Maggy's Child (45 page)

David was not unaware of Nick’s presence—that would have been impossible—but Nick did his best to stay out of the way when David was with Maggy. On those occasions, the police officer assigned to David took a break and Nick assumed bodyguard duty for both subjects. He hung back when they were out, or stayed in another room when they were inside, letting mother and son have time alone.

The arrangement did not escape David’s notice.

“Why does
he
always have to hang around?” David asked her one afternoon when they were walking the dogs through Windermere’s woods with Nick trailing a discreet distance behind.

At David’s question, Maggy glanced back at Nick to see if he had heard. Nick was frowning, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, apparently lost in thought as he gazed
into the distance. Stray sunbeams slipping through the now-dense canopy overhead gleamed on his black hair. Clad in sneakers, jeans, a white shirt and an orange windbreaker, he looked like the Nick she had loved all her life. He did not look like a DEA agent, or a tough-guy cop.

“He’s really very nice, David,” she temporized. A woodpecker drummed punctuation from somewhere nearby. A pair of bluejays screamed excitedly at the leaping progress of the dogs. It was mid-May now, and the deciduous trees were in full leaf. Gray-green festoons of moss hung from gnarled gray branches, and the first waxy white blossoms were peeking out through the glossy green foliage of the magnolias. The air was warm and sweet with the fragrance of the flowers that had recently burst into bloom. Overhead, clouds of pink and white dogwood blossoms floated beneath the variegated green of the taller oaks and maples and walnuts. The bright yellow forsythia, the pale pink-and-white azaleas, and the gorgeous deep fuchsia of the peonies provided bright splashes of color across the landscape. Through the trees, Maggy could see the vivid scarlet of the Kentucky Derby hybrids that dominated the rose garden. Periwinkle-blue phlox spilled over the stone wall. Closer at hand, beneath the trees, delicate crimson primroses formed a spreading carpet of color. Windermere in the spring was almost obscenely beautiful, she thought as she drank in the sights and sounds and smells, finding in them nourishment for her reviving spirit.

“He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

Taken aback, Maggy glanced down at her son and hesitated before replying. “He’s a very good friend.”

“Dad said you were going to leave us and run away with him.”

Maggy caught her breath. “Did he? Well, Dad was wrong. I would never, ever leave you, David. You know that.”

“But you would have left Dad.”

Maggy sighed. Hiding things from an intelligent eleven-year-old was difficult. Maybe the time had come to tell a cautious version of the truth.

“You know your dad and I didn’t always get along.”

David snorted. “You mean you fought like cats and dogs.”

“Okay.” Maggy had to smile. “Sometimes I thought about leaving him. But I never would have left him if it meant leaving you. We’re a team, pal. We stick together.”

She put her arm around his shoulders, and he didn’t pull away. For a while they walked like that, and then David shrugged out from under her arm and glanced up at her again.

“Why do we have to have bodyguards, anyway?”

Maggy looked down at her son in surprise. She had gone to extreme lengths to keep him from realizing exactly why Nick was always trailing them about, and why Bob Jameson, the police officer cum chauffeur, drove him various places. Apparently he hadn’t been fooled.

“What makes you think Nick and Bob are bodyguards?” she asked cautiously.

David gave her a look. “Come on, Mom. I know Nick’s your boyfriend, but he’s a bodyguard too, and so is Bob.”

“Okay,” Maggy answered, deciding to let the boyfriend matter slide. “You’re right. They’re with us so much because they want to keep us safe.”

“From what? From Dad? But Dad’s dead. Isn’t he?”

David had always been the smartest kid in the world. Maggy sighed, looked down into her son’s questioning eyes, and saw the deep anxiety that lay beneath their surface calm. Again she chose to tell a gentle version of the truth.

“I think so, David. Everybody thinks so. But—they haven’t found his body yet, you know, so we can’t be one hundred percent positive.”

“He was going to kill you, wasn’t he?”

Maggy’s eyes widened in shock. She had been careful, so careful, to keep that from David. “What makes you think so?”

“I saw him drag you out of the house with a gun to your head.” David’s voice was dry.

Maggy stared at him. “How on earth did you see that?”

“That guy—Link—and I never made it all the way to the police cars. We took the path instead of following all those curves in the driveway, and just as we started down it I looked back and saw Dad dragging you out of the house. He had you in a headlock, and he looked like he was getting ready to blow your brains out.”

“Oh, David.” Maggy felt weak. For a moment she couldn’t think of anything to say. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

“I was scared. I didn’t want him to kill you.” His confession came in a low voice.

“Oh, David.” Maggy stopped walking and pulled him to her, hugging him tightly. “Dad was—a little sick in his head toward the end. He did things that he wouldn’t normally do.”

“He was weird, on the trip.”

“Weird? How?”

“He would wake up cursing in the middle of the night, and sometimes he would laugh for no reason at all. And he kept talking about us all going to Brazil. He said we’d be coffee planters. I didn’t want to go to Brazil.”

“I thought you said going to Brazil was cool.”

“I just said that so as not to make Dad mad. You know what he was like when he was mad.”

Maggy rested her head against her son’s hair and shut her eyes. She was suddenly, fiercely glad her husband was dead. If he had lived, no telling what kind of psychological damage he would have inflicted on the boy.

“I dream about him, at night. I dream he comes into
my room and touches my face. That’s what scares me. It’s creepy.”

“Is that what your nightmares are about?” Maggy pushed him a little away from her so that she could look down into his eyes.

David nodded.

“That is creepy. But it’s only a dream, you know. Pretty soon, you won’t have it anymore.”

“I hope not.” He pulled away from her and started walking along the path again. Maggy fell into step beside him. They were at the edge of the woods, almost at the house, and Seamus and Bridey were streaking across the lush green lawn toward their kennel and a drink of water.

“But why do
I
have to have a bodyguard?” David pursued a thought that had obviously been troubling him. “Dad doesn’t want to kill
me
. Does he?”

He sounded so frightened suddenly that Maggy caught his hand and gave it a squeeze. “No, of course not. We don’t know that Dad wants to do anything to either of us. He’s probably in heaven right now, thinking that everybody is making a big fuss over nothing. But just in case he’s not, just in case he’s here somewhere and thinking about running away to Brazil again, he might want to take you with him. That’s why you have a bodyguard. So if Dad’s alive and wants to steal you away, he can’t do it.”

“Oh.” David’s hand tightened around hers. He looked up at her earnestly. “I don’t want to go away with Dad. I want to stay with you.”

“I know, baby. You will.” Maggy smiled at him over a lump in her throat, and hand in hand they walked out into the sunshine. Someone was hurrying toward them from the house, and Maggy had to shade her eyes with her hand before she recognized Louella. The woman was obviously agitated. Maggy’s stomach tightened as she realized something was wrong.

“Mrs. Forrest, you have to come quick! It’s loose in the
house, and it’s got Herd shut in a closet and it won’t him out!”

“What does, Louella?” Maggy asked, mystified.

“Your auntie’s bird!”

N
ick followed them inside. There was a faint shadow in his eyes as he watched the willowy, baggy-jeans-and-sweater-clad back of the woman he loved running ahead of him, hand in hand with their son. Two lithe bodies, tall and graceful; two dark auburn heads, the colors identical though one hairstyle was long and flowing and the other was a clipped boy cut; two bright spirits, each with an immutable hold on his heart.

David was his son. Nick’s mind was still coming to terms with that, but his heart had accepted the reality of it already. It swelled with pride whenever he looked at the boy. He harbored a touch of sadness, a touch of regret, and more than a touch of residual anger at Magdalena for keeping his son from him all these years, but pride was the uppermost emotion. He looked at the kid and thought his heart would burst.

The irony of it was, the kid didn’t even like him. David regarded him with suspicion and as a rival for his mother’s attention. Nick feared that it was going to take a while before they even reached the point of being friends. Nick wanted to shout the truth about David’s parentage from the rooftops, but instinct warned him that he’d better not.

Maybe someday, when all this was behind them and just the right moment came, David would learn the truth. The thought of what his reaction might be scared Nick.
Would he hate both his biological parents for the rest of his life?

Magdalena was laughing when Nick stepped inside the door. The magnificent entry hall was deserted, and her laughter seemed to float down from somewhere overhead. Nick smiled a little as he listened to her laugh. Every day she was becoming more the high-spirited, fun-loving girl he remembered. An abused woman emerging from a cocoon of fear, that was how he thought of the process of rejuvenation that she was undergoing. And he vowed that she would never have reason to be afraid again as long as he lived.

“Where are you?” he called, raising his voice.

“Up here!” The merry answer came from upstairs. “Horatio’s let himself out of his cage and chased Herd into a closet! Come up and see!”

“I have better things to do than stand around watching that stupid bird!” he yelled back.

“Coward!”

Damned right
, Nick thought with a glinting grin, just as someone, a woman, the housekeeper maybe but not Magdalena, shrieked.

“Look out! Here he comes! Shut the door!” The shout came from Magdalena.

“Look at him go, Mom!”

Nick stopped dead half a dozen strides inside the door as a swoosh of wings and a demented cackle of laughter warned him what was happening. The blasted bird had taken wing.

The front door was open, providing the winged devil a perfect chance to escape into the great outdoors, but did the bird take it? No, it did not! It came straight for him. Nick ducked, flinging his arms above his head, but to no avail. The damned bird dive-bombed him, swooped up toward the ceiling, and dived again, its claws digging into the cloth of his windbreaker and its wings flapping wildly
as it landed. Crouched in anticipation, Nick felt the skin crawl on the back of his neck.

“Bad boy!” it squawked, climbing up his back. “Bad, bad boy!”

If he’d been the little kid he’d once been, he would have shrieked and run. But four pairs of eyes were on him: the housekeeper’s, her husband’s, Magdalena’s, and David’s. The quartet was lined up against the upstairs railing, leaning over it, laughing their heads off.

There wasn’t much he wouldn’t have endured to bring such carefree merriment to Magdalena and the boy.

“I don’t think you should have called him a stupid bird,” Magdalena managed between giggles.

Nick straightened, cautiously. The bird climbed onto his shoulder and proceeded to nibble his ear while he tried not to visibly wince. Upstairs, the gallery howled.

“Bad boy,” the bird crooned, and Nick was thankful that it dropped his ear to bob its head up and down as it spoke.

“Does Horatio
know
you?” David asked between giggles. As far as Nick could recall, those were the first words David had ever addressed to him directly. Nick nodded, felt the beak on his ear again, and froze.

David snickered. Nick grinned sourly as Magdalena recounted the story of how, at about David’s age, he had earned the bird’s enmity. The whole group of them up there was chortling when she finished.

The bird was still nibbling, despite his shrugging attempts to make it vamoose, and Nick began to wonder just when it was going to turn vicious and take a chunk out of his lobe.

“Magdalena,” he said to his tittering beloved. “Do you suppose you could come down here and get this thing off me?”

“But you look so cute. Like a pirate,” she said and grinned.

“Magdalena. It’s biting my ear.”

“What do you think?” she asked David. “Should we go rescue him?”

David was about to answer when his eyes widened. “Oh, look,” he cried. “Horatio pooped!”

Magdalena clapped a hand over her mouth. David dissolved into spasms of laughter. The housekeeper and her husband snickered. Nick looked down at the green and white smear on the front of his windbreaker and scowled.

“That does it,” he said. “You’re off there, bird.”

“Bad boy! Bad boy!” Horatio screamed, digging in with its claws as Nick tried to shoo the bird off his shoulder with a serious combination of shrugs and waves.