Spencer's Child

“Bye.” Meg watched him go out the glass doors and run down the steps. Only when he’d disappeared from sight did she turn back to Spencer. Suddenly the hall seemed emptier, the two of them very much alone.

“You’ve grown your hair.” He reached out again and this time his fingertips touched a few strands of the thick ash-blond hair that hung almost to her waist. Static electricity raced from his fingers right to the roots, sending a shockwave tingling along her scalp.

“It’s easier than styling it,” she said lightly, backing away from his touch. In other words, cheaper. Her life had changed in so many ways. She had changed. Undoubtedly he had, too. She realized she’d been living with a fantasy image of him all these years. Maybe they had nothing left in common.

Except for Davis.

And the killer whales.

And the chemistry that still bubbled and fizzed between them like some apocalyptic experiment in a mad professor’s laboratory. Or was that all in her mind?

Spencer gestured for her to precede him into the lab. She stepped past him and found herself breathing deeply for the scent of the ocean that used to linger in his hair, on his skin. But she wasn’t close enough. And wouldn’t get close enough.

She moved farther into the lab, glancing around. She’d seen most of the equipment when she’d met with Dr. Campbell over the summer to talk about her honors thesis, but Spencer had added his possessions. Gravitating to the glass-fronted case where killer whale teeth and bones had been laid out on black felt, she said, “Are you staying out at the cottage?”

“Yes...” He paused as though about to say more. Then didn’t.

She bent to inspect the lower shelf, searching for the baby killer whale tooth she’d found while diving off Saltspring Island. It was no longer in his collection. Disappointment kept her gazing at the teeth longer than she wanted to.

“Would you like a coffee?” he asked, holding up his cup. “The taste hasn’t improved over the years, but it’s hot. Well, lukewarm, actually.”

Meg straightened, forced a smile. “No, thanks.”

He nodded and moved past her to his office, giving her a wide berth.

Why was he so wary? They’d been friends, after all. Like odd socks, but still a pair. Or had that night on Saltspring rendered null and void all that preceded it? They’d never had a chance to talk after that. They’d paddled back to Victoria the next morning ahead of a squall, locked in silence. If only she hadn’t said what she’d said, maybe his subsequent flight wouldn’t have been so swift. And maybe he wouldn’t now be acting as if nothing had ever happened between them.

“Have a seat.”

Meg sank into the safety of the padded vinyl visitor’s chair that nestled in front of the overflowing bookshelf. She just caught sight of one title, The Tao of Physics, when from the corner of her eye she saw Spencer’s lean denim-clad thigh glide by. And then he was sitting in his own chair, swirling around to face her. He leaned back, looking very casual. Or did that controlled stillness mean he was tense, not just intense, as he’d always been?

Under his dark suit jacket, which looked like Armani, but knowing Spencer was probably Salvation Army, he wore a white T-shirt and faded blue jeans. Then she noticed something new. A thin black leather cord around his sun-browned neck, the ends of which disappeared under the curve of white cotton. She remembered the smooth hard heat of the chest beneath...

“...killer whale communication,” he was saying. “I’ve been working with the transient population for the past five years, first in the Puget Sound area, then down around Monterey.”

Meg nodded, relaxing a little. “It’s interesting how few calls and whistles they make compared to resident killer whales.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rose. “You’re familiar with my research?”

“When I decided to finish my degree, I caught up on the literature.” She could see the unasked questions in his eyes and ignored them.

“Then you must also be aware of Deeke’s recent findings on intra-pod communication.”

She nodded. “They gave me an idea for my thesis...” She stopped. In spite of reading all the journal articles she could get her hands on, she still felt out of touch. What she’d been about to say might be completely off the wall.

“What is it?” He leaned back a little farther and crossed an ankle over the opposite knee.

“Well, I just wonder...what are they saying to each other?” Please don’t laugh at me.

Spencer gazed at her for a moment in silence. “The repetitive staccato clicks they make are used as a form of echolocation to forage for prey and for navigation—as I’m sure you know,” he said. “Pulsed calls and whistles are used for social communication. Keeping tabs on members of the pod when they’re out of sight of each other.”

He must think she was crazy. Except that she knew him. Knew he must have wondered the same thing. “But don’t some calls occur more often in some circumstances, such as resting or socializing?” she said.

“True, but so far no one has established a definitive connection between call type and behavior that would suggest certain calls had a specific meaning.”

“Yes, I know,” she said heavily. Her idea was too far-out.

“However, I don’t think it’s impossible that we’ll eventually be able to decode their communications,” he said carefully. “You’d have to listen to their sounds in the context of their daily lives and closely monitor behavior. Given the limited scope of an honors thesis, maybe you should confine your study to one small aspect of killer whale communication. In that context, I would support such a project if that’s what you’re interested in.”

Was she interested! But wait. This was her degree they were talking about. The opportunity for which she’d scrimped and saved for seven years. If she blew her honors thesis because Spencer agreed to what someone else on her supervisory panel would consider crackpot research, she wasn’t sure she’d have the heart, or the resources, to try again.

“Have you got funding to do this type of research?” she asked. Spencer, she knew, never hesitated to go out on a limb, but if the Natural Science and Engineering Research Council was willing to believe in him, she supposed she could.

“I don’t have funding of any kind at the moment, but you’ll have access to Doc Campbell’s grant money.” He grinned, showing white, slightly overlapping front teeth. A smile that had once thrown her heart into palpitations. And still did. “Sometimes you’ve just got to take a chance, princess.”

Princess. She’d almost forgotten that detestable yet somehow endearing nickname. “My name is Meg,” she reminded him severely.

“Sorry,” he replied, looking totally unrepentant. “Not very politically correct of me.”

“It’s hard to adjust to us not both being students—to you being a prof and me being under you.” Meg immediately blushed at her choice of words.

Spencer swiveled to the window as though he wanted to leap out. “It feels strange for me, too. Can we just skip the professor-student thing and be two people interested in killer whales? The way we used to be?”

Was that what they used to be? “Sure, I guess so.”

“Good.” He spun back. “Do you still have your kayak?”

“Yes, but I haven’t used it in a while.” Like seven years.

“Get it out, check it for leaks.” Spencer got to his feet. “We’ll pay a visit to Kitasu and the rest of her maternal group. Are you doing anything tomorrow? We could catch the early ferry to Saltspring, drive up to Southey Point and paddle out from there.”

“I—I don’t know,” she said, rising. She’d have to ask Patrick to take Davis to day care in the morning. She’d accounted for afternoon care but not for earlymorning starts.

He gazed at her quizzically. “Mornings bad for you? I suppose you’re working.”

“No. Yes. It’s just that I need time. I have things to...arrange.”

“Okay, but we really should get in a preliminary look-see before classes start and things get busy for both of us.”

She turned to walk out ahead of him. “What will you be teaching—Marine Mammals?”

“Yes. Plus a unit of first-year biology and a course in the philosophy of science. It’s a graduate-level course, but you’re welcome to sit in on it.”

“I’d like that.”

“It’s in the evening. Wednesdays.”

“Oh. Evenings are hard for me, too.”

He paused a beat. “Are you married, Meg? Or living with someone?”

“No!” It was so not what she’d been afraid of his asking, she jumped. And probably looked guilty as hell, anyway. “Are...are you?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Me? Not likely.”

Of course not. How could she be so foolish? More foolish still that the news he was free made her heart go flip-flop.

“Can we leave the kayaking till Saturday?” she asked. Patrick would be on maneuvers all weekend, but this Saturday was the Uplands Garden Club open house and garden sale. Her mother would be busy from early morning till evening, which meant her father, who avoided the annual event as he would a plague of aphids, could look after Davis. He didn’t get many opportunities to spend time with his grandson, but when he did, he jumped at them.

“That should be fine. Give me your address and I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock.”

Uh-oh, complications already. “My kayak is at my parents’ place. You know where that is.” She started to back out of the office. “I’d better run. I’ll see you Saturday. Bye.”

She left without waiting for a farewell from him. She’d learned not to.

WHEN MEG GOT TO the ring road, instead of turning toward Esquimalt and the California-style bungalow she shared with Patrick, she pointed her Toyota toward Cadboro Bay Road. If she hurried, she had just enough time to drop by her parents’ house to check out the kayak before picking up Davis.

Stone gates guarded the entrance to the parklike estates of Uplands. Meg rubbed her temples as she drove through, aware of the tension already starting to mount. She hoped her mother wasn’t home. Helen never lost an opportunity to inform Meg that dropping out of university at the age of twenty-one to become a single mother had ruined her life. What Helen really meant was that Meg had ruined her life. Oh, the shame of having to tell her garden club friends that her daughter lived in Esquimalt. God forbid she would ever consider visiting her and Davis there.

Meg had learned to live with her mother’s disapproval, but what really hurt was the way Helen couldn’t warm to Davis. She was a control freak, and Davis was someone she couldn’t control. Rather than learn how to deal with his behavior, Helen shunned his company. It was hard for her little boy to understand. And harder still for Meg to forgive.

She turned into the long curving driveway flanked by a high box hedge. It was all so clichéd it would have been boring except that this was her family. She missed the big Sunday dinners with her three brothers and their families and the holiday gatherings she now avoided because she couldn’t stand having to constantly defend her life. Or to protect her son from feeling slighted by his grandmother.

Thank goodness for Daddy. He wasn’t terribly happy with the way her life had turned out, either, but at least he tried to let her live it her own way. And although he’d never thought Spencer good enough for his only daughter, he loved his grandson and treated him accordingly.

The elegant white three-story house came into view, afternoon sun glinting off the mullioned windows. Meg pulled up in front of the portico and got out She glanced at the conservatory but couldn’t see her mother’s slim figure moving among the plants.

Daddy was home, though, practicing his putting on the side lawn, his salt-and-pepper head bent in concentration. Meg waited till he’d made his shot, then called out. Roger McKenzie’s handsome face broke into a smile. Dropping his golf club into the bag, he strode across the lawn to envelop her in a hug. “Meggie! How’s my little girl?”

“Twenty-eight and all grown up,” Meg teased as she hugged him back.

Roger glanced hopefully at the car. “Is Davis with you?”

“No. I just came from the university.” Dam, why did she go and open that line of conversation?

“Have they found you a new supervisor yet?”

“Yes. An expert on killer whales from Monterey.” Daddy would have to know sometime that Spencer was back, but right now she didn’t have the time or the emotional energy to discuss it. The fact that Spencer didn’t even know he was a father had never absolved him of guilt in Roger’s eyes. “We’re going kayaking on the weekend to locate the group of killer whales I’m going to work on,” she went on. “I came to see if my kayak still floats.”

“Andrew used it a few times over the summer. I said he could. Didn’t think you’d mind. He said he replaced the ‘spray skirt’ because the neoprene rubber had deteriorated in spots.”

“That’s great. There’s nothing worse than getting soaked from the waist down because a leaky spray skirt lets water into the cockpit. Let’s go have a look.”

They went in through the open section of the fourcar garage. In the far slot sat Roger’s restored Model-A Ford next to his silver 500 SEL Mercedes. Helen’s smaller, cream-colored Mercedes was absent. The rest of the garage was given over to sporting equipment—skis and tennis rackets, snowboards and sailboards, golf clubs and archery sets.

Meg’s single-seater Orca kayak had been taken down from the overhead beams and was propped on wooden blocks at the back of the garage. She ran a hand down the shiny red fiberglass hull, then lifted the new spray skirt to inspect it. “Looks okay.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Roger said. “You know how finicky your brother is.”

“I’ll be sure to call and thank him for using my stuff,” Meg replied with a grin, and walked to the stern to test the rudder movement. “Where’s Mother?”

Roger’s voice became deliberately casual. “She’s looking after Cassie and Tristan a couple of afternoons a week. Maybe you haven’t heard—Anne’s gone back to work, part-time.”

Cassie and Tristan were Meg’s niece and baby nephew. Meg bit her lip, hoping the physical pain would override the inner pain. It wasn’t that she wanted to use her mother as a baby-sitting service, but never once had Helen offered to look after Davis. The few times Meg had asked, Helen had always been too busy. Finally Meg had stopped asking. Helen sent expensive and inappropriate gifts for Davis’s birthday and at Christmas, but Meg could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’d gone out of her way to see her grandson.

“I’d better go,” she said. “I’ve got to pick up Davis at day care. He hates it when I’m late.”

“Is he excited about starting school?” Roger asked as he walked her back to her car.

“One minute he can’t wait and the next he’s not so sure.” Meg opened her door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Would you be able to look after him on Saturday while I’m kayaking?”

“Sure! He can caddy for me.” Roger put his arm around her. “We don’t see enough of him, darling.”

Meg gripped her father’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “You know Mother and I can’t be in the same room for more than ten minutes without fighting.”

“Your mother is just proud and stubborn—like her daughter. She does love you, Meggie.”

Funny kind of love. “Bye, Dad,” she said, giving him another hug. “I’ll see you Saturday morning. Early.”

It wasn’t until she’d turned her car out of the driveway and onto the road that she remembered Spencer would be picking her up at her parents’ house at roughly the same time she’d be dropping Davis off. She had to decide fast what, if anything, she was going to tell Spencer about his son.

CHAPTER THREE

SPENCER SPOTTED the dusty Econoline van in the driveway and grinned. Ray was back.

He parked and ran up the steps, his jacket slung over his shoulder. The afternoon had warmed up and the front door was open to let in the sunshine. Through it came smells of cooking and the brassy sound of a blues band.

Spencer climbed onto the porch steps. He could see his dad moving around in the kitchen dressed in black leather pants and a dark blue shirt. He was singing along with the music, and when he stopped to play a riff on an air guitar, his body vibrated right up to his graying ponytail.

“Ray!” Spencer pushed through the screen door and dropped his jacket on the couch on his way into the kitchen.

“Spence, my man!” Ray came around the counter, arms extended, ebullient as ever. “Is this a coincidence or what?”

Spencer met his dad in a back-slapping embrace. “Sooner or later we had to land here at the same time. Sorry I missed you this morning.”

“I ran into an old buddy of mine in Victoria last night. We tied one on and I spent the night on his couch. When I got back to the cottage this afternoon and saw your note, I went right out and got us some grub and a bottle of Kentucky’s finest.” Ray moved back into the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll pour you one.”

“Great.” Spencer walked over to the fridge and took a handful of ice cubes from the freezer. He dropped them into a glass and Ray sloshed in a healthy shot of Jack Daniel’s. “How long has it been since ’Frisco? Two years? Three?”

“Four, I think.” Ray grinned, his black eyes crinkling, and added more bourbon to his glass. “It’s a good thing we meet occasionally by chance.”

They raised their drinks, glasses clinking. The bourbon hit Spencer’s empty stomach like a fireball. The spreading warmth blended with the gutsy music and his father’s positive vibes. Let the good times roll.

“So when did you get into town?” Spencer asked, leaning against the counter.

“Coupla weeks ago.” Ray set his glass down to wrap a potato in tin foil. He did another one and tossed them in the oven. “What brings you up north? I thought you never stayed in the same place twice.”

“Not if I can help it. I’m teaching up at the university.”

“Coming back to your old haunts and teaching, which I know you don’t like as much as research. You’re changing, Spence. Here’s to it.” He lifted his glass.

Spencer shook his head. “Just doing a favor for my old prof is all.”

“Adults go through stages same as kids,” Ray said. “Some changes are harder than others.”

Spencer laughed. “Come off it, Ray, you haven’t changed a bit.” He opened the fridge door and peered in. The shelves, bare this morning, were now full. “What are you making? I’m starving.”

“The finest New York steaks money can buy. Outside New York, that is. I was there, let’s see, two years ago. Had a few gigs lined up, so off we went.” He brushed his palms together, one hand sweeping off in a curving arc. “What a life.”

“I attended a conference in New York last April,” Spencer said, grabbing an apple from the bottom rack.

“Crazy town. I love it.” Ray unwrapped the steaks from the butcher’s paper. “Did you get to any clubs?”

“One or two. Heard a few old tunes by my namesake.” He crunched into crisp green skin. “I like their style of bluesy rock and roll, but do you know how hard it is to go through life as Spencer Davis Valiella? People either think it sounds affected or that Davis Valiella should be hyphenated.” Grimacing, he recalled his encounter with Ashton-Whyte. “I don’t care for hyphenated names.”

“It was cool at the time. Hey, I still like it.”

“Ah, forget it, Ray, I’m just razzing you. I sure appreciate you buying all this food. I’m living on credit till they put me on the payroll here. Or until my money arrives from Monterey.” He gestured with the hand holding the apple. “How come banks require weeks to electronically transfer money when it only takes a split second to send an e-mail?”

“You got me, man.” Ray’s smile wavered. “No money, eh? What a bummer.”

“So how’s your new band working out?”

“Fantastic!” Ray widened his smile, but something flickered in his eyes. He turned to the counter hesitantly, as though trying to remember what he was looking for.

“Your last CD was great, but it was a while ago,” Spencer said. “I’m looking forward to the next. When’s it coming out?”

“Uh...soon.” Ray grabbed the bottle of bourbon. “Here, let me top you up.”

“Thanks. Whoa, easy.”

Ray splashed some more into his own glass and put the bottle down. “Enough about me. What’s going on in your life?”

Spencer took a sip of his drink. Should he tell Ray about Meg? Would he mention her if she meant nothing to him? He decided he would. “Talk about coincidences. My honors student is a girl I knew from before. Meg McKenzie.” Her name fell self-consciously off his tongue.

“Hey, I remember meeting her. Blond, sassy smile—right? That’s great. You won’t want to hang with your old man all the time.” Ray slid a cast-iron frying pan onto the stove.

“I doubt I’ll be seeing her socially. The university frowns on fraternization between faculty and students.” It was a good excuse, anyway.

Ray poured cooking oil into the pan and turned on the heat. “I could see it if you’re talking about an old fart like me hittin’ on some sweet young thing, but you and Meg are about the same age.”

Spencer found he didn’t want to talk about Meg, after all. “Do you ever see Mom?”

Ray’s ever-present grin faded.

Damn. Surely he could have come up with something better than that to change topics.

“I called her to say hello before I came north,” Ray said.

“I went through San Clemente around Christmas last year,” Spencer said. “She seemed fine then.”

Ray rolled the oil around the pan. “She’s doing great. Big house, rich hubby. Most importantly, she’s happy. And I’m happy for her. You don’t have to pussyfoot around my feelings.”

Spencer nodded skeptically.

Ray laughed and spread his arms. “Hell, it’s been over twenty years. I haven’t exactly been alone all that time. How do you like your steak?

“Medium-rare.” Spencer eyed his father over the rim of his glass. Ray was always up, but tonight there was something a little manic about him.

Ray threw the steaks in the pan where they sizzled and sputtered in the hot oil. Spencer got plates out of the cupboard and carried them to the small wooden table tucked against the wall. A bentwood chair sat on either side. “How about giving me a preview of your new CD after dinner?”

“Oh, you don’t want to hear your old man play. Let’s take a run into Victoria. We could hit some clubs, catch up with each other.”

“I still haven’t caught up with my sleep. I was planning on an early night.” Spencer got knives and forks out of the drawer and returned to the table. With his back to Ray, he laid out the cutlery. “What do you say? Just a tune or three right here.”

Silence.

Spencer straightened, turned. “Ray?”

The sober expression on his father’s face made the bourbon churn in his stomach.

Over the sound of the sizzling steaks, Ray said quietly, “I can’t play for you. I pawned my guitar to buy the food.”

Spencer felt the world shift on its axis. Ray had pawned his guitar? It was like the Pope giving up religion. “No way.”

“The band went bust,” Ray said, suddenly looking years older than fifty-two. “I haven’t worked in almost a year. I only came here because I had nowhere else to go.”

MEG CAME THROUGH THE DOOR of the bungalow, textbooks piled in her arms. In the kitchen Patrick sang in his hearty baritone, “‘I am the ruler of the King’s navy,’” then switched to a falsetto for the chorus, “‘Yes, he is the ruler of the King’s navy.’”

“Can I watch TV, Mom? Thanks.” Davis took off for the living room and in less time than it took her to shout, “Keep the volume down,” she could hear Daffy Duck lisping his way to destruction, and Davis chuckling like a maniac.

Meg kicked the door shut and shuffled into the dining area of the kitchen to set her pile of books on the table. Patrick had changed out of his uniform and into linen slacks and a matching taupe shirt. He’d donned an apron and was at that moment waving a carrot baton in front of Noel’s cage. Noel cocked his head to one side and squawked, “Na-vy!”