Home to Harmony

Christine’s cheeks stung, as if she’d been slapped. He didn’t really mean that, but it still hurt. She tried to back away without being seen, but when he saw her, she knew she had to say something about the rule. “You already called today. You need to hang up.”

He covered the phone and gave her a desperate look. “This is all I have. Do you want me to go psycho?” He said into the phone, “Yeah, she’s making me hang up. I’m sorry. ’Bye.” He jerked to his feet, charged around the corner and slammed down the receiver. “Are you happy? You made my life a complete hell.”

Marcus was slicing the bread, so he’d heard.

“I’m simply asking you to keep your word, David.”

“No, you’re not. You hate Brigitte and you want to break us up. You can cut me off from everyone I care about, but you can’t change me. I’ll never be your perfect son with straight As and straight friends, on the student freaking council.”

“That’s not what I want and you know it.”

His eyes flashed with a hatred that scared her. “I don’t have to stay here, you know. I can leave.”

“That wouldn’t solve anything.” This was the first time he’d threatened to run away and it terrified her.

“If I found my father it would.”

“What?” Skip was the last thing David needed at the moment. Angry, flaky and mean, Skip would break David’s heart for sure.

“Just because you won’t look for him, doesn’t mean I can’t.” Skip’s bad credit history meant he never had a listed number, thank God, but still…

“That’s not what you want, David,” she said as kindly as she could manage.

“You don’t know what I want.” He brushed past her, pausing when he noticed Marcus holding the tray of bread, then barreled out the back door.

She wanted to go after him, but she knew better. David needed to cool off before they talked. Talked. Right. It had become a pointless exercise. He stonewalled every question. Christine fought despair.

“I can take over,” she said to Marcus, putting her hands beneath the tray, enjoying the comfort of his warm fingers for an instant. She liked that his face showed neither pity nor embarrassment over the outburst.

Together they served the dessert and when it was over started on the dishes, since cooking means cleanup was a commune rule. She tried to stay cheerful, but David’s anger was wearing her down. She’d begun to become discouraged.

“I’m sorry you heard that fight,” she said, glancing at Marcus. “Living with his father would be a disaster for David.”

“‘The grass always seems greener…’”

“More folk-saying therapy?” She couldn’t quite smile. “You probably think it’s bad that I won’t let him see his father, but if you knew Skip…”

“You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Christine.”

“He would break David’s heart.” She scrubbed fiercely at the plate she was cleaning, then plopped it into the rinsing sink so hard that water splashed Marcus’s face. “Sorry, sorry.” She brushed away the drops from his smooth cheek.

“I’m fine, Christine,” he said, low and reassuring, catching her hand in his.

The touch felt so good, she just stood there letting him hold her hand and look into her eyes, sending calm all the way through her.

She blew out a breath, then went back to the dishes, more gently this time. “Skip calls now and then, drunk or stoned, wanting to connect with David. I used to set up a day and time for him, but he always bailed. Thank God I never told David in advance. The man is an overgrown child, so distractible, with a scary temper—” She wiped a blob of lentils from a plate.

“Lately, I just let the machine take his calls.” A month before, he’d left her his most recent number and address.

She paused for Marcus to comment, but he kept rinsing and stacking, allowing her to fill the silence if she chose.

“Even if Skip did show up, he’d throw out pie-in-the-sky promises, then break them. David is too vulnerable now.”

She stopped washing and turned to him. “Don’t you think waiting until he’s eighteen is better? He’ll have more maturity to put the hurt in perspective and by then he’ll be done hating me.” She managed a half smile.

“Are you asking for my professional opinion again?”

“Would you give it to me? In an emergency?”

“I’m in no position to give advice,” he said. A shadow crossed his face and she realized her request disturbed him more than he had let on. “Want to hand me those?” he said, indicating the dishes she’d let pile up while she talked.

She wanted to ask him about that, but he was sending out leave-it-alone signals like mad, so she stuck to the dishes, glancing at him now and then. He had such a strong face—straight nose, solid jaw and a great mouth, sensual and masculine. His hair brushed his collar, as if he’d been too busy for a haircut and he smelled of a lime aftershave with a hint of sandalwood.

His presence calmed her, as well as the slow, sure movements of his strong hands. He was so quiet. “If I didn’t talk, would you ever break the silence?” she finally said.

“Excuse me?” He stopped rinsing and looked at her.

“You hardly ever talk,” she said.

“When I need to, I do.”

“So is it that after all those years of listening to people bitch and moan, you’ve had enough?”

His mouth twitched. She’d amused him. That felt like a prize.

“Meanwhile, I hate silence. I say whatever comes into my head. I’m probably annoying the hell out of you, huh?”

“No. I enjoy you. Kitchen duty is flying by.”

“That’s flattering. I’m more amusing than greasy plates.”

He laughed, looking almost boyish. “I didn’t mean it quite like that, no.”

“You have a great laugh,” she said. “You should do it more.”

He pondered that. “You think I’m too serious?”

“At times, I guess. But I like how you are, Marcus.” She touched his forearm and felt another, stronger frisson of desire. “You’re…soothing.”

“I soothe you?” He lifted an eyebrow, looking wry. “That’s not exactly flattering, either.”

“Well, you have other effects on me, too,” she said softly, moving closer. “The opposite of soothing.”

“I see.” Heat sparked in his eyes, but only for an instant. Then his eyes went sad, almost haunted, and she sucked in a breath. Something awful had happened to Marcus. She wondered if she’d ever find out what it was.

CHAPTER FOUR

MARCUS LEFT THE KITCHEN as soon as the dishes were done, saying he needed to work on his book, but he was clearly avoiding more sexual byplay or, perhaps, thoughts of the old hurt he’d remembered. Possibly his ex-wife?