Life Guards in the Hamptons (34 page)

“Ah, but with no one with whom to share a cup of tea, no matter how lovely the table setting. Perhaps I should return to my roots after all. When we are done here, of course.”

“Give it a chance before making up your mind.”

“Is that what you are doing with Matthew?”

“Oh, listen, I think I heard a
twee
off in the distance.”

I made him comfortable on the porch with a snifter of cognac from Mom’s liquor cabinet and a blanket. The September nights got chilly, especially if a wind picked up.

We sat listening for a few moments without hearing the distinctive bird call, or Matt’s SUV.

I started to fret, but the professor seemed to be enjoying the quiet interlude. “This is lovely,” he said. “It has not rained in three whole days, quite different from London’s environs. And I can hear the insects, instead of noisy university students and nattering instructors.”

“Do you miss your friends, is that why you are thinking of returning?”

He sighed. “I have outlived most. Others of my
contemporaries left to live with sons and daughters, which they swore never to do. I expect the children did not want them, either.”

“Then why … ?”

“I told you, I am not particularly brave. The unfamiliar appears daunting at times.”

I understood that very well. “Yet you took a cruise to Nova Scotia on your own.”

“And see what happened.” He sighed again. “I suppose Rosehill will suit me well enough, in time. As long as you and your grandmother and Matthew keep your promises to visit.”

“We will, I swear.”

“And I’ll still be useful, talking to new talents, helping to assess strengths and weaknesses.”

“You’ll be wonderful. I wish I’d had someone like you to guide me. But we had no one like you here in the Harbor and I refused to go to London. I think I was like you are now, leery of the unknown.” Maybe things would have been different if I’d known Dr. Harmon a decade ago. Or not.

My cell phone rang. I supposed it was Matt, calling to give some lame excuse why he couldn’t come after all. I’d pretend, but I wouldn’t believe him. I could feel my insides already curling up like a withered leaf. I tried to cheer myself: one more cream puff for me.

I didn’t believe that would help either.

The caller ID didn’t work again. “Hello.”

This time it was “Lying Eyes.”

“Hey, have you been speaking to my father?”

I heard a chuckle before the music went on, or maybe that sound came from creaking boards.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured, too. The police are checking.”

And I’d ask Russ if it was possible for the phone to ring without the caller’s number showing on past incomings.

I filled the pool with fresh water and called “twee” while I mentally pictured the parrotfish, a willow tree, welcome, friend, talk, beautiful bird, shining fish.

I think it was the beautiful part that drew the vain creature, or maybe she was lonely. “Oey, there you are! And looking very handsome.”

She preened, fluffed out her feathers, and rubbed her head on my shoulder. I tried to avoid letting the fish tail touch my arm. Then I pointed out the professor on the porch. “You helped save Dr. Harmon. Thank you, noble friend. Will you talk to him?”

She cocked her head. “Thaved?”

“Twice, I believe.” The professor had come down from the porch and now stood near me, but not too close. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, the familiar sense of Oey-awe written on his face. “I believe I saw it over seventy years ago. I was a sickly child, always ill with fevers and such. One time they thought I’d die, I drifted into a coma for so long. But a parrot came to visit me, a beautiful talking bird who made me laugh. I thought my parents had bought it to try to keep me from fading away. It worked. The parrot gave me great hope and incentive to fight the disease. When I returned to consciousness, the bird was gone. I remember crying, but no one knew anything about any parrot.”

“Are you sure?”

“It had pink feet and a lisp.”

“What about its tail?”

“Long and beautiful, with all the colors of the sea and sky, like this chap’s.”

“She’s a girl, mostly. And I think you need to take a better look at the tail, now that you are not an ailing child.”

Oey had flown to a hydrangea bush nearby, her head cocked in that curious way she had. “Immie?”

“That’s right, Jimmie. And you are Oliver, are you not? That is what I called you, at any rate.”

“Oey.”

The professor laughed. “That’s right. You could not say Ollie. Ah, what a good friend you have been.”

“Thaved.”

“Indeed. I am grateful that you did, and delighted to see you again.”

Oey bobbed her head, then flew to the side of the pool.

Jimmie—I could see him as a frail child—still hadn’t noticed the fish tail. He was busy inviting Oey to visit him at Rosehill, where the bird could have a whole suite to perch in, no matter what Miss Lily had to say, and a balcony porch for coming and going, whenever his dear friend got tired of being out in the wild, or got cold or hungry. Or lonely.

Then Oey dove into the pool.

“Um. Ah. Oh.” The professor took his glasses off and wiped them. He put them back on. “Quite. Which explains a great deal, does it not? Well, there is a hot tub outdoors and a huge bathing tub inside.”

Oey splashed and gurgled.

“And I would enjoy the company. Miss Tate has a life of her own, although I intend to tempt her to visit as often as she might.”

Oey leaped out of the pool, shook himself, and then perched on Dr. Harmon’s shoulder. “Immie,” she cooed. “Petth.”

So he petted her feathered head. I didn’t think that’s what she meant, but I changed the subject. “Oey, do you know anything about Desi?”

“Dethwy.”

“No, Desi, the hurricane.”

“Dethwy.”

Jimmie thought she wanted to tell us the storm was deathly. Which every newscaster had already told us.

“Can we stop it?”

“Thtop the wind? The wain?” The whole parrot body swayed side to side, no.

“What about N’fwend? Can we stop him?”

She looked at the professor with those rainbow eyes. “Thaved.”

“Yes, you did,” I agreed. “So that he can help? He’s the one who can stop N’fwend?”

Oey didn’t get to answer because Matt drove up then, with Moses. Little Red, who I’d barricaded behind a baby gate on the porch, set up a frantic burglar
alarm. Oey squawked and disappeared. I wished I could, too.

Moses came galumphing up the path like a hungry baby elephant, while my tiny handicapped mouse kept throwing himself against the gate, ready to do battle for his territory. Mom might know how to do this. I sure didn’t.

Matt suggested we put Moses in the big dog run, and let them sniff each other through the wire fence. Moses pranced and play-bowed and wagged his whole rear end. Red tried to bite him through the mesh, when he wasn’t barking himself hoarse.

The professor laughed, but then he coughed. Matt’s cell rang. He stepped away to answer it, while I scooped up Little Red before he had a heart attack, and found Dr. Harmon’s brandy for him.

When Matt came back, he looked grim.

“An emergency?”

“Yeah, the geniuses at my house flushed something down the toilet—” obviously an item of feminine hygiene from his self-conscious omission, “—and now the whole system is backing up. I didn’t realize I had to put up a sign, or explain we have cesspools instead of sewers. I have to go. I’ll drop Dr. Harmon off at the farmhouse first. Can I leave Moses here in the pen so he doesn’t drool all over the professor?”

“Think nothing of that, my boy. Your lad is a wonderful, happy dog. I’d be pleased to sit with him. And have you both visit me at Rosehill next week when my rooms should be ready. I’m hoping to have a pet of my own, but Moses is welcome when you need a babysitter.”

We both appreciated the offer, me thinking of Matt coming to visit me in Manhattan, sans black behemoth. But Matt wanted to leave him here for now, so he’d get used to Little Red.

As if Little Red would ever get used to Moses. But I agreed, since it meant Matt had to come back.

Moses whimpered some when the men left, until I brought the big dogs out. They didn’t look so big anymore, next to him, but he went submissive and licked
them and followed them around without once trying to jump on them or wrestle with them. He really was a nice dog. Little Red wasn’t. He vibrated in my arms he was so angry.

Then I had an idea. I whistled for Oey and sent out an illustrated mental plea for help: dogs, willow tree between them, being battered from both sides, fear, desperation, wanting peace. “Oey, I need you. The petth need you.”

“Immie?”

“Immie is not your pet! Sure you look out for him and worry about him and want him to be happy. Um, maybe he is your pet. But that’s what friends do, too. Right now I have a problem with these pets, Matt’s and mine. Moses is one of the dogs you saved, remember?”

“Matt petth?”

“No, Matt is a friend. A good friend. Moses is his pet. I want Little Red and Moses to be friends. Can you help?”

She swiveled her head. “Twain?”

“Train? I don’t care about sit—” Moses sat. Oh, boy. “But I don’t want him to think Little Red is a toy.”

“Teath.”

“No teeth. No biting!”

Oey clacked her beak. Yeah, I was frustrated, too. My whole relationship with Matt, if there was to be one, depended on harmony between the dogs. “Oh, you can teach them to get along?”

“Thaved. Thpoke.”

Of course, Oey’d brought the Newfie pups to safety. “So can you talk to them, tell them to get along?”

Those shiny eyes focused on Moses, then Little Red, who was yipping, growling, straining to get out of my arms to do battle.

Oey swiveled her head back to me. “All ballth, no brainth.”

A lot of males were like that. “He’s fixed.”

“Din’t wouk.”

Neutering was not a concept to explain now, or how Red’s personality resulted from grievous suffering. “He
can be charming. I love him, despite his bad temper. What about Moses?”

“Thaved. Thpoke.”

“Yes, I know. Can you explain about my dog? Teach Moses to be patient and kind and forgiving. And careful.”

Oey did not make a sound, but Moses came to the gate and lay down, his big head between his front paws, his eyes staring at Red. I opened the gate and put the Pom down, ready to jump between them. Red instantly tried to get his jaw around a foot or a tail. Moses rolled to his side and licked Little Red’s face. He wagged his tail, careful not to knock the little guy off his three legs.

Little Red gave up. Just like that. He sat, stared, then lay down nearby. Moses sighed. Red sighed. I sighed.

“Wow, what did you say?”

“With gweat powew comth gweat rethponth—”

I couldn’t wait for her to get it out. “Does Moses have great power?”

“Big.”

“As big as Jimmie?”

“Thaved.”

“Yes, you are a hero. Did you give them powers, the way I seem to have shared mine with Matt?”

She preened her feathers. “Petth.”

“No, friends. People cannot be pets.”

“Old pet fwend.”

“Yes, you saved Jimmie years ago. Oh. Yes, he is old, now.” The thought made me sad. Oey, too, from the soft keening sound in her throat. “We do not live forever. But you will be good company for him, won’t you?”

She bobbed her head.

“Does that mean you’ll help us fight N’fwend?”

She disappeared, which I could never get used to. But Matt came back before I could call her to return.

He looked at the dogs, fast asleep, tails touching. “See? I told you they’d work it out.”

I didn’t trust him. Little Red, not Moses, not Matt. I’d already trusted Matt to see me naked, with the lights on. I trusted him not to fly off to the moon or Mt. Everest.

Hell, I trusted him to be at my side if we had to face the kraken. Unless he and the professor and Oey could go by themselves, which I would not mind at all.

And Moses really was a nice dog, already socialized and calm enough for a show ring.

Little Red? I hid my shoes whenever I had to leave him. I kept Band-Aids and Bacitracin in my pocket for when he drew blood. I always had an extra shirt handy for when he nervously peed on me. Trust him not to aggravate the manners off Moses? Not a chance. So we put the baby gate between Moses in the living room and Little Red with us and the cream puffs in the kitchen. Moses could have knocked it over with one paw, but he knew not to.

Matt and I had a lot to discuss, but we put it off in favor of flaky pastry pockets filled with rich whipped cream, topped with chocolate syrup, and drizzled with raspberry sauce. For this I might be tempted to stay longer in Paumanok Harbor.

I looked at the last one on the plate, the one I’d forgotten to pack up for the professor to take home. “Want to split it?”

Matt had a better idea what to do with that whipped cream and chocolate syrup and raspberry sauce. For that I might be tempted to stay in Paumanok Harbor forever.

I never got to choose between the red or the black lingerie.

And yes, I was quick again, but only the first time. Blame the chocolate sauce, and Matt.

Much later, after a hot shower and a check on the dogs and another long, slow, lovemaking that left us hot, sweaty, and sticky again, without the chocolate, I lay sprawled on top of Matt, skin to skin, heart to heart. Neither of us had the energy or the desire to move.

Matt played with my hair that I hadn’t bothered to brush smooth after the shower. He wound a curl around his finger.

“Don’t, you’ll make corkscrews.”

“I love your hair. I could touch it all day and never get tired of seeing it wrap around my fingers, see the colors
change, sometimes dark gold, sometimes bright as sunshine.”

Man, this was so much better than a cream puff. I sighed in utter limp contentment. Except for where I rubbed my thigh against his, just to make him take a deep breath.

“Insatiable wench,” he said with a smile.

“No, gloriously satiated. For now.”

“Thank goodness. You know, I’ve been thinking about your hair, your smile, your blue eyes—and your exquisite body—all day when I should be thinking of getting ready for the storm and whatever else it’ll bring.”