Spencer's Child

“What?”

“Live with us. Doesn’t he like us?” Davis dropped the car and picked up a toy sword. He began banging it on the floor.

“This isn’t his home, sweetheart, you know that—Please stop banging. I don’t think he’s ever had a real home. But if he knew about you, I know he’d love you just as much as I do.” She mentally crossed her fingers and wondered, as she often did, if that was true.

“How come you didn’t tell him about me?” There was just about as much hurt as there could be in his small voice. Bang, bang, bang, went the sword on the carpeted floor.

She took the sword off him. He picked up a plastic baseball bat and started banging it, instead.

“I tried to tell him, years ago. I...couldn’t get through.”

The first time had been the summer after her third year, on the ship-to-shore radio. But when she’d realized bored fishermen all over the Pacific Northwest were listening in, the words had choked in her throat. Then, when she was eight months along, she’d called him in Seattle where he was doing his masters degree. Before she could mention the baby, he’d started talking about scholarships and a Ph.D. at a prestigious university. It wasn’t the thought of screwing up his life that had held her tongue, although that had been a consideration. It was the excitement in his voice when he talked about moving on. New location, new research topic, new everything. Girlfriend, too, undoubtedly. Meg had guts but apparently not enough.

It wasn’t Spencer’s fault that her family, particularly her mother, had never forgiven her for dropping out of university to have his baby. Nor was it his fault Davis was growing up with only her gay housemate for a male role model. None of it was his fault. And all of it was.

Not a day went by when she didn’t think of him. Not a trip to the university when she didn’t look for him around every corner even though she knew he’d left the country years ago. Hopeless. Futile. Pathetic. It was a good thing she was over him.

The banging of the plastic bat tore at her nerves. “Stop.”

“I want to learn to play baseball,” Davis said, grudgingly relinquishing the bat. “Tommy’s dad plays catch with him.”

“I’ll teach you. When we get home tonight we’ll toss the ball around, okay?” She gave Davis another hug and got to her feet. “It’s just you and me, kid, better get used to it. Come on. Your oatmeal is almost ready.”

“First I’m going to see Charlie.”

Charlie, the lizard. Meg watched Davis race down the hall, through the kitchen to the laundry room, his socks flapping loosely in front of his toes. Pull up your socks, she wanted to. shout, but didn’t. The time would come soon enough when Davis had no choice but to pull them up, figuratively speaking. Please, God, give my boy an understanding teacher.

She was stirring the oatmeal again when Patrick sailed into the kitchen. His brush cut was shiny with gel, his shoes spit-shined to a high gloss, and his beige navy uniform pressed to a knife-edge. “Good morning, sweetcheeks,” he said, giving her a peck on the forehead. “Davis all right?”

“He’s fine. Just a minor skirmish with his buttons.”

“Good. Now, how do I look?” Patrick spun on his toes, arms outstretched. “I’ve got an interview with the selection committee today, and I’m that far away from promotion.” He held his thumb and forefinger a quarter of an inch apart.

“You look terrific.” She put down the wooden spoon to tweak his tie a little straighter. “I just love a man in uniform.”

“So do I, sweetie. So do I,” he replied with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Meg laughed. “You’re terrible. But I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably slit your little wrists.” Patrick turned as Davis came into the kitchen with Charlie cradled in his hands. “I’m in the galley tonight, champ. What would you like for dinner?”

“Hot dogs!” Davis opened his hands and the reptile began to crawl over his sleeve toward his neck.

Patrick planted his fists on his hips. “You simply must expand your repertoire, mister. But discipline’s your mom’s department. Hot dogs, it is. I’ll make Caesar salad for us.” he added to Meg.

“Patrick You know I’m trying to establish a pattern of one meal for all.”

Patrick turned puppy-dog eyes on her. They always made her cave. As he well knew.

“Oh, all right. Since you’re cooking, you get to choose.”

They might as well be married the way they argued over Davis’s upbringing. She had the final say of course, but she couldn’t squash all of Patrick’s many indulgences.

“Davis,” she said, turning to her son, “get Charlie out of your collar and back in his cage. Then run and wash your hands. You don’t want lizard slime in your oatmeal.”

“Lizards aren’t slimy, Mom. Sheesh!” But he plucked the reptile off his neck and returned to the laundry room where the less socially acceptable of his pets were housed, his feet dragging in exaggerated slow motion. Just to let her know he was complying under duress.

Through the open door, Meg watched him put Charlie away. “Keep going,” she said, stepping across to where she could see the hall to make sure he didn’t get sidetracked on the way to the bathroom.

Patrick clucked his tongue as he put the kettle on to boil. “Ease up on the boy,” he said, measuring ground Colombian into the coffee plunger. “Watching his every move like a hawk won’t teach him self-reliance.”

Meg dropped a handful of raisins into the oatmeal and turned down the heat. “Oh, Patrick, you know what he’s like.”

“Vividly. But you can’t be the earth, moon and stars to the child. You need a break before school starts. Why don’t you let me look after him for a couple of days while you pamper yourself with a weekend at the Empress Hotel?”

“You know I can’t afford that.”

Even if she could afford a weekend at the Empress, she wouldn’t go. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Patrick’s life-style; he was just way too lenient. Davis constantly pushed the limits. He needed a firm hand. He needed stability, continuity and routine. He needed to know where he stood every moment of the day. She could just imagine how spun out her son would be after a couple of days with Patrick giving him whatever his heart desired. If only she could call on her mother.... But there was no use wishing.

The telephone began to ring again.

Meg reached for the cordless phone and, still stirring the oatmeal, tucked it under her chin while she opened the fridge to get some milk. “Hello?”

Noel hopped out of his open cage above the kitchen counter and onto her shoulder. “Hello?” he squawked in her other ear.

“Get away.” She brushed at the bird and it flew to the top of the fridge. “Sorry, not you,” she said into the receiver. Behind her she could hear Davis rummaging through the cupboard. The kettle began to hiss. “Hello? Is anybody there?”

A man cleared his throat. “May I speak to Meg McKenzie?”

Her hand froze on the wooden spoon. Spencer. She’d know his deep voice anywhere, anytime. The pale yellow walls of the kitchen seemed to swirl. The sounds around her faded away. Without warning she was snatched from the mundane activities of breakfast and dropped, like a stone through water, into the past. She was sinking, fast.

“Who is this?” she whispered hoarsely, buying time. What could he be calling for now, after all these years?

“Spencer...” He paused. “Spencer Valiella.”

A prickling chill ran from behind her ears and down her arms. Glancing up, she saw Patrick’s round hazel eyes regarding her avidly. She turned away so he couldn’t see her face, which she was sure must be pale.

“Dr. Ashton-Whyte from the university asked me to call you,” Spencer went on, as though speaking to a stranger. “I’m taking over Dr. Campbell’s position—I assume you know he had a stroke?”

His words caused a roaring in her ears. Spencer, it’s me you’re talking to. “Yes. I—I went to see him in the hospital.”

There was a pause, then he said slowly, “I used to know a Meg McKenzie—about seven years ago. She did the best biological illustrations I’ve ever seen.”

He did remember. If she shut her eyes she could almost imagine she was hearing his voice in the dark—

“Mom! Can I have my oatmeal? I’m starving.”

Davis. Meg felt her spine go cold. Spinning around, she held a finger against her lips to shush him, then hurried over to spoon oatmeal into his bowl.

With her free hand pressed to her other ear, she walked back into the kitchen and said quietly into the receiver, “Thank you. Spencer.”

Silence while she listened to the sound of her thudding heart and shallow breath.

“Meg,” he said at last, “so it is you. I couldn’t believe it at first. How are you?”

“Fine. Just fine.” Unexpectedly anger coursed through her, bringing the blood back to her cheeks. She was not fine. He’d made love to her, then left town without even saying goodbye.

“I had no idea you would be taking over Dr. Campbell’s position,” she said, covering her anger with an artificially bright voice, taking refuge from hurt by reverting to her preppy self of seven years ago. Before Davis. Before poverty. Before the falling out with her mother.

“I’ve kept in touch with Doc over the years,” Spencer said. “He knew I was available and suggested to Ashton-Whyte I’d be suitable for the job. I’ll be an assistant professor, not a full professor like Doc, but I can live with that.”

He’d kept in touch with Dr. Campbell. But not with her. Meg gripped the telephone, trying not to weep with anger and frustration and hurt. When she thought of all the nights she’d lain awake and fantasized about an emotional reunion. Idiot.

“Well, you certainly know your cetaceans,” she replied, still in that overbright tone reminiscent of her mother’s garden-club voice.

“Have you decided on a topic?”

“Topic? Oh, you’re talking about my thesis.” She didn’t mean anything to him. Never had. “I’ve got some ideas I was going to discuss with Dr. Campbell.”

“I guess you’ll be discussing them with me, instead.”

It hit her then. She was not only talking to Spencer, she would soon see him. And not only see him, but work with him on a daily basis. Meg groped for a chair and lowered herself into it. Davis spooned oatmeal into his mouth and watched her, wide-eyed. Patrick set a cup of coffee in front of her.

“So you’ll be my honors supervisor?”

“If you have no objection.”

“Do I have a choice?” She laughed to show she was joking, but it sounded thin.

“Not if you want to work with killer whales.”

Nothing was going to stop her from working with killer whales. Not even Spencer Valiella. Then she thought about why he’d said that, the reason he was there at all. Dr. Campbell had been the only-marine mammalogist in the department. “Won’t Dr. Campbell be coming back to work?”

“The doctors don’t know yet how permanent the damage is. Right now, he’s got some paralysis down his right side, but he’s recovering well. I only expect to be here until Christmas.”

“Oh.” Dear God. Did she feel hope or disappointment? Where Spencer was concerned she’d known too much of both.

“Meg, why are you doing your honors now? Seven years later?”

The answer was sitting there at the kitchen table,. licking milky droplets from the side of his mouth. She was going to have to tell him about Davis. But it wasn’t something she could blurt over the phone. After all this time of wishing he could know his son, and vice versa, she was suddenly terrified of them meeting.

“I guess we’d better make a time to discuss my thesis,” she said, evading his question. “I’ll be up at the university today to register.”

“I just got into town. I need some sleep before I can think coherently. How about this afternoon in Doc’s office? Say, three o’clock?”

“Two o’clock would be better. I’ve, uh, got something I have to pick up around three.”

“Fine. I’ll see you then.”

The phone slipped from her cold fingers into its cradle. She wiped a hand across her forehead and felt the perspiration. She was not disappointed he hadn’t declared his long-lost love.

Over at the sink, Patrick was rinsing his bowl. “What was that all about?” he said. “And don’t you tell me ‘nothing’ sweetcheeks, because I know it’s something. Something big.”

She frowned and tilted her head toward Davis. “Later.”

Patrick’s eyes widened. “Say no more. But I’ll be home early tonight and I’ll expect a full report.”

Meg rose shakily. “Time to wash up, Davis. We’re late.”

To her relief, her son complied without argument for once and went roaring down the hall doing his White Rabbit impression. “I’m late. I’m late. For a very important date. I’m late....”

CHAPTER TWO

SPENCER TURNED LEFT off the ring road that circled the campus and swung into the faculty parking lot tucked behind the biology building. He parked away from the handful of other cars that dotted the lot and sat there a moment, picturing himself as a permanent member of the department. If. Doc decided to take early retirement, Spencer’d have a good shot at the job.

But when he tried to imagine coming here every day, month after month, year after year, the thought sent a cold shiver down his spine. He had to fight the urge to restart the car and head down to the bay with his kayak. To be on the water, alone with the cormorants and the killer whales and the thing inside him that kept him moving.

Spencer pulled his keys out of the ignition. It was too late to run. He’d committed himself, if only temporarily. He threw on a black suit jacket over his T-shirt and jeans and grabbed his battered leather briefcase from the back seat. Kicking the door shut behind him, he strolled along the path to the biology building.

Spencer pushed through the heavy glass doors. Doc’s office was on his immediate right, but he continued down the wide empty corridor, his footsteps echoing as he walked past doors that led to classrooms or labs or offices. His eyes narrowed and the hall seemed to swarm with ghosts of students past, as distant and separate from him now as they were then.

At the end of the corridor he turned right and continued along the L-shaped passage. From somewhere came the sound of a radio. The classroom to his left jogged more memories. Thursday afternoons and Meg McKenzie.

He paused in the open doorway, his gaze seeking out the second table from the back. He saw her there, thick blond hair curving around an oval chin. Trying to keep her face straight and her perfect nose in the air while he told some outrageous story just to hear her laugh. He wondered if she’d realized how hard he’d tried to impress her.

Spencer pushed away from the doorjamb. She’d probably married a stockbroker and lived in Uplands, just down the road from Mommy and Daddy.

“May I help you, young man?” a pompous male voice said from behind him. “Classes don’t start for two weeks.”

Spencer recognized the department head’s plummy English tones from their phone conversations. He turned to the portly figure in the pristine white lab coat and full gray beard. “Dr. Randolph Ashton-Whyte, I presume.” He held out his hand. “Spencer Valiella.”

Ashton-Whyte’s bushy gray eyebrows climbed his forehead as he took in Spencer’s clothes and wayward hair. Slowly he extended his own hand. “A...pleasure to meet you, Dr. Valiella”

“Likewise. ‘Spencer’ will do.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about you from Angus. He spoke so highly of you I expected—” Ashton-Whyte. broke off and patted the row of pens in the breast pocket of his lab coat as if assuring himself they were still there and all was still right with the world.

Spencer grinned. He could just imagine what this tight-ass had expected. “Doc told me all about you, too.”

The department head rubbed his hands together, his manner brisk and important. “Now that you’re here, come along to my office. We have paperwork that needs to be completed.”

Spencer glanced at his watch. “My honors student will be along shortly. And I want to get my gear stowed away in the lab.”

Ashton-Whyte smiled coldly. “Ah, but for that you’ll need the keys to Dr. Campbell’s office and lab.”

“Got ’em right here.” Spencer pulled the key ring from his pocket and jangled it in front of Ashton-Whyte. “Never got around to returning them when I left.”

He grinned, just to let Ashton-Whyte know what kind of reprehensible character he’d hired. Spencer blamed his father for his habit of baiting what Ray still referred to as the establishment. He and Ray saw eye to eye on a lot of things.

Ashton-Whyte’s lips tightened, causing his mustache to meet his beard in a double row of raised bristles. “Well, do stop by and fill out the forms when it’s convenient, won’t you, old chap? We’ll need your details—” he paused significantly “—before we can put you on the payroll.” Then he spun on his heel and strode off, white coat flapping, confident, no doubt, he’d had the last word.

Spencer chuckled to himself and retraced his steps to Doc’s lab. As he put the key into the lock, again a weird feeling came over him, as though the last seven years had somehow been leading to this day—when he’d step into the shoes of his mentor. He shook his head. Crazy New Age stuff was his mother’s thing, not his.

He swung open the door. The familiar smell of a biology laboratory hit him. Its pungent bouquet of chemical reagents, marine organisms, cleaning fluids and old books felt like home. Especially to him, a man with no other home.

He’d expected to walk into the untidy disorganized lab of yesteryear. To his surprise, the workbenches and shelves were scrubbed, the glassware clean and put away, and plastic covers protected the microscopes. A new computer with a wide-screen monitor sat on a side table with a digital audio tape recorder next to it for analysis of killer whale vocalizations.

Spencer walked around the central workbench to open Doc’s office. A desk faced one wall with a table catercorner along the window and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf on his immediate left. The window slanted outward at the base and overlooked the biology pond, where an endless succession of first-year students dipped their nets to study pond organisms.

He dropped his briefcase and went back to the car for the box containing the hydrophone equipment he used to collect and record killer whale calls. It was old and pretty basic, dating from his honors year when Doc had “retired” it from his own use. Catch 22: if Spencer wanted new equipment, he had to get a research grant and stay in one spot. He’d thought about that on more than one occasion and always decided it wasn’t worth it.

Another trip to the parking lot brought in his collection of killer whale teeth and bones. He was arranging these in a glass-fronted cabinet when he heard a knock at the door.

Meg. She was early.

His heart hammering, he turned.

Through the doorway came a young man of Asian extraction, not more than nineteen or twenty years old. He wore gray slacks and a crisp white shirt with a narrow tie, which he’d loosened. He moved quickly and his gaze darted from Spencer to the bone collection.

“Hi,” Spencer said. “Can I help you?” Some lost soul from the faculty of business, no doubt.

“I am Lee Cheung.” He strode forward and pumped Spencer’s hand. “Very pleased to meet you, Dr. Var...r..ierr...a.” He threw his head back and laughed. “Very hard name for Chinese to say.”

“You can call me Spencer. How do you know me?”

“I am Dr. Campbell’s research assistant. He did not tell you about me?” Lee grinned and shook his head. “Doc and I collected data over summer from stationary hydrophones. My job will continue, yes?”

“I guess. I don’t know what arrangements have been made for transferring Doc’s grant monies to me.” Another thing he’d have to take up with Ashton-Whyte. Spencer dropped the empty box he was holding to the floor and flattened it with the soles of his boots.

Lee flipped his briefcase up on the lab bench and popped open the lid. “If you would like to review transcript of my last year’s biology grades—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Spencer said, amazed anyone would carry that information around. Still, Angus Campbell surrounded himself only with people who had a consuming passion for killer whales. Besides that, there was something very engaging about Lee’s wide smile and enthusiasm.

“Tell you what, Lee. I’ll hire you out of my own pocket if necessary—as long as you’re not in a hurry for a paycheck—until I can see about Doc’s money situation.”

“Okeydokey, thank you very much.” Lee reached out and pumped Spencer’s hand again. “I appreciate your confidence.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Doc. Now, I’ve got a trunkful of equipment and books to bring in. Want to give me a hand?”

Together they brought in the rest of the boxes and equipment, and with astonishing speed and efficiency, Lee organized everything. Two o’clock approached and Spencer glanced at his watch with increasing frequency. To distract himself, he went down the hall and got a coffee from the vending machines located in the lounge area at the corner of the L. The staff room probably had better coffee, but he might encounter Ashton-Whyte and say something really rude.

He was walking slowly back to the lab, sipping his coffee, when he felt the change in air pressure and the gust of air that accompanied the opening of the heavy front door.

In slow motion he turned around—and there was Meg. Blue eyes startled. Textbooks clutched to her chest Looking as unprepared as he was to meet unexpectedly. Time became fluid and the present turned into the past. So many things they hadn’t said. She looked different. She looked good. Her hair had grown. But...jeans and a T-shirt? Where were her designer duds?

“Hi.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Hi.” Self-conscious, Meg pushed her hair over her shoulder. She’d stopped ten feet away from Spencer and couldn’t seem to close the distance. She made herself keep her eyes on his face, keep the smile on hers. His youthful features had matured into sharp cheekbones and a strongly defined chin. Warm coloring, warm smile. His hair was shorter, but still wind-tossed.

He was real. Not a dream. Not a fantasy. Real as the flutter in her stomach. And she still wanted him.

“Come on to the lab,” he said.

She made her legs move, willing her heart to stop beating so furiously. She was on the verge of tears. Or hysterical laughter. Why did the moment have to be so fraught? Couldn’t they just say a big hello and give each other a hug for old time’s sake? Why did he look so serious? After all, he didn’t know about Davis. Oh, God He didn’t know about Davis.

And then they were at the door to the lab and he halted abruptly to let her go first. She ran into him, her cheek grazing the fine wool of his jacket. “Sorry.”

He put a hand out but stopped short of touching her. Meg shrank back. It was too awful. “I don’t think we can do this,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

“Yes, we can.” His dark eyes were the color of shadowed seawater reflecting fir trees. They sucked her into their depths. “You never did tell me why you’re finishing your degree only now.”

She wanted to tell him. The explanation was on the tip of her tongue. But seeing him made her even more confused than she’d been seven years ago. “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

From inside the lab came a discreet cough.

Spencer pushed open the door. “Lee. This is Meg McKenzie, my...honors student. Meg, this is Lee. Research assistant.”

“Hi, Lee.”

Lee’s lidded glance flashed swiftly between them. “Okay if I leave now?” he said to Spencer. “I have to get to bookstore for my texts. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early.”

Spencer smiled. “Not too early. But yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you, Dr. Val..i—” He broke off, laughing at himself.

“Please, just call me Spencer.”

“Okay, Dr. Spencer.” Lee gave him a relieved grin. “See you later,” he added to Meg, and moved quickly past her.