Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay)

chapter Fourteen



Is there anything as sexy as a woman nursing?”

Lacey rolled her eyes and shifted on her pillow, shooting her husband a look. “Yeah, a woman sleeping.”

“Seriously, Lace, I always thought those amazing breasts of yours were for form, not function.”

She smiled and brushed his hair affectionately, sliding a long strand behind his ears. “You’re such an architect, Clay.”

“And I’m a father.” Pride rolled through every word, and even in the darkened bedroom, Lacey could see the moisture in his eyes.

“A darn good one,” she said.

“That remains to be seen.”

She gently elbowed him and he let himself fall to the pillow. “You’re a great stepfather to Ashley.”

“I try, but…”

“Hey, she’s a sixteen-year-old girl who’s never been easy to raise. She totally loves and trusts you. And…” She leaned over to kiss his cheek. “So do I.”

He looked up, a sly smile on his face as he twirled a lock of her hair. “I miss you, Strawberry.”

“It’s going to be a few more weeks.”

“Oh, hell, I’m not complaining.” He scooched closer to the baby. “Elijah’s worth every sacrifice, personal, physical, financial, professional.”

“That’s why God makes them so cute, so you’ll give up everything else for them.”

“He sure made this one cute.”

“And asleep,” Lacey whispered. “Can you get him into the cradle without waking him?”

“Of course I can. Unplug the little monster and I’ll toss him in.”

She smiled as she eased the baby’s mouth away from her breast and exhaled with relief and exhaustion as Clay took over. Expertly he lifted Elijah, patting his tiny back until he let out a belch.

“That’s my boy.” Clay slid out of bed to lay the child in the cradle a foot away.

Leaving her pajama top open to let her sore, cracked nipples dry, Lacey fought the first wave of sleep that threatened. She wanted five more minutes to talk to Clay. Just five more minutes to kiss and exchange—

Clay stood straight up from the cradle. “What was that?”

“Shhh. That’s the sound of silence. Enjoy it.”

He shook his head, his whole body on alert as he made his way to the closed door.

“Someone’s walking around.”

Lacey sat up. “Do you think Evan woke up?”

A light knock on the door answered that question. “Mrs. Walker? I can’t sleep.”

“Oh, boy,” Clay said.

“Two of them, in fact,” Lacey replied. “Get one asleep, and another wakes up. Let him in, Clay.” Lacey quickly pulled her top closed and adjusted herself, any possibility of sleep nothing but a sweet dream now.

“Hey, bud.” Clay opened the door, crouching down to Evan’s height, giving Lacey’s heart a little tug of appreciation and love. He really was going to be an amazing dad. “You need water? Trip to the boys’ room? Midnight snack?”

“I’m worried about Aunt Pasha.”

Lacey sat up completely. “We all are, honey, but she’s in really good hands. She’s in your dad’s hands, so what could be better?”

“I really want to go home.”

“Home to…” Chicago? The Ritz? Where was home for him?

“That house we moved into. I want to see my dad. And Zoe.”

The fact that he was already attached to Zoe ignited a little flame of hope in Lacey that maybe something could actually work out for her and the single father.

Clay stood. “If you’re dad’s back, I’ll take you down there, bud. Not a problem. But if he’s still at the hospital, you need to stay here, okay?”

“Let me call and see if I can reach Zoe,” Lacey said quickly, scooting out of bed and reaching for her cell phone. “You guys stay here and if you wake that baby, prepare to die.”

Clay gave Evan a fake scared look, which made him laugh, and again Lacey’s heart swelled with love. “Thanks,” she whispered on her way out, tiptoeing down the hall to shoot a text to Zoe. A few seconds later her phone vibrated a response.

Zoe Tamarin: We’ll come & get him in 10 min…need to talk to you. Tonight. Impt.

Tessa had texted from the hospital that Pasha was better but spending the night there. What was so important that… Lacey sighed. Sleep was nothing but a memory.

In the bedroom, she found Clay at the window with Evan, getting a brief astronomy lesson.

“Actually, that star moves every twenty-five thousand years or so,” Evan said, “but not enough that we can see it.”

Clay looked down at him, shaking his head. “You’re ready for college, you know that?”

“My mom already has me signed up for some special classes at the University of Chicago,” he said, more resignation than pride in his voice.

“You don’t want to go?” Clay asked.

He shrugged. “I just want to be normal.”

“Who doesn’t?” Lacey teased.

He turned around. “You sounded like Zoe when you said that. I like her,” he added wistfully.

“Then I have good news,” Lacey interjected softly. “Your dad and Zoe are on the way. Pasha’s being kept overnight for the doctors to watch her, but she’s doing much better.”

He nodded, then frowned, thinking. “My dad and Zoe really like each other.”

“Well, they’ve known each other a long time.”

“Two or three days.”

“More like ten years, I think.”

“Ten years?” Evan’s voice rose in shock.

“Shhh.” Lacey put her fingers to her lips, but it was too late. Elijah stirred and Lacey’s heart dropped. Still, she was a little relieved for the distraction. She’d clearly gone into not-yet-covered ground for this kid. “Let’s go wait for them by the front door, okay? Clay will stay with the baby.”

A few minutes later, the growl of a sports-car engine and the harsh glare of halogen lights cut through the darkness of Barefoot Bay as Oliver’s Porsche rolled into the driveway. Zoe was out before the engine was off, instinctively reaching for Evan.

“Hey, kid.”

He didn’t run forward but stiffened a little, waiting until his father got out and walked around the car. “Keeping pretty bad hours, Ev.”

He shrugged and walked by Zoe, stiffly enough that she inched back in surprise. “You okay?”

“I’m tired,” he said, whining enough to prove that no matter what their IQ, eight-year-olds can get cranky.

Zoe turned to Oliver. “Take him home and I’ll stay here.”

His disappointment was palpable. “Are you sure? Don’t go to your bungalow alone.”

“You can stay here, Zoe,” Lacey said quickly, stepping forward, getting a grateful look from her and a quick glance from Oliver. “Whatever you want.”

Zoe put her hand on Oliver’s chest. “This has been hard on Evan, too. Take him back and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

His gaze flickered over her face, intense enough that Lacey felt like she should back away, as if the moment was private.

Oliver reached out to brush Zoe’s cheek, making the exchange even more intimate. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

She nodded, and as he walked away they held each other’s gaze. “Thank you,” Zoe mouthed.

Lacey caught his final look, saying nothing until his car pulled out. Then she stepped next to Zoe. “A person’s hair could fry from all the electricity out here,” she whispered.

Zoe, her gaze on the disappearing lights of the sports car, barely smiled. Lacey waited for the smart-ass quip, the sex joke or bit of sarcasm.

But Zoe turned to her, an expression of pain and fear changing her normally bright and happy features to something Lacey barely recognized. Behind her, lights bathed the driveway again, and Lacey and Zoe turned to see Tessa and Jocelyn jump out of a car the second it stopped.

“I got your text,” Tessa said to Zoe when they came inside. “And I thought you were going home with Oliver.”

“I changed my mind,” Zoe said, looking from one to the other. “I think what I really want to do is…” She took a slow, deep breath, the only other sound the splash of the Gulf waves in the distance and a chorus of cicadas. “Something I should have done a long, long time ago. I want to tell you guys a story about a girl named Bridget Lessington.”

“Who the hell is that?” Tessa asked.

Zoe turned to her, eyes brimming with tears as she tried to smile, but her lips quivered. “You’re looking at her.”





Evan was dead silent on the way home and trudged upstairs without much of a good night. Oliver chalked it up to sleep deprivation, which was taking its toll on him as well.

Collapsing on his bed, he wished like hell Zoe had stayed and was next to him. Under him. Wrapped around him.

Except he’d had his chance with Zoe—naked and swimming and begging for company.

What the hell was wrong with him? He certainly wanted her body, wanted her…

That’s what was wrong with him. He wanted her. More than anything.

He didn’t want to be her human vibrator. He didn’t want to be her escape or distraction or f*ck du jour.

She hadn’t been with anyone in four years?

Well, he’d done nothing but go through the motions of sex with a woman he barely liked, let alone loved, for the past nine years. There’d been no one else, not one single indiscretion, since the day he’d left Zoe’s house and driven to Adele’s, his decision made.

Thank you, but he’d had enough meaningless sex to last him a lifetime. If he needed to get his rocks off, he’d do what he had to do. He was old enough, smart enough, and lonely enough to know what he wanted.

“Dad?”

He reached up and turned on the light, blinking into the brightness. “What’s the matter, son?” His heart thudded when he saw that Evan had been crying. “Shit,” Oliver mumbled.

“Exactly.”

He almost smiled. “Come on.” He patted the bed. “Sleep down here for what’s left of the night.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Evan scrambled onto the oversize California king, slipping right under the covers. “I miss Mom,” he admitted, his voice sounding very small.

Evan might be a genius, but he was still a little boy who had been thrown into a situation he didn’t understand, and his mother was an ocean away. And if Oliver, of all people, didn’t get that, then he didn’t deserve to have even part-time custody.

“That’s perfectly understandable, Ev. It’s going to be daytime in Europe soon. Do you want to call her?”

He thought about that for a minute, squirming a little, as if the need for sleep was wreaking havoc on his little body. “I thought about it, just to ask her…”

“Ask her what?”

He screwed up his features, clearly building nerve, but Oliver had no idea what for.

“Was Zoe the girl Mom used to talk about?”

Son of a bitch. Why had Adele told Evan about this history? How could a child understand? “What girl?” he asked, even though he knew.

“She said you had a girlfriend before her and you still liked her even though you married Mom.”

How the hell did he answer this? He wouldn’t lie, but he didn’t want to paint Zoe as some kind of home-wrecker. The whole thing was too much for Evan, no matter what his brainpower.

“Well.” Oliver dragged the word out a good two seconds. “If you mean did I know Zoe before your mom and I got married, yes.”

“And did you like her more than Mom?”

Like. Now there was an understatement. “I liked her…differently. But I had to make a choice.”

“Because of Grandpa?”

Oliver frowned. “What does your grandfather have to do with it?”

“Mom said that you married her because Grandpa Walter made you.”

Actually, Adele’s father wasn’t exactly thrilled that his daughter walked down the aisle with a baby on the way. But he’d always liked Oliver enough to forgive him the mistake, and he’d paid for a country-club wedding with all the trimmings despite the fact that it was rushed to accommodate Adele’s growing belly.

At the reception, Walter had taken Oliver to the side and offered him a career-changing position at the hospital, focusing on administration and grooming him as the next CEO of Mount Mercy.

Oliver had accepted the position, because, with a baby on the way, it was the right thing to do.

“Grandpa Walter didn’t make me do anything.”

“But she told me. She said Grandpa tried to kill you.”

He choked back a laugh. “No, Evan, he never tried to kill me.”

“Then why did she say he had a shotgun at your wedding?”

He did? Oh, of course. Realization dawned, and he knew why Evan thought that. “Did she use the expression ‘a shotgun wedding,’ by any chance?”

He nodded. “I figured it was because Grandpa would kill you if you didn’t marry her.”

“That’s more or less what that means, but it’s just an expression. It doesn’t mean he literally had a shotgun there.”

“I didn’t think Grandpa Walter owned a gun.”

He smiled. “I doubt it, too.” He patted Evan’s shoulder. “It’s all history and it doesn’t matter anymore. Your mom and I both love you and that’s all that really—”

“So what does it mean, a shotgun wedding?”

Oliver stared at him. He could lie. He could make something up, like you would with any normal eight-year-old, but this was Evan. He’d Google the expression in the morning anyway. “It means that…”

Hadn’t he ever done the math? Or did his young mind not work that way yet, despite its advanced capabilities?

“Your mom was already pregnant with you, Evan. And that’s an old expression that means the mom was going to have a baby before the couple actually got married.”

He waited for the reaction, which, with Evan, could range from innocent shock to a lecture on the gestation period of the mammal.

Evan didn’t react at all, though. He turned away and looked up at the ceiling, saying nothing.

“So, you can stop worrying about Grandpa Walter shooting me.”

“Okay.”

Oliver gave his arm a pat. “This is serious stuff for the middle of the night, son. I don’t think we’ve ever talked about anything more serious than the weather.”

Evan gave him a sly smile. “Which is serious stuff.”

A rush of love almost choked him. His son had a sense of humor, a heart of gold, and a hunger to know everything. Zoe was right. All he had to do was relax and parenting came naturally.

Turning, Evan wrapped his arms around the pillow, a sleepy smile working on his mouth. “Pasha’s right. You and Zoe should get married.”

Just when he thought he had things under control. “Pasha said that to you?”

“When we were playing Rat Screws,” he said. “You guys were gone a long time and she said something like that. I don’t think she knew I heard her, but I did.”

Oliver blew out a breath and stole a look at the clock. “Hey, it’s almost three-thirty. Can we table this until I get some sleep? I have to be a doctor tomorrow.”

“If you tell me a story.”

Oliver could have cried. “You’re kidding, right?”

Evan looked at him. “A good one. Like when you were my age.”

“When I was your age, I…” Had a perfectly normal life in Wilmington, Delaware, with a dad who went to work every day as an engineer at DuPont and a mother who laughed a lot and played a lot and had a crazy streak that made her do impulsive things. “I liked to ride my bike a lot.”

“Where’d you ride?”

“You know, the usual. School, the baseball park, library.”

He lifted his head, shocked. “You were allowed to ride your bike to school when you were eight? I’m not.”

“Different world. Is this a story or an inquisition?”

Evan smiled. “Story. Tell me the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“You,” he said without hesitation.

“Okay, the worst.”

He knew that without hesitation, too. But he wouldn’t tell his son. That wasn’t exactly a bedtime story. He reached for the light, switching it off and bathing them in darkness.

“I broke my arm jumping off a cliff near a graveyard.”

The sheets rustled as Evan sat up again. “Nuh-uh! You? You never do anything that fun.”

“Damn it, Evan, I’m going to rid you of that notion if it kills me. I love fun.”

A soft giggle was the only response.

“I’m going to prove it, too,” he added. “I just haven’t figured out how yet.” He thought for a moment. “Anyway, the cliff. I was sailing along at about twenty miles an hour on my bike and there was this kid who dared me to jump a cliff and, man, if that isn’t a lesson not to pay attention to idiots, I don’t know what is. So guess what happened?”

Silence.

He leaned over and heard the steady breathing of an exhausted child.

Lying back on his own pillow, Oliver stared up into the darkness, a maelstrom of emotions zipping through him.

Why was it so hard to do this most of the time? Was it because Adele had been around and he didn’t think Evan needed him? Was it because he didn’t really understand this complex child with an adult’s brain and a kid’s soul?

Or was it because Evan reminded Oliver of himself?

The truth thudded in his chest.

And next year, when Evan turned nine, he’d be the same age Oliver was when his perfectly normal life crumbled and everything he believed to be true turned out to be a lie.

The day Oliver had come home to an empty house and climbed up the stairs, then up to the attic…then felt the whole world fall away.

Zoe’s voice echoed. I have to have an escape route…In fact, I’m terrified if I don’t have one.

There wasn’t anything that scared Oliver more than a woman desperate to escape.