A Father For Zach (10 page)

Giving Catherine his full attention, Nathan scrutinized her. Up close, she looked a little pale and—
stricken
was the word that came to mind.

“You okay?”

At his quiet question, she gave a slow blink. “Yes. Of course.”

“I thought the sermon might have been a little difficult for you.”

Instead of responding, she released Zach’s hand and dug through her purse. Retrieving a pair of sunglasses, she slipped them on, hiding her eyes. Then she gripped her purse in front of her. Like a shield.

As silence fell between them, Nathan noted Zach in his peripheral vision. The youngster was sizing up a little boy
about his age in an adjacent cluster of people. Zach took a step toward the child. The other little boy did the same. It appeared to be a friendship in the making. Good. Zach needed a friend.

So did Catherine. As desperately as her son.

But she was fighting it every step of the way. With him, anyway.

When it became apparent she didn’t intend to respond to his remark about the sermon, Nathan switched to a less personal topic. “If it’s okay, I think I’ll come by tomorrow morning instead of in the afternoon. The light at the painting job I’m doing in Cisco will be better later in the day.”

Her posture eased a fraction. “That’s fine. I have some errands to run tomorrow, and I’d rather do them after lunch, anyway.”

“Is the flooring still scheduled to arrive tomorrow?”

“Yes. Do you think you’ll be ready for it by next week?”

“If all goes as planned. You mentioned when you hired me that you’d worked with it before?”

“Yes. I’m pretty handy when I don’t have broken toes.” The flicker of a smile flirted with her lips. “I did a lot of the remodeling work in our house in Atlanta.”

“I’ll welcome any advice you can give. I haven’t dealt with that particular kind of flooring before.”

“No problem.” She turned, and a fleeting touch of panic crossed her face when she realized Zach wasn’t beside her.

“He’s over there.” Nathan gestured a few feet away, where the two boys were engaged in an animated conversation.

“Zach!”

At her summons, he spoke to the other boy, then trotted over. “That’s Adam, Mom. He goes to Sunday school here. Can I go next week, too?”

“We’ll see.”

“That means no.” He folded his arms across his chest and stuck out his chin. “I’m never going to make any friends.”

Nathan wasn’t certain it was wise to jump into the mother/son exchange, but Zach did need friends his own age—and he wasn’t certain Catherine recognized that. So he took the plunge. “Sure you will, champ. Your mom will find some ways for you to meet other kids. She knows that’s important.”

A slight frown appeared on Catherine’s brow. He couldn’t tell if it was prompted by disapproval or insight.

“Come on, Zach.” She took her son’s hand. “Let’s head to Downyflake. See you tomorrow, Nathan.”

He watched as they walked away. And hoped he hadn’t just shot himself in the foot.

“We should be taking
you
out to celebrate at some swanky place, not the other way around,” J.C. grumbled as Nathan led the way through the arbor entrance to The Chanticleer in ’Sconset.

“You guys have been treating me ever since I’ve been here. And I have the money now.” Nathan shot J.C. a grin over his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to pick a pricey place like this. We’d have been happy with Arno’s.”

Heather jabbed her husband in the side with her elbow and smiled at Nathan. “I, for one, am grateful. I love this restaurant and don’t get here often enough.” She sent J.C. a pointed look before continuing. “And the garden is divine.”

“It can’t compare to the one at The Devon Rose, though.” Marci gave the grounds a discerning sweep.

“Which is in a sad state of neglect this summer. Thanks
to Junior.” Heather laid her hand on her rounded tummy and sighed.

“Yeah. I think I did see a renegade weed or two the last time I was there. How dare they?” Marci grinned at her. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll come by and whip it into shape for you next week.”

“You’re busy enough with Caring Connections,” Christopher protested, bringing up the rear as they trooped through the garden. “With the way it’s taken off over the past year, the senior citizens on the island see you more than I do.”

“You had me all to yourself for more than two weeks on our honeymoon.”

“Yeah.” A smile lifted the corners of his lips as he draped an arm around her shoulders. “That’s true.”

“So you won’t miss me too much if I take a couple of hours to weed Heather’s garden. You can thank Henry for my obsession with flowers, you know.”

“Trust me, I know. Have you had a chance to get acquainted with him yet, Nathan?” Christopher asked.

“Yes. He invited me over for a visit when I met him at your wedding. I was treated to his banana-nut bread last week. And quite a few good stories.” The older man was just as Marci had described him in her letters: affable, lively and enthusiastic. Ever since she’d told him how restoring Henry’s garden had led to the romance that blossomed between her and Christopher, he’d looked forward to meeting the octogenarian.

“Henry’s quite the storyteller,” Christopher concurred as they took their seats at the open-air table Nathan had reserved, protected from the sun by a vine-covered overhang attached to the indoor part of the restaurant.

“I heard a few about the two of you, too.” Nathan picked up a menu and began to peruse it.

“Yeah?” Marci narrowed her eyes. “Like what?”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Fine.” She took a quick glance at the menu, set it aside and refocused on her brother. “If you don’t want to talk about Henry, tell us what’s new with Catherine. I spotted you talking to her again today after the service.”

Nathan hoped the flush creeping up his neck stayed below his collar. “We didn’t talk about anything worth repeating. Unless flooring interests you.”

“Edith had her eye on the two of you again.”

The flush crept higher.

“What’s this about Edith? Have I been missing something?” J.C. looked from Marci to Nathan.

“No.”

“Yes.”

The two siblings spoke simultaneously. Marci smirked. Nathan frowned.

“The Lighthouse Lane matchmaker has her sights set on Nathan.” Marci gave Nathan a smug look.

“Then she’s going to be disappointed,” Nathan countered.

Marci ignored that comment. “So tell us something about Catherine we don’t know.”

“Okay.” Nathan decided to drop her a crumb. “She played the violin at your wedding.”

His sister’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“You met her at my wedding?”

“No. We just saw each other.”

“As in ‘Some Enchanted Evening’? Across a crowded room and all that? How romantic!”

“It was daylight and we were outside.”

Marci shrugged. “Same difference. Did she…”

“The flounder sounds good to me,” Christopher interrupted. “What are you going to have, Nathan?”

“The scallops.” He sent his brother-in-law a grateful look.

“I’m going with the Vermont brie and wild mushroom omelet.” Heather closed her menu.

“What are you having, Marci?” Christopher asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to read the menu.”

“That’s because you’ve been too busy grilling your brother. Leave the poor guy alone. He’s paying the bill, after all.” Christopher grinned at Nathan. “Can I order dessert, too, if I get my wife off your back?”

“Cute, Christopher.” Marci made a face at him before pinning Nathan with a warning look. “Okay, fine. I’ll let you eat in peace. But I’m only deferring this discussion to another day.”

Heather chuckled. “These Clay kids are tough.”

Grinning, J.C. put his arm around her. “You want me to change?”

She snuggled closer to him. “No way.”

Christopher followed J.C.’s example and tugged Marci close. “Heather’s right. You guys are tough. But I wouldn’t want you any other way, either.” He brushed his lips across her temple.

As Nathan watched the exchanges, it was clear his brother and sister had made good matches. There was contentedness about them, a rightness in the pairings, that left him with a warm feeling—and more than a little envy.

He’d like to find that kind of love someday. With someone like Catherine—or perhaps Catherine herself.

But while there had been obstacles to his siblings’
matches, they were minor compared to the one between him and the woman who played the violin with such heartrending emotion.

And hard as he tried to remain optimistic, to cling to the hope that had buoyed him up the day he’d sold his painting, he was fast losing confidence he would find a way to overcome it.

S
he felt like a spy.

Torn, Catherine shifted her purse on her shoulder and regarded the door to the Blue Water Gallery. Ever since Nathan had told her three days ago that he was a painter—in the artistic sense—she’d been intrigued. As long as she was in town, why not satisfy her curiosity? The gallery was a public place, after all. Anyone could walk in off the street and look at the offerings.

Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling she was somehow invading his privacy.

“Why are we stopping here, Mom?” Yawning, Zach dug into the cup of mint chocolate-chip ice cream she’d treated him to at The Juice Bar. After traipsing around after Nathan all morning, he was ready for a nap.

“I have to check on something real quick. Then we’ll head home, okay?”

“Okay.”

Hoping the ice cream would keep him occupied for a few minutes, she stifled her guilty feelings and stepped
inside the gallery. A wooden, backless bench hugged one of the walls in the foyer, and she guided him to it. Perfect. No way would the owner want a sticky-fingered child wandering around. Plus, from this spot, she could keep an eye on him while she made a quick circuit of the rooms that opened off the entry area. If she was lucky, Nathan’s second painting would be in one of them.

“Wait here, Zach. I’ll be right back. I’m just going to look in these two rooms. You can see me the whole time, okay?”

“Can I come?” He gave the gallery an interested perusal.

“Only if you throw away your ice cream. There’s no food allowed.”

She waited while he debated this choices. As she’d expected, the ice cream won.

“I’ll stay here.”

That problem solved, she started her circuit of the first room, scrutinizing the paintings for signatures.

Less than sixty seconds later, a tall woman emerged from the back of the gallery. She gave Zach a quick glance before continuing toward Catherine.

“Don’t worry. He has strict instructions to stay on the bench,” Catherine assured her. She’d expected someone to appear, and she had her story ready.

The woman smiled. “I wasn’t concerned. He appears to be a well-behaved young gentleman. I’m Monica Stevens, the owner. May I assist you with anything?”

“I’m just browsing. Your place looked interesting, and I thought I’d stop in for a quick peek.”

“Take your time. If you have any questions, let me know. I’ll be in the room at the end of the foyer hall.”

After confirming that Zach was still intent on his ice cream, Catherine waited until the woman retraced her
steps, then resumed her search. She had no clue what she was looking for in terms of either style or subject matter. All she knew was that Nathan’s first painting had featured a blond-haired little boy. But in her initial scan of the room she hadn’t spotted any paintings of children.

She had almost completed her circle of the first room when she found it.

And it was nothing like she’d expected.

At first glance, she thought it was a landscape. A long strip of sand stretched toward the horizon, and though the foreground was lit by the sun, the distant clouds that were massed in the background and the whitecaps on the sea warned of a coming squall. There was a stunning power to the scene, and a slight impressionistic feel added to its evocativeness.

She was impressed.

But she was even more impressed when she drew close and discovered it wasn’t a landscape at all. It was a portrait—of a very different kind. There was only one figure in the scene, and it was small. But it was the focal point of the painting, and it vaulted the piece from very good to extraordinary.

Moving in, Catherine studied the dark-haired little boy in the distance. Still in the sunshine, his back to the clouds, he was oblivious to the approaching storm. Toting a bucket of water from the sea to a moat he’d dug around a sandcastle, he was the picture of innocence—unaware that his quest to fill the hole was futile and his efforts to protect his castle were hopeless. For soon the shadows would overtake him. The storm would come. His stronghold would be demolished.

The scale of the child in the painting was masterful, Catherine realized. By placing him in a vast landscape,
Nathan had clearly communicated that he was not only oblivious to the approaching tempest, but vulnerable to forces beyond his control.

The scene conveyed a hushed, ominous sense of impending danger, of innocence lost, that sent a shiver snaking down her spine.

“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?”

Startled by the question, Catherine turned to find that the gallery owner had returned. She had no idea how long she’d been rooted to the spot, mesmerized by Nathan’s painting, but a quick peek confirmed that Zach was still occupied with his ice cream.

“Yes, it is.”

The woman stepped beside Catherine and examined the canvas. “There’s a lot more to that piece than meets the eye.”

“I agree.” But she didn’t want to discuss Nathan’s painting. The owner might mention to him that someone had expressed an interest in it—and she didn’t want him to know she’d stopped in. Because now that she’d seen his work, felt its power, sensed it came from deep within his soul, her visit
did
seem like an invasion of privacy. “Well, thank you for letting me look around. I’ll try to stop in again some day when I have more time.”

“You’re always welcome.”

Returning to the foyer, Catherine snagged Zach’s hand and led him out the door, into the sunlight. She spotted a trash container nearby, and disposed of the empty cardboard cup.

“What was that place, Mom?” Zach trotted along beside her as they headed up India Street toward their car.

“People who have things to sell bring them there, and that lady you saw tries to find other people to buy them.” Vague but true, she rationalized.

“How come you didn’t buy anything?”

“I didn’t see anything I wanted.”

That was true, too, Catherine reflected, as they crossed the street, Zach’s hand firmly tucked in hers. For while she’d admired Nathan’s painting, its menacing undertones had disturbed her. As the gallery owner had suggested, there were layers to his piece. It wasn’t just about an approaching storm. It was about looming, unseen threats. And endangered innocence.

But what did it all mean in relation to Nathan?

That question burned in Catherine’s mind—and in her heart—as they headed out of town on Surfside Road. Somehow, she sensed this painting held the key to Nathan’s past. And she wanted to know more.

But she doubted her curiosity would ever be satisfied. Because no way did she intend to tell him she’d visited the gallery. It would suggest she was interested in him beyond their employer-employee relationship. And she wasn’t.

Was she?

As that disturbing question echoed in her mind, a horn blared to her right, and she jammed on her brakes. Too late. She was already halfway across the intersection. Accelerating, she got out of the way. Fast. And hoped there weren’t any cops nearby.

“Hey, Mom, weren’t you supposed to stop at the corner?” Zach twisted around to look back at the crossroads.

“Yes, honey. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Nathan says you should always pay attention when you’re doing something important, or you can make mistakes. Maybe even get hurt.”

The man was right. Those were the exact things she wanted to avoid in her car.

And with him.

“That’s true, honey. I’ll be more careful next time.”

About everything, she resolved. And that meant avoiding any situation that could put a more personal slant on her relationship with the man she’d hired.

Like visits to art galleries.

Three days later, as Nathan was reattaching a loose baseboard in one of the guest bathrooms at what would soon be Sheltering Shores Inn, a woman’s scream pierced the air.

Catherine’s.

Dropping his hammer, he vaulted to his feet and took off running.

He met her in the breezeway as she stumbled out the screen door, her eyes awash with terror.

“Catherine, what is it?”

She pushed past him, heading for the door that led into the backyard. “Zach’s hurt. Oh, God, please! I can’t lose him, too!” The anguished cry was torn right from her heart.

He was on her heels as she choked out the words, and once past the door, a quick survey of the yard told him she wasn’t overreacting. Zach lay on his back on the ground beside the split-rail fence, an overturned bucket beside him.

And he wasn’t moving.

Leaving Catherine behind, Nathan sprinted toward the child, doing his best to rein in his own panic.

But it was a losing battle.

Partly because he hated to see any child hurt.

And partly because he was the one who’d sent Zach out to the backyard—unsupervised—to empty a bucket of dirty water he hadn’t wanted to pour down the newly cleaned
porcelain in the bathrooms. If anything happened to her son, Catherine would never forgive him.

Nathan got to Zach first and went down on one knee beside him. The little boy stared up at him, wide-eyed, struggling to breathe.

The immediate problem was easy for Nathan to diagnose. Zach had had the wind knocked out of him. You got to know a lot about that kind of stuff from street fights.

He hoped that was all that was wrong.

Catherine dropped to the ground beside him. He could feel her shaking as she reached out to her son. “Zach, honey, lay still, okay?”

At her shaky words, Zach looked at her. The alarm in his eyes ratcheted up another notch.

Her panic was exacerbating the situation.

“Catherine, let me deal with this.” Without waiting for her assent, Nathan took Zach’s hand, refocusing the little boy’s attention on him. “Hey, Zach. You’re fine. You just knocked all the wind out of your lungs when you fell, and they’re surprised. But they’ll start working again in a minute.” He strove for a calm, soothing tone and forced his stiff lips to curve into a smile.

“I…can’t…”

Nathan pressed a gentle finger to Zach’s lips as the little boy tried to gasp out a few words. “Don’t talk for a minute, okay? Let your lungs concentrate on breathing instead of making words. I bet you feel like a whole bunch of bricks are sitting on your chest, don’t you?”

The youngster gave a nod and clung to his hand, his fingers small and trusting. Nathan swallowed past the lump that rose in this throat. “I bet you decided to climb up on that fence to check out how far you could see, didn’t you?”

Another nod.

“I did that once. I slipped and fell on my back, too. I couldn’t breathe, either, at first. It was real scary.” Nathan didn’t tell him it was a tall chain-link fence. Or that he was an adult up to no good. Or that the cops were closing in on him. “You know, I was thinking that before I come out tomorrow to finish up in the bathroom, maybe I’ll swing by Downyflake and pick up a few doughnuts. Would you like that?”

“Yeah.”

The youngster’s respiration was beginning to even out, Nathan noted, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

“Okay. Sugar?”

“Yeah. They’re the best.”

“You got it, champ.” He smiled and stroked the little boy’s hand. “You breathing better now?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Does anything hurt? Your arms or your legs?”

Zach wiggled the extremities in question. “Nope.”

“Then you can get up. But slow, okay? Until we make sure everything else checks out.”

Slow
wasn’t in Zach’s vocabulary, as Nathan had learned early on, so he kept a firm grip on him as the boy stood. Then he gave him a swift but thorough appraisal. His color was good, he didn’t appear to be in any pain and his eyes were clear and focused.

Crisis averted.

The tension in Nathan’s shoulders eased.

Until Zach suddenly frowned. “Hey, Mom, are you sick?”

As Nathan shifted toward Catherine, his tension returned in a flash.

She was sitting on the ground beside him, her whole
body quivering. All the color had drained from her face, and a thin film of sweat had beaded on her upper lip. Her respiration was shallow, her eyes glassy. She looked like she was in shock.

The crisis with Zach might be over, but it was clear he now had another one on his hands.

Gripping her upper arms, he spoke in the same calm, gentle tone he’d used with Zach. “Catherine, it’s okay. Zach’s not hurt. Take a few deep breaths. Catherine?”

When he exerted a bit of pressure on her arms, she blinked and transferred her attention to him.

He tried for a smile as he put one arm around Zach and drew the boy close beside him. “Zach’s right here, Catherine. He’s fine. Come on, sweetheart, take a few deep breaths for me, okay?”

She blinked again. Drew one shuddering breath. Another. Some of the glassiness in her eyes dissipated.

“Good girl.”

“Is she sick, Nathan?”

At Zach’s worried question, Nathan hugged him. “No, champ. She was just worried about you. When you love someone a lot, you get scared if you think they might be hurt. Your mom loves you a whole bunch, so she got really scared when you fell.”

“But I’m okay.” He leaned over and touched Catherine’s cheek. “I’m not hurt, Mom. You don’t have to be scared.”

She grasped his hand. Closed her eyes as she pressed it against her cheek. Sucked in a lungful of air. Then pulled him into a fierce, tight embrace.

“Hey, Mom, you’re squeezing me to death!” Zach protested, squirming to free himself.

In the end, Nathan had to gently pry her hands off her
son. “You need to let him go, Catherine, so he can breathe,” he said softly.

When she at last relinquished her grip, Nathan smiled at the little boy. “What do you say we all go inside? I bet you wouldn’t mind having a cookie before you take your nap.”

“I had one after lunch.”

“I think I can talk your mom into letting you have another.” He winked at the youngster.

“Yeah?” His expression grew hopeful. “That would be good.”

“Okay. Let’s head in.” He stood, then took Catherine’s hand and drew her to her feet. Tremors continued to course through her, and he slipped an arm around her shoulders as he turned toward the house. Instead of protesting, as he feared she might, she leaned against him. On his other side, Zach reached for his hand.