna hold the nail gun up like this—nope, I’ll hold the shingle, okay? You put the gun right there, where the nail’s gonna go…good boy, now squeeze—”

Bam! The nail went in and Nicky flinched, dropping the gun. James caught it. “Good job, kid.”

“I did it!” Nicky’s face was alight with joy. Men and their tools, Parker thought with a smile. She raised her camera and took a stealth picture.

“Can I do more?” Nicky asked James.

“Sure. Nice and careful, now, and try not to drop the gun.”

“It makes a loud noise.”

“It does. You’re right.”

Parker went back inside, feeling a wicked case of the Warm Fuzzles. Nauseating term, excellent feeling. Her menfolk, bonding. It’d be good for them both.

The photo of Nicky’s attic room was still on the computer screen.

A jail, like where Grandpa Harry lives.

A bit hesitantly, Parker picked up her phone.

James hadn’t mentioned Harry lately. She herself hadn’t talked to her father for a while. Well. Being a minimum-security place, inmates were allowed to get phone calls pretty liberally. She figured she’d give it a shot.

“Harry Welles, please? This is his daughter speaking.”

A few minutes later, her father’s commanding voice came on the line. “Parker. Is anything wrong?”

“Hi, Harry. No, everything’s fine. I had a second, figured I’d call.” A breeze blew in from the cove, fluttering the kitchen curtains.

“Oh.” There was a pause. Another bang from the nail gun came from the side of the house. “How’s my grandson?” Harry asked.

“He’s wonderful. He’s here, in Maine with me. He had a great time in Yosemite.”

“Good.”

Another breeze. Nice day, the sun shining, temps in the upper seventies.

“So how are you, Harry?”

“I’m fine.”

“Got enough to read?” It was the only question that came to mind.

He sighed. “Yes.”

Parker glanced at the computer. “Nicky and I found a place to live. In Mackerly. We’ll be heading back next week.”

“I see. He’s starting school?”

“Yes. After Labor Day.”

“Wish him luck for me.”

“I will.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. She waited to see if her father would offer any other subject, but there was only silence. “Well, take care, Harry.”

“You, too.” He hung up.

A memory of her father picking her up from Stanhope Academy on the Upper West Side came to her. She’d been in second grade, wore a white shirt and green plaid skirt as a uniform. Her father rarely came to get her from school, and the sight of him there, so unexpected and so impressive, had practically lifted her off the pavement. “Daddy!” she’d said, running to him, and she remembered how small her hand felt in his. How safe Harry had made her feel.

Back then, her father had been her favorite person in the world.

She swallowed the unexpected lump in her throat.

Parker went back outside. “Boys,” she said, “I think we should go on a picnic.”

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER, Parker, James, Nicky and Lavinia were at a lake somewhere west of Gideon’s Cove. Beauty and Nicky were already wet, having dashed in the second they’d gotten there. Nick hurled sticks as far as his little arm would let him, which wasn’t terribly far, but Beauty charged in each time. James and Vin were sitting on a blanket, laughing. Those two were BFFs, practically.

Pine trees surrounded the lake in a dense wall, broken only by the occasional boulder. There was a dock about thirty yards out, and three teenage boys had canoed out there. They were shoving each other and laughing, falling in occasionally, diving like otters, constantly in motion. She snapped a few photos. Maybe this could be her new job—photographer. Or, given her actual skill set, cashier at Wal-Mart, if Wal-Mart would kindly hire her.