Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze (181 page)

Morgan gave herself a moment to enjoy the sight of her son bravely toddling around this place without his father or mother. Then she raced for the locker room. She shed her summer clothes and tugged on her exercise gear. She yanked her hair back in a high ponytail. She headed out to the equipment room, found a treadmill, jumped on, and began to walk.

She’d forgotten to bring her iPod, but that was all right. Wide-screen TVs hung high on the walls of the gym. She focused on the news channel, but while it occupied her eyes, it was her own thoughts raging through her mind that accompanied her as she worked out.

What was
wrong
with her?

She
knew
what was wrong with her!

She was not a natural mother. She adored her child, she even could foresee the day when she’d want to give him a brother or sister, but right now, day after day after day after day, with the conversation of a thirteen-month-old as her only society, she was going mad. Of course, she saw Bella as often as possible, but Bella worked at the shop six days a week, and spent most of her evenings with Aaron. She saw Natalie only when Natalie was through painting or drawing for the day and collapsed, happily exhausted, on her deck for a drink.

She saw Josh, of course. He was her husband. Her companion. Her lover.

Just not recently. Recently, he was all about his work. He left early for Bio-Green, came home too late for dinner, took a moment to peek in at his sleeping son, changed out of his suit into shorts and a tee, and disappeared into his study, tapping away on his computer. If Morgan happened to wander in, she saw how he closed whatever screen he was on in a flash, and he always looked perturbed by her presence. Some companion. Some lover.

Still, she refrained from showing her disappointment. She knew he was pressured, anxious about his job and his ability to do it. She didn’t doubt that he loved her
… most of the time
. Sometimes when she called his office at BGI, and loquacious Imogene answered the phone only to chirp that Josh wasn’t there at the moment, a chill of dread snaked down Morgan’s spine. He was a desirable man, used to lots of adulation from high school and college athletics. Married life was not a daily challenge ending with victory, cheers, and praise. Was Josh looking somewhere else for the stroking he believed he deserved? Certainly he wouldn’t be the first man to do so.

Dripping with sweat, huffing and puffing, Morgan clicked off the treadmill, stepped down on wobbly legs, and staggered over to the weight bench. This took more concentration, for which she was grateful; it made it impossible for her mind to continue on its own hamster-cage treadmill. She was strong and in good shape. She always had been. She’d enjoyed working out even before she’d been
married to a workaholic. She used the rowing machine and the recumbent exercise bike until she was almost shaking with exhaustion. The gym had a gorgeous locker room with excellent showers and all the hot water you could ever need. When she came out of the gym with Petey in her arms, she was glowing with health and clean hair and skin. And she was starving.

In the parking lot, next to her SUV, an old lady stood by the open door of her ancient Toyota. She wore a track suit, sneakers, and an expression of despairing confusion.

It was the woman who had almost passed out on the treadmill in the gym. “Mrs. Smith?” Morgan approached her. “Are you okay? Can I help you?”

The woman sagged with relief and took a few steps toward Morgan. “It’s my car. I’m afraid it’s broken.”

“Oh.” Morgan keyed open her own vehicle, dumped her purse and Petey’s bag inside, shifted Petey to her left hip, and walked around to stand next to the woman, peering into the car. “What’s the problem?”

“It started, but then it just … stopped.”

“You’re Mrs. Smith, aren’t you?” Morgan asked. “I’m Morgan O’Keefe. I met you a few days ago in the gym.”

“Oh yes. Of course.” Mrs. Smith shrank into herself a bit. “You must think I’m a walking disaster.”

“Not at all. Look, I know something about cars. Would you mind if I tried starting your car?”

“Please.”

Morgan bent down to slide Petey into the passenger seat, then settled in the driver’s seat. She shut the door. The car was immaculate inside and smelled like peppermints. The key was in the ignition. She turned it and scanned the dashboard.

“Mrs. Smith, the problem seems to be that you’re out of gas.”

“Really?” The older woman’s eyes widened, as if Morgan had imparted news of earth-shattering importance. “Oh dear.” She scanned the area, as if expecting a gas pump to rise up out of the ground. “Perhaps you could drive me to a service station?”

Morgan smiled. In the back of her SUV, beneath the carpeted
floor, was her automotive safety kit, complete with jack and lug wrench, spare fuses, tire sealant for minor punctures, jumper cables, kitty litter for ice, flashlight, first-aid kit, and a six-foot length of clear plastic tubing.

“I can do better than that,” Morgan assured Mrs. Smith. “I’ll siphon some gas from my tank into yours. Enough so that you can drive to a gas station.”

Mrs. Smith gawked, speechless.

Morgan keyed open the back of her SUV. “If you’ll just sit in your car with Petey, I’ll have this done in a matter of minutes.”

She could see Petey in Mrs. Smith’s passenger seat, holding on to the door, bouncing up and down, exploring the unfamiliar door handles and buttons. The older woman settled in the driver’s seat and showed Petey how to lift the console lid in the middle.

“Petey.” Morgan knelt to face her child. “Mama’s going to move the car closer to Mrs. Smith’s.”

But Petey wasn’t concerned. Mrs. Smith had handed him her keys.

Morgan started up her SUV, and with the warning signal beeping because she hadn’t fastened her seat belt, she maneuvered her car so that its gas tank was just about two feet from the old Toyota’s. Her SUV was a good foot higher than the Toyota; this would work. She got out, opened the Toyota’s gas tank door, opened her own gas tank door, and threaded in one end of the clear hose. She held the other end in her hand and began to suck. The gas quickly rose. The second she saw it, she stuck her end in the Toyota’s gas tank. She watched the dark liquid flow downward. It didn’t take long. It didn’t have to. Mrs. Smith didn’t even need a gallon of gas to get to a station. After a minute or so, Morgan pinched the hose tight, yanked it from her car, and held it high, letting the excess flow down into Mrs. Smith’s tank. Then she pulled the empty hose from the tank, wiped it down with paper towels she carried in the car, and coiled it. She screwed on the gas caps and shut the doors. She cleaned her hands with antiseptic baby wipes.

“Now,” she called to Mrs. Smith, “try starting the engine.”

Mrs. Smith turned the key. The engine rumbled to life. Quickly she turned it off and scrambled out of the car. “You are a genius!”

“I have my moments.” Morgan opened the passenger door and lifted out Petey. “You’ll have enough gas to take you to a station now.”

“How can I ever thank you?” Mrs. Smith held out her hands helplessly. “If you hadn’t come along, I’d be out here broiling in the sun!”

Actually, Morgan thought, Mrs. Smith would have been in the air-conditioned gym office, waiting while someone arrived from a garage with a five-gallon container of gas. “It was nothing,” she assured Mrs. Smith. “I’m glad to help.”

“You know,” Mrs. Smith said, “you are.”

Morgan blinked.

“I am what?”

“You
are
glad to help. Just like the other day in the gym when I was having trouble on the treadmill. You are a person who likes to help other people. A very admirable quality. I am most impressed.”

Morgan flushed, surprised and shy at this sudden estimation of her qualities. “Well, thank you. I’m glad—” She stopped herself. Mrs. Smith’s words had touched something sensitive, tender, and yearning deep inside Morgan’s soul. For a moment Morgan was afraid she was going to burst into tears. “Okay, then, we’ve got to get along. I’ll see you again here at the gym.” She lifted Petey’s arm. “Say bye-bye, Petey!” That was another thing babies were good for, providing distractions from conversation.

“Bye-bye.” Petey flapped his arm in a wave.

“Oh, but I feel so grateful,” Mrs. Smith called. “I’d love to repay you somehow for your kindness.”

“Don’t give it a second thought,” Morgan told her. “It was fun.”

The truth was, it
was
fun, Morgan thought. Was that pitiful? That she got a kick out of doing what she’d learned to do as a teenager when she crawled out her window one night to go joyriding with
friends? Even now she could remember how thrilled she was that dark night, to learn how to siphon gas.

It was after noon, and she was starving, and Petey was crabbing away in his car seat. She drove into the center of Amherst, stopped near the Black Cow, hefted her son onto her hip, and ordered sandwiches and an iced latte to go. She handed Petey an oatmeal cookie to gnaw on while she drove through the labyrinth of roads into the heart of the U. Mass.–Amherst campus until she found a parking spot near the pond. Once more she unstrapped her big boy, clasped him on her hip, grabbed the paper bag of lunch goodies and the picnic blanket she carried stuffed under the seat. She locked the car and headed for a long strip of shade underneath the trees overlooking the pond.

Petey loved to eat. Once they got settled, he focused intensely on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which he took apart and licked, allowing Morgan to take a deep breath, sip her latte, enjoy her own sandwich, and gaze around at the college campus. It was like a city. A world. She had loved every campus she’d set foot on. The professors, the students, the residences, the ivy-covered towers of classrooms, the libraries, the labs, and especially the maintenance buildings that kept this world running. Funny thing about maintenance: It was essential, yet no one paid any attention to it; no one praised it, yet the most brilliant scholar couldn’t function without it. It was like motherhood, Morgan thought, grinning to herself.

After lunch, she held Petey’s hand and they slowly ambled down to gaze into the pond, but Petey was tired and ready for his afternoon nap, so they turned around and toddled back up toward the sidewalk. He clamored for Morgan to carry him; she wanted him to walk as much as he could, and this particular debate took all her attention as they made their way toward North Pleasant Street, where she’d parked her car.

“Cawwy!” Petey lifted his arms pathetically.

“You’re a big, strong boy. You’re full of jelly sugar,” Morgan reminded him. She needed him to use up all his energy so he’d have a good, long nap.

“Cawwy, Mommy, pwease.” In his blue shorts, white shirt, and sneakers, he resembled a tiny track star who could go no farther. Petey knew how to push her buttons, knew how to make his voice full of pathos.

She was kneeling to pick him up when a very polite, accented voice asked, “Is the child okay?”

Morgan looked up, but not very far, for the voice came from a short, exceptionally neat Japanese man in a crisp linen suit. To her surprise, Ben Barnaby stood next to him.

“Ben!” Morgan rose awkwardly, Petey in her arms.

“Morgan! What are you doing here?” Ben was impressive in his suit and tie.

“We just had a picnic by the pond. I had to come into town, and I thought I’d give Petey the opportunity to see the campus.”

Petey waved an exuberant hello at Ben.

“Hi, guy.” Ben high-fived Petey. “Morgan, this is Dr. Takamachi from Tokyo. He’s an expert in nuclear engineering. He was the keynote speaker at our conference here this week.”

Morgan extended her hand and shook the scientist’s tiny white paw. “I’m honored to meet you, Dr. Takamachi.”

Dr. Takamachi bowed slightly. “And I, you. You have a most pleasing son.”

The charming man was so doll-like in his perfection, Morgan almost bowed back to him. “Thank you.”

“I am availing myself of fresh air, which is excellent for the brain, while at the same time I am having a most thought-provoking conversation with this young scholar,” Dr. Takamachi told her.

Petey was squirming in her arms now, turning into octopus boy. “Well, I have to get my excellent child home for a nap before he has a meltdown,” Morgan announced.

“Meltdown.” Dr. Takamachi first looked concerned, then barked out a laugh. “I see! I see!”

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Takamachi. Bye, Ben!” Morgan strode away, hurrying toward the car.

Petey fell asleep in his car seat on the way to Dragonfly Lake. Fortunately, the heat of the day and the excitements of the morning had used up his energy, so when Morgan unlatched him from his seat, he scarcely woke.

“I’ll call you,” he’d said.

But he hadn’t called.

It had been over a week since that startling, magical, unexpectedly lovely sail on Dragonfly Lake. When Natalie and Ben had returned to shore, she’d helped him drag the boat up onto dry land, unstep the mast, and fold the sail, both of them working quickly, without speaking.
What happens next?
she’d wondered. She had been opening her mouth to invite him over for a drink when Brady came whooping out of the Barnaby house, followed by several of his teenage buddies.