Now That You Mention It
Page 76

With that, he left.
I hadn’t stolen the scholarship, after all.
In a bit of a fog, I stood up and got back into line, and there was Sullivan, smelling like sunshine and salt air and motor oil. His skin was brown, making his eyes look like hot fudge.
I didn’t steal the scholarship. I wasn’t responsible for that accident.
Sully had never blamed me...and now I could stop blaming myself.
“Hiya, handsome,” I said.
The corner of his mouth rose, and so did my entire reproductive system, reminding me that I’d had sex with this guy. Mediocre sex, sure, but there’d been a few flashes of greatness.
Maybe we should revisit that effort.
He stood very close to me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his skin beneath. Meow. He wasn’t wearing a baseball cap, either, God bless him.
“Can I buy you a coffee?” he asked.
“What? Excuse me? Say again?”
His smile widened. He said some words—let’s have sex on this table. Or no, I think that was just my brain.
“Sorry, what?” I said, clearing my throat.
He laughed. “I’m usually the one who can’t hear things.”
“I’m...I’m dazed with lust, it seems.”
His eyes wandered over me. “Is that right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” God. My legs were getting weak. I swayed and put my hand against his chest, feeling the sun-warmed T-shirt, the solid thump of his heart.
“Hey, hot stuff,” Xiaowen said, coming up to us.
“Hey, Xiaowen.”
“We’re fixing up Nora’s mom with that hottie over there.”
“I see.”
“You can tell it’s going well by the way she’s glaring at her child,” Xiaowen said.
I snapped out of my fog. “Right. I better... I better go back.”
“You free this weekend?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“God, you two,” Xiaowen said. “You need to work on your pillow talk. Sully, see you around. You’re doing Go Far, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” His eyes came back to me. “See you soon.”
“Okay.”
“Close your mouth, Nora. Bye, Sully.” Xiaowen took me by the arm and pulled me back to the table. “You’d better be tapping that, or I will,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah.” I could barely formulate a thought.
“Nora,” said my mother, her tone somewhere between You’re grounded, young lady and I’ve just put you up for adoption. “This poor man thinks I’m looking for a boyfriend. Came all the way out here to meet me.” She turned back to him. “Sorry you wasted your time, mister. Make my daughter pay for your ferry ride.” She stood, jammed her hands on her hips and said, “Get your butt home for dinner tonight.”
“Sounds fun,” I said. She glared. “Yes, ma’am,” I amended.
“Sorry again, pal,” she said to Richard. “Xiaowen, always nice to see you.”
My phone dinged—it was the clinic. I wasn’t on duty today, it being Friday, but this usually meant something big. “I have to go,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Richard.”
“Not at all,” he said graciously. “I’ve always meant to come out to Scupper Island.”
“I’ll walk you to the ferry,” Xiaowen said. “Don’t get any ideas. I talk a good game, but I’ve sworn off men.”
“At least tell me why over a drink.”
They left, flirting and chatting. My mother glared some more. “What the hell was that?”
“I have to get to the clinic.”
“Nice try. They’ll either die or get better, no matter what you do.”
“I have a slightly different attitude, being a doctor. Walk and talk, okay?” She stomped out in front of me; I’d walked here, and it was only five minutes to the clinic. “I confess, Mom. I want you to have someone in your life. Lily will be out soon, Poe will go back to Seattle, I’ll be back in Boston, and life on this island isn’t easy! Is it so wrong for me to worry about you?”
“Worry all you want!” she snapped. “Stop fixing me up! I’m fine the way I am. And don’t be late for dinner.”
* * *
I stashed Boomer with Amelia, who loved him, and saw the patient—a summer kid who’d scratched his cornea. Piece of cake, definitely something that could’ve been handled by Gloria, but she was all about making my life harder these days. I gave the mom the gel antibiotic, told the little guy to take it easy and went to the counter where Gloria sat, staring straight at the computer monitor, pretending I wasn’t there.
“Paperwork on the last patient. I’m surprised you needed to call, but I’m glad you did. Whenever you feel over your head, just give me a shout.” And take a bite, missy, I added mentally. It was the end of a long day, and I was itchy and scratchy from her shitty attitude.
I’d ridden my bike to work today, and it had been a great choice. There was something intimate and exhilarating about riding a bike through a town, even one I knew as well as mine. The pace was fast enough not to get into a conversation, slow enough to smell the good smells of burgers and some kind of dessert and someone’s pipe smoke, all made more intense by the salt air. Boomer loved it, too, since I was too slow for him on our runs, forcing him to trot. With the bike, he could canter alongside.
I stopped at the package store, once a dive with yellowing windows where serious alcoholics got their booze, now a rather lovely wine shop, and bought a bottle of pinot noir to bring to my mom’s, put the bottle in my basket and continued on.
I turned on Oak Street, where Sullivan lived. Hey, it was a legitimate through road. I slowed a little past his house. His truck wasn’t there (which was good, since I was stalking), but I didn’t know if Audrey was home or at the boatyard or maybe at Amy’s.
You could tell a lot about a person by where they choose to live. Sully’s house was quietly charming, well kept and fairly unadorned, just like the man himself.
It made me smile.
I kept riding, intending to go home, maybe (maybe) take a quick swim and then shower. It was getting warmer, and the sky, which had been pure blue two hours ago, was now filling with towering gray clouds. Thunderstorms were coming. I hoped I’d be home for them. I’d gotten to the point where I loved the rocking of my little houseboat, the flashes that lit up the cove and sky, the bolts that made me squeak and jump in my chair.
About forty feet from the top of the hill, where the road curved and steepened, my cell phone rang. “Dang it,” I said. I’d wanted to make it to the top without stopping, get my cardio and burn off that creamy iced coffee I’d had. Cholesterol, yo.
I pulled over under a pine tree and pulled my phone from my purse.
“Dr. Stuart, it’s James Gillespie.”
For a minute, I couldn’t remember who that was, but the Morgan Freeman voice clued me in. The private investigator I’d hired that day in Boston, the day I’d seen Voldemort.
“Hi! How are you?” I said.
“I’m fine. And yourself?”
“I’m good. Do you... Do you have anything?”
There was a pause. Never a good sign. “Well, yes and no. As you said in my office that day, your father’s name is extremely common. Without his Social Security number, it’s a bit of a crapshoot.”