Summer Shadows (30 page)

“Believe me,” he said. “I know how hard it is to go up against a strong parent.”

Abby nodded. Senator Winslow was like a steamroller flattening anyone who got in his way or who disagreed with him. Except Marsh, who had stepped onto his own path and made his own choices.

“When I told Dad I wasn’t going into politics, he was very unhappy. He had always wanted me to follow in the family business. When Lane came along, obsessed with the same idea, he became even pushier. I took a year off from graduate school to campaign for him in the last election, and I did very well. I even enjoyed it. He thought he had me. So did Lane. When I said I still planned to go to seminary and hoped to teach there as a career, Dad was furious. Not only had I defied him, I had also become too religious, an embarrassment.”

“But you stood firm,” Abby said, proud of him for his courage. “You held your ground.”

“Because I knew what God wanted of me, and I was committed to follow Him wherever He led.”

Abby heard the pain in his voice. “Following the Lord cost you your relationship with your dad, didn’t it?”

“To a large degree. I disappointed him terribly. Then he married Lane, and that strained things to the breaking point.”

“So he lost you by his own choice and gained Lane.”

“That’s about it. She’s added a whole layer of difficulty to an already complicated situation.” He looked lost. “I hate it. I miss him.”

Abby reached out, laying her free hand on his cheek. “I wonder if he has any idea what a genuine treasure he threw away when he settled for that counterfeit brass ring.”

“Excuse me.” The voice intruding was cool to the point of chilling.

Abby jumped, dropped her hand from Marsh’s cheek, and spun to see her mother standing behind her. “Mom, you startled me!” She tried to slip her other hand from Marsh’s, but he tightened his grip until she could escape only by making a scene.

“Good morning, Mrs. MacDonald,” he said pleasantly.

“You might think about getting ready for work rather than wasting time sitting on the beach,” Mom said without looking at Marsh. “I have your breakfast on the table.”

Abby looked at her watch and blinked. “I had no idea it had gotten so late.”

Marsh stood, reaching out for Abby’s other hand. She offered it, and he pulled her effortlessly to her feet. He stepped close, smiling. “Go ahead, Abby. I’m going to sit here for a few minutes. I’ll bring your chair up when I come.”

With a nod Abby turned to her mother and found her watching Marsh with a cool, almost antagonistic stare. Abby sighed. She and her mother started across the sand together, walking slowly so Abby wouldn’t slip. Halfway across the beach Mom spoke.

“You’ve got to stop meeting that man. He’s all wrong for you.”

I
UNDERSTAND THERE’
s a beautiful new children’s librarian around here somewhere, Miss. Could you help me find her? I think I’d like to check her out.”

Abby spun. “Sean!” She laughed up at the handsome doctor. “What are you doing here?”

Standing next to the small tables and chairs made Sean Schofield look even taller than he was. His navy slacks and navy plaid shirt made the gray at his temples stand out against his tan face. No doubt about it; he was an impressive man.

He looked around, clearly interested in her little kingdom. “I figured you saw me at work. It’s time for me to see you in your milieu.”

Milieu
, Abby thought as she waved her hand toward her work area.
He actually said milieu. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that word in a regular conversation before
. And he had been impressive before.

“Well, this is it.” She gave him the VIP tour, which took about three minutes.

“I like these best,” he said, sitting down in front of one of the computers. He clicked the mouse to begin a new game. His concentration was intense, and he smiled every time the computer said, “You’re so smart.”

“Not too hard for you, was it?” Abby asked with a laugh when he finished.

“Nah. I went to kindergarten on a scholarship.”

With no warning a little redheaded boy sitting at a nearby table with another boy jumped to his feet. “You stink!” he yelled at his friend and grabbed his blue chair. “Youstinkyoustinkyoustinkyoustink!” He lifted the chair over his head, clearly planning to bring it down on his friend’s head.

Abby threw herself across the table, grabbing the boy about the waist with one arm and the chair with the other hand. She spun him away from the table and felt his body vibrating with intense emotion. His breathing was harsh, fierce. She held his back to her front and talked softly into his ear.

“Put the chair down slowly, okay? That’s a boy. Slowly. Slowly. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Yes, we do!” he cried even as he lowered the chair. “I want to hit him!”

The chair’s chrome legs touched the floor, and Abby put her hand over one of the boy’s where it held the chair. “Let go of the chair, okay? Just open those strong fingers and let go. That’s right. Let go. That’s the way. Good.”

She could feel the boy still shaking, but it wasn’t the wild, uncontrolled vibrating of a couple of minutes ago. She thought it safe to release him around the waist, but she wasn’t willing to let him go completely. He still felt like a ticking bomb.

She slid her arm from about him, and when he tried to bolt, she grabbed his hand. “Come on. Let’s sit over here and talk.”

She led him to a pair of little chairs in front of an aquarium and gently pushed him down into one. She took the other, still holding his hand. “I’m Mrs. Patterson. Who are you?”

The boy mumbled a name as he stared at his feet. He tried to break her hold on his hand but couldn’t no matter how hard he pulled and twisted. She hadn’t taught elementary school all those years without learning a trick or two about restraining recalcitrant children.

Abby reached to him with her free hand and brushed his red bangs aside. He didn’t quite flinch, but it was close enough that her heart constricted. Did people raise their hands to him only in anger? “Can you tell me your name again but louder?”

“Monty,” he all but screamed.

Abby smiled, ignoring all the curious people, drawn either by the original incident or the boy’s yell. “Hello, Monty.” She made her voice as warm as she could.

He looked at her hand holding his and tried to pull free again. “Let go of me!”

Abby maintained her grip.
Lord, please no bruises on this little wrist. All I need is for some lady to go to Nan with the story that I purposely bruised her son
. “Do you like the library, Monty?”

He shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have to be quiet in the library?”

“My mom.”

So where was the woman while her son committed mayhem? “Is she looking for a book of her own to read?”

“She’s shopping.”

Abby frowned. Using the library as a free baby-sitter was not kosher, to put it mildly. “Is that little boy over there your brother?”

Monty shook his head. “I don’t have any brothers.”

Abby waited for more information, but none came.

“Have you known him long?”

“I don’t know him at all.”

Interesting. Abby pointed to the book still sitting on the table. “What were you reading?”

“A book about Elmo,” he said, shoulders hunched like there was something wrong in reading a Muppets book.

Abby laughed. “I like Elmo too, but I like Cookie best.”

Monty looked at her in surprise. “He said it was a baby book.” He looked toward the boy whom he’d wanted to brain. Not surprisingly, the boy was gone. Abby looked toward the front door and saw him being pulled outside by his mother. She wondered if she’d ever see them in the library again.

“Who cares what he said. We don’t think it’s for babies.” Abby waved her hand at the nearby bookshelves. “Do you know why we have so many books? Because people like all kinds of books. I bet I like some you don’t.”

Monty looked at her like she was crazy. “Of course you do. You’re a big people. You don’t have pictures.”

Abby nodded. “Very true. Now I’ve got to tell you something, Monty. You’re not allowed to hit people in the library. Not with
your hands and not with a chair. You said you know about the rule here that says you need to be really quiet so that other people can read and work without being bothered. Hitting people isn’t being very quiet.”

“He made me mad.” Monty’s jaw was set.

“But that doesn’t mean you can hit him with a chair. It would have hurt him a lot.”

He nodded. “Yep.”

Abby looked at him, her expression stern. “Nope.” She stood. “Come on. Let’s get Elmo. Then you can wait for your mom by the front door.” Where someone would see her and grab her when she returned, telling her a few of the facts of life.

Abby walked across the library to the checkout desk, Monty in tow. She smiled at the perky old lady with blue-tinted hair who was manning the desk. “Mae, this is Monty. He needs to sit with you for a minute while I speak to Nan.”

Mae looked over the desk at the little boy. “Okay, kiddo, come on back here and take that seat. But you got to be quiet, you know. This is the library.”

Monty dragged himself around the desk with the enthusiasm of a toddler going to the doctor’s office for an injection. He climbed into the chair Mae indicated and opened his Elmo book. He put out a finger, touched the picture of the red creature, a slight smile tugging his lips.

Abby’s heart bled a bit as she watched him, a boy who dealt better with a red puppet than with people. She turned to go to Nan’s office only to find her standing not five feet away.

“Well done,” Nan said.

“Thanks.” The two walked away from the checkout station to Nan’s office where they could talk unimpeded. Abby told the story while Nan listened intently. She concluded, “The poor kid’s a little volcano just waiting to erupt.”

Nan grimaced. “Just so he doesn’t erupt here.

Abby nodded, aware now that the crisis was past that she had wrenched her hip, doubtless in that dive across the table. The pain was fierce. She was seeing Celia at five for a massage, but five seemed days away.

“Go get lunch,” Nan said. “Mae and I’ll keep an eye out for the mother and try to talk to her.”

Abby limped back to her desk, wincing with every step. Tylenol. She needed some Tylenol. She couldn’t take one of her strong pain meds because they made her too fuzzy.

“That was a most interesting situation.” Sean sat in her chair, looking at her over her own desk.

“Sean!” She’d forgotten he was here, but he didn’t need to know that. Besides, a handsome man was always good for what ailed you.

“I hope you don’t mind my sitting here.” He rose and stood with his hands in his pockets. “The other chairs all looked a bit too small, to say nothing of a bit weak for my weight.”

“And I’d hate to see you sent crashing to the floor.” She walked around the desk and reached into the top drawer. “You’d probably sue us just for the fun of it.” Her smile told him she wasn’t serious. She pulled out a bottle of Tylenol, tipping three into her hand.

“Three?” Sean looked at her in question.

“Wrenched my hip grabbing Monty. If I don’t do something, I’ll be crippled by evening.”

Sean took her arm. “Here. You sit. I’ll get you some water.”

“No, don’t bother. I have some here.” She reached into her bottom drawer this time, pulling out a bottle of water. She broke the seal and swallowed the Tylenol.

“Let’s go somewhere for lunch, okay?” he said. “That’s why I came in the first place.”

“To have lunch with me?”

He laughed at her expression. “You needn’t look so surprised. I like to get to know a pretty girl when I meet one.”

“Checking her out, huh?” Abby picked up her purse. “Okay, let’s go.”

He drove downtown to Bitsi’s. “They have great food and are one of the places open this early. This weekend will bring the town alive until after Labor Day, but today Bitsi’s is still the best bet.”

They took a booth and placed their order.

Sean put his elbow on the table, leaning his chin into his palm. “I’ve got to tell you that I never knew a job like yours could be so exciting. I thought all you did was put numbers on the spines of books and yell at kids who returned stuff late.”

“We are a full-service facility. Numbers on spines, yell for
silence, read stories, prevent homicides.” Abby opened her napkin and spread it across her lap. It wouldn’t do to have the tomato in her BLT drip onto her gauze skirt, though if it did, it’d get lost in the pattern. “Fortunately I don’t often see trouble like this morning’s.”

“What did the other kid do to set the redhead off?”

“He told Monty his Muppets book was for babies.”

“And Monty thought this was an offense worth decapitation.”

“You know, most of us work up to it before we lose our tempers. One thing happens, then another. We slowly get more and more angry. We start at one, working our way up to ten over time. If we’re wise, somewhere in the early build-up of the negative emotions, we confront the problem and solve it.”

She thought briefly of her anger at her mother. She feared she was past the early build-up stage, and no solution was in sight. What a mess. At least beaning her mother was an option she wouldn’t consider.

She pushed her potato chips around her plate and continued. “Not only do kids like Monty have no problem-solving skills—that’s largely because of their age—they’re at eight on the anger scale all the time. There’s no building of emotion; it’s everything on high boil, waiting to scald. Brain the kid because he says you’re reading a baby book.”

Sean considered that idea. “I’ve met a few people like Monty, always angry. Makes me think of a guy I know named McCoy. The least provocation, and it’s Mount St. Helens all over again.”

“Don’t you wonder why?” Abby sipped her iced tea. “What’s happened in Monty’s life to make him so angry? Is it his mother going off and leaving him? When I pushed his hair back, he jumped like he expected me to hurt him. Is he being physically abused?”

Abby thought of Vivienne deMarco. She seemed furious always, even when she was purring over Sean or Rick or Marsh. Whatever Rocco deMarco had done, she was livid, and she wasn’t giving an inch.