Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(85)

There. Based on the bestselling children’s book series by Parker Welles.

James looked over at her. Even wearing 3-D glasses, she was beautiful.

She was also crying.

“Hey, it wasn’t that bad,” he said, taking her in his arms.

“No, it was,” she said unevenly. “And the thing is, I hate the Holy Rollers, James, but somehow they’re the best thing I ever did, and how rotten does that make me feel? I can’t write anything else, I’m completely tapped out for ideas and this is my legacy.” She tucked her face against his shoulder, her back heaving in little spasms. “Meanwhile, Nicky’s having the best summer of his life, Lucy’s the world’s greatest stepmother—she bakes cookies every day, James. Every day! They have this cute little family, Ethan is perfect, and you know they’ll have kids of their own pretty soon, and Nicky will have siblings. He’d probably miss me if I died, for a couple weeks, anyway, but Lucy would be a great mom, and the only thing I’m good at is being fake. Those squeaky little bastards were the best I could do, and now even that’s done.”

She pulled back, her face wet and blotchy, and looked at him.

“Wow,” he murmured. “So much self-pity in one big sloppy breath. I can’t believe I slept with you.” Then he grinned, and she gave a little surprised snort of laughter and smacked him on the shoulder. Hard.

“You’re no help. I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re just my boy toy.” She swallowed and wiped her eyes with a napkin.

James looked at her for a long minute. “Come on, princess. I want you to meet someone.”

* * *

IT TOOK TWO HOURS TO GET from Machias to wherever James was taking her. They didn’t talk too much on the way. They did hold hands, though.

Parker couldn’t remember the last time she’d held hands with someone other than Nicky, who always grabbed on without thinking. It was admittedly the sweetest feeling in the world, his warm little hand in hers. But James holding her hand so firmly, so naturally…this was pretty great, too.

Around four, they slowed down in front of a long, solid-looking rock wall. The sign said Beckham Institute in brass letters. James pulled up to the guardhouse, which sat in front of an iron gate. “Hey, Bert,” he said.

“Hey, James, how’s it going?” The guard looked into the window. “Hello there,” he said, smiling.

“Hi,” Parker answered, feeling suddenly shy.

Bert punched a code, the gate swung open and James drove in.

The grounds were lush and beautiful, carefully landscaped, dotted with robust beds of red and white impatiens, well-placed trees and brick pathways. It looked like a college campus, the old brick buildings in good repair, window boxes overflowing with ivy and geraniums.

But it wasn’t a college. There were a lot of staff members identified by the red shirts they wore, Beckham written in white letters across the back. There were also quite a few people in wheelchairs. Parker saw one man on a bench, wearing a helmet, rocking, as a staffer chatted with another client, this one on the type of metal crutches that bespoke lifelong use. Some of the clients were older, with white hair and spines bent from osteoporosis. Others were heartbreakingly young.

Someone was kicking a ball. Parker could hear snatches of music. There was a large playground with wider-than-usual swings and pathways—to accommodate wheelchairs, Parker guessed. She’d seen one such playground before.

James parked in front of a more modern building and got out. “Come on,” he said, extending his hand.

Parker would’ve asked who was here, but the lump in her throat was too big. She had a good idea, anyway.

“Hi, Carol,” James said to the woman at the front desk.

“Hi, honey!” she said. “How are you?”

“I’m great. This is my friend Parker.” He bent to sign a book, writing Parker’s name, as well, she noted.

“Hello,” the woman said.

“Nice to meet you,” Parker said.

“I think she’s in her room,” Carol said. “They just got out of music therapy. She’ll be thrilled to see you.”

“Thanks.” James went down the hallway, and Parker followed.

How had she never known?

Then James stopped in front of room 111, knocked once and opened the door to a dorm-style room: a twin bed, posters on the wall, stuffed animals. Parker hovered half in the doorway, half in the hall.

“Hi, sis,” he said, smiling.

“James!” the woman exclaimed. “Hi, James! Hi!” She launched herself into James’s arms, laughing with joy. “You’re here!”

It was the woman from the photo on James’s bureau. The blue-eyed, dark-haired woman.

She had her brother’s smile.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, kissing her on the forehead.

“I had art. I made a bird. It’s not so good. I kept it, though. It’s drying. Pete sent me a teddy bear.” She picked up a bear from her bed and handed it to James, then twisted her fingers together.

“Oh, that’s a really nice bear,” James said. “What’s his name?”

“Duh. Teddy. It’s a teddy bear, James. Pete sent it.”

He gave her a look. “I know what it is, Mary Elizabeth. But you don’t have to name them all Teddy. James is a great name for a bear. I’m just saying.”