Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(110)

Holy halos. Malone was pimping her house. Even so, doubling it was crazy, and Collier had been nothing but nice, if somewhat vacuous. “Well, Collier, doubling it would be a bit—”

“You know what?” he interrupted. “Malone’s right. I want the house. I’ll double the higher bid. I’m sure I can swing it.”

“I’m sure you can, too,” Malone said. “A man of action.” He toasted Collier with his mug and smiled at Parker.

“Fantastic! This is so great! Thank you, Parker! I’ll call Chantal and get you a cashier’s check right away.” Collier beamed, then got up to harass Maggie about his omelet.

Parker sat there for a minute. “Malone,” she said, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I love you.”

He winked. “Take care, Parker.”

“You, too, hottie.” Then she got up, tousled his hair and fetched her son from the wonders of the storage room.

* * *

SHE PACKED UP NICKY and left at dawn the next day, not wanting to see anyone on the way out. It was hard enough. Beauty was curled up next to Nicky’s booster seat, and her son was chattering away.

She’d deposited half of Collier’s check into her bank account yesterday afternoon. It would be a pretty good nest egg, enough to carry her and Nicky until she settled into a job, enough to put a little into savings. She planned to make a donation to the lobstermen’s society in honor of Malone, and another one to the Gideon’s Cove Animal Shelter.

The other half would go to James. Parker had given Chantal instructions to give him a cashier’s check. He’d certainly earned it. And aside from that, she wasn’t going to think about James Francis Xavier Cahill.

There was a lump in her throat as she turned past Joe’s. You’re Leaving Gideon’s Cove, a sign announced. We Hope You’ll Come Again!

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“IT’S THOSE IDIOT parents of hers,” Lavinia said at Dewey’s on Sunday night. “They screwed her up and good. And the father of her kid, he’s no help. Mr. Perfect.”

“Thank you,” James muttered.

“So what are you gonna do, sweetheart? I got the impression she was pretty fond of you.”

He sighed. “Not so much anymore.”

“Love sucks.”

“I’d have to agree.” He looked at Lavinia’s face. “I thought you were pretty happy, though. You and the judge?”

“Ah, that ran its course. Just physical. We broke up last night. Think he coulda told me before we played two rounds of ‘Spank Me, Nanny,’ but no.”

James choked. “Men,” he managed.

“Exactly.” She gave him a long look. “So what are you gonna do, hon?”

“I’m gonna go home, get a job, keep on keeping on.”

“Well, Jamie Cahill, you come visit me when you’re in town. You’re a good egg.”

James smiled. “Thanks, Vin.”

He said the rest of his goodbyes the next morning; his uncle hugged him and messed up his hair, Maggie and Christy and Chantal all kissed him and fussed over him, so it was apparent that no one really held the Leah issue against him.

No one but Parker, of course.

The cashier’s check for his half had been like a kick in the groin. And while he could’ve used it for Mary Elizabeth’s fees, he didn’t want to. “Tell you what,” he’d said to Chantal. “Make it out to Save the Children.”

He had almost nothing to pack—just a duffel bag with his clothes and his tools.

First stop, Mary Elizabeth’s.

As always, seeing his sister lifted his spirits. They took a walk. She didn’t ask about Parker, but he saw that her room was filled with Holy Rollers crapola—a big poster from the movie, Manga versions of the book and several stuffed animals, including a kitten that could flatten out as if roadkill, then pop open again, with wings coming out of a zippered compartment in its back. Sick, really. Carol at the front desk told him it had come from New York the week before.

“I’m drawing a horse,” Mary Elizabeth announced now, reaching for the crayon box.

“I’m drawing a cow,” he said.

“Don’t draw a cow, James,” she chided. “You can’t ride a cow.”

“This is a riding cow,” he said. “You’ll see. It could beat your horse in a race any day.”

His sister looked up at him, her eyes so blue, and laughed her squeaky laugh, then went back to her artwork.

What would life be like if she’d listened to him that day? If he’d been a better brother, a better babysitter, paid more attention? Would he have left Dresner, or stayed and become a carpenter? He’d probably be married by now. Maybe a couple of kids, even.

He remembered Nicky’s warm, sweet weight as he’d lifted the boy from the car. The joy on his face when James had let him use the nail gun.

“You think I’d be a good father?” he asked his sister.

“Aren’t you a little young for that?” she asked, sounding for the life of him like a normally functioning adult.

“I’m thirty, Mare.”

She looked up from her drawing. “You are?” He nodded. “Is that old enough to be a father?”

“Yep.”