Part 14 (1/2)

She flushed, but did not turn away. As he sat gazing at her, a blush rose up his neck to his cheeks.

”Here it is, Daddy!” Harry ran back into the room, brandis.h.i.+ng the checkbook.

”I have an idea,” Abbie said as Howell bent to write out the check. ”It's going to turn cloudy this afternoon. After I take Harry to the beach later on, why don't I come back and make some ca.s.seroles? I can make a mac and cheese for Harry and a lasagna for you, and they can last several nights.”

”I'd like that,” Howell told her.

Rain drizzled down the windowpanes and spattered against the house when the wind tossed it, and the sky had turned inky dark. Abbie turned on the lights in the Parkers' kitchen and she moved around with ease and confidence as she cooked. She loved the smell of sauteed onions and the rich swirl of tomato sauce. She hummed as she worked.

Harry lay on the floor, underneath the table, with his horses and some of the kitchen utensils. She'd suggested he make a pen with spoons and forks. Harry had been appalled at first--his mother didn't allow him to play with kitchenware. They'd get dirty. Abbie a.s.sured him everything could go into the dishwasher when the day was over.

Five o'clock came much sooner than she'd expected.

She returned to the living room. Howell was poring over a printout of numbers.

”Is it five o'clock already?” he asked.

”It is.” She didn't want to leave. She wanted to be turned to stone, to stand there forever, staring at the man.

No. Not stone. Not just staring.

”Abbie,” Howell said. ”Don't go. Stay. Have a drink with me. Have dinner with us.”

Behind her, Harry yelled, ”Yay! Stay, Abbie, stay!”

”Well ...” She had another babysitting job tonight, in town, at eight o'clock. She could bike there in fifteen minutes. ”And I could help Harry get ready for bed.”

”I'd love it if you'd stay,” Howell told her.

”All right,” she decided. She knew she was blus.h.i.+ng. ”I'll just ... check something in the kitchen.”

Because Harry was shadowing her, she took down the salad bowl and washed the lettuces and dried them in the spinner, but when he ran out of the room, she held her hands under running water, then splashed cold water on her face.

What do you think you're doing? she asked herself.

Just having dinner with an employer, she responded tartly.

Cooler, she returned to the living room. Harry was allowed to watch thirty minutes of a DVD before dinner because Sydney believed it calmed him down. He sat before the TV, completely engrossed. Abbie poured Howell a gla.s.s of red wine. When she brought it to him, Howell put his papers down and struggled up out of his slouch.

”Abbie, don't you want a gla.s.s of wine, too? And move that chair closer so we can talk without disturbing Harry.”

She brought the chair near him and poured herself a gla.s.s of wine. For a moment they sat together, listening to the rain beat against the windows, watching Harry stare at the DVD.

Howell asked, ”So, Abbie, were you born on the island?”

”I was. I'm a real true native. As we say, homegrown.”

”Lucky you. And you've always taken care of children?”

”Yes, well ... My mother died when I was fifteen. My younger sister Emma was thirteen but my baby sister, Lily, was only seven. So I pretty much raised her.”

”Oh, gosh, I'm sorry about your mother, Abbie. That's tough ...”

Abbie nodded and changed the subject. ”I love being with Harry. He's a really special little boy.”

Howell glanced over at his son. ”He is. I often wish I had more time to spend with him.”

”But you're here for him most of the time. And you're doing really important work.”

”You know, I believe I am. Especially after nine-eleven. This paper I'm working on outlines new guidelines and suggestions for minimizing the volume and toxicity of hazardous wastes in the workplace. For example, we can install more efficient chemical-fume hoods in our laboratories, and more efficient lighting.” Howell grew animated as he spoke. Cleary he was pa.s.sionate about his subject. ”Wait. Am I boring you?”

”Not at all,” Abbie answered truthfully. He could have been reciting the dictionary and she would have found him fascinating.

Obviously he was eager to talk about his work. He went on until Harry's DVD ended, and then he hobbled into the kitchen and chatted with his son as Abbie put dinner on the kitchen table. As they sat eating, he continued telling her about the proper disposal of hazardous materials and protecting the natural ecosystem. Abbie listened intently, trying to make sense of it all. If it mattered to him, she wanted to understand. She put out fresh fruit for dessert, but Harry was already yawning.

”I think it's time for his bath and bed,” she said.

”Right. Right. G.o.d, I've done it again, blathered away and bored my child to sleep.” Howell reached over to tousle his son's white curls. ”Hey, guy, why don't you let Abbie give you your bath. I'll come up and read you a book when you're in bed.”

Harry said obediently, ”Okay, Daddy.”

Abbie loved this time of the day. Loved the soothing tumble of the water into the bathtub and the restful scents of baby shampoo and soap. Loved wrapping Harry in a big, warm, soft towel, holding him on her lap as she rubbed his hair dry. Loved helping him into his pajamas--covered with running horses--and hearing his bare feet pad against the floor as he went into his bedroom. Harry knelt in front of his bookshelf to choose a book.

Abbie called down the stairs. ”Harry's ready for his book.”

She waited at the top of the stairs as Howell came hobbling up, one hand on the banister, the other holding on to his crutch. It seemed entirely natural for him, when he got to the top of the stairs, to put his arm around her shoulders for support. They went into Harry's room, Abbie aware of the living warmth of Howell all up and down, next to her side. He was taller than she was, and she was tall.

Harry was on the far side of the room, intently scanning books, his back to them. When they got to Harry's bed, Howell kept his arm around Abbie's shoulders. He looked down at her face. He didn't speak. He was close enough to kiss. The physical attraction between them was undeniable. She allowed the connection to last for a few moments, then pulled away.

She knelt next to the little boy. ”Harry? Have you found your book yet?”

”This one.” Harry held up a book with horses on the cover.

Howell said, ”Abbie, stay for a while.”

”I can't.” She met his glance. ”Really, I can't. I have another babysitting job.”

”Then tomorrow night?”

”I don't know,” she said. What was he asking her, really? She hugged the little boy and kissed his sweet-smelling head. ”Good night, Harry! I'll see you tomorrow!”

Harry hugged her tight. ”Good night, Abbie.”

She fled down the stairs and out of the house.

23.