Full-Time Father

Chapter Eight

Lightning cut through the night, followed by the rumble of thunder. Erin crossed her bedroom and went into the hall. The small night-lights glowed. She bent her wrist toward the illumination and checked the time. Eight-twenty.

When a second clap of thunder shook the house, she pushed open the door to Christie’s room and stepped inside.

“Are you doing okay, sweetie?” she asked quietly.

“Mommy?” Her daughter sounded sleepy. “I can see the lightning with my eyes closed.”

“I know.” Erin sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the little girl. Her hair was dark against the white pillowcase. She looked small and fragile in bed, with only her teddy to protect her from harm. “Are you frightened by the storm?”

“It’s just the clouds,” Christie said. “They’re talkin’ to each other. They can’t help it if their voices are really loud.”

Erin had never figured out where Christie had found this theory on thunderstorms, but as long as it kept her from being scared, it really didn’t matter.

“And the lightning?” she asked.

Christie yawned. “They’re passin’ notes.”

“Hmm, that’s what I thought.” She bent over and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to read in my room or watch TV downstairs. If you get frightened, you come get me. Promise?”

“Promise,” Christie murmured as her eyes drifted shut. She sighed softly, then fell back to sleep.

The storm raged around them but the innocent child was oblivious to its fury. Erin left the room and returned to her own. Once there she paced the length, then tried to find a book that sounded interesting.

She was restless. Maybe it was being cooped up in this house so much. Erin grimaced. Living in this huge mansion was hardly being “cooped up” anywhere, so it wasn’t that. But how else could she explain dull buzzing in the back of her mind and the urge to keep moving?

She crossed to the window and pulled open the heavy drapes. Rain battered against the windows. A flash of lightning arced through the night. She waited for the accompanying roar, and when it came, the panes rattled.

There shouldn’t be a problem, she told herself. Everything was settled. Last week she had agreed to stay for the summer so Parker could get to know Christie. Her daughter had been thrilled at the prospect. Erin had wondered if Christie might miss her friends, but apparently a few four-year-olds couldn’t compete with the excitement of a new house, a housekeeper who went out of her way to bake delicious things and a new father. Christie loved it here. Erin’s only regret about staying was how hard it was going to be to go home in September.

Leaving the drapes open, she went back to her dresser and studied the stack of books there. She and Kiki had made a trip to the local library. While Parker had an impressive selection of reading material, it didn’t include the latest mysteries and romances that Erin preferred. She ran her finger down the spines of the books, but none of them caught her fancy. Without wanting to-even as she told herself she shouldn’t-she opened the top drawer and pulled out Stacey’s diary.

Erin turned on the bedside lamp, then settled on the mattress. She flipped through the pages all the while wondering why she was torturing herself. Reading the diary made her feel foolish and inadequate. It brought up feelings that she didn’t like. Yet she felt compelled to read it, as if the pages somehow held a treasure she had yet to discover.

A sentence about a summer storm caught her attention. The passage was dated about three weeks after Stacey had moved in to the house.

The old house practically dances in the thunder. Oh, I’m laughing as I write this. Dances in the thunder? Gee, next I’ll take up writing depressing literary novels and go live in France. No, I won’t be going anywhere. If I had my way, I would stay here always. With Parker.

How he broods. Apparently his wife died a short time ago. He loved her and loves her still. I want to tell him that I can heal him. In my arms he can find…whatever he’s looking for.

Several sentences were scratched out, then the entry continued. I want to put on something sexy and feminine, go downstairs and find him. I want to dance with him and hold him. I want to make love to him. I want to belong to him. I think I love him.

Erin slammed the diary shut. Irritation warred with sadness. Stacey couldn’t help what she was feeling, but if she were here, Erin would shake some sense into her. Couldn’t her sister see that Parker truly mourned his wife? No amount of holding or dancing would make that kind of pain go away. It took time. But Stacey wouldn’t have been interested in reality. She only saw what she wanted to.

Poor Stacey. The relationship-if that’s what it could be called-had been doomed from the start. She’d taken a few truths and created an unreal world. She’d acted on it and had expected Parker to do the same.

Parker. Erin felt for him, too. He must have been in so much pain. His wife’s unexpected death had been recent. He’d needed a friend, not an overgrown adolescent throwing herself at him. If only he’d been able to tell Stacey the truth.

Erin set down the diary. Stacey wouldn’t have heard anything except what she wanted to hear.

She stood up and crossed to the mirror. The lights in the room illuminated her features. She studied them, seeing Stacey instead of herself. In her mind’s eye, her hair was longer, the scar on her forehead gone. She wondered if other people had this ability to step out of themselves and see someone else, or if it only happened to twins. Probably it was unique to twins. Other people rarely looked exactly like someone else. She blinked and the memory was gone. She was just herself again.

“You always leapt into things without thinking,” Erin said aloud, then smiled. She was in more trouble than she thought if she stood here waiting for an answer.

But she knew her sister well, and in her head she heard what Stacey would have said if she’d been there. Stacey would have rolled her eyes, planted her hands on her hips and said, “I might plunge forward, but you’re going to die waiting for the right moment. Quit waiting and do something. Act. Everything isn’t always perfect, so you have to take what you can get.”

Erin turned away from the mirror. Was Stacey right? Had she spent her life waiting for the right moment?

“I didn’t have much choice,” she said defensively. “I had Christie to think of.”

Or was that just an excuse?

Her thoughts made her uncomfortable. Erin turned off the lamp on the nightstand, then left the bedroom. She walked down the hallway to the stairs. The storm had lessened some, but according to the weather report, it would return later.

On the second story landing, she paused, trying to listen. Was Parker still in his office? He often worked after Christie went to bed. With Kiki usually gone, the evenings could get lonely. Sometimes Erin got tired of her own company. But she never went looking for Parker. She didn’t want to disturb him. Besides, what was she going to say? Entertain me? She shook her head and continued down the stairs.

There weren’t many lights on the first floor. A lamp in the corner of the huge living room cast a small glow on the hardwood floor, but it didn’t reach to the French doors leading out to the terrace. Erin stood in front of them and watched the storm. Rain flung itself against the glass. She wondered what the ocean looked like. Would the white, foamy waves crash high on the rocks, the spray exploding into the night? She licked her lips, as if she could taste the salt. The sense of restlessness returned and with it the need to do something.

“How’s Christie?” Parker asked from behind her.

She jumped and spun around. “You startled me,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “I thought you were upstairs working.”

“Not tonight. I don’t want to risk losing power while I’m in the middle of something. I’m in the study, if you’d care to join me.”

He blended well with the darkness. His hair, his eyes, even his black jeans and boots. His white shirt was pale against his tanned skin. The shadows in the living room transformed his familiar features into something mysterious. Something otherworldly.