“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!”
Meg took in Patrick’s grin. “You got the promotion!”
“It’s not official...but I’m ninety-nine percent sure.”
“Oo-ooh, that’s so great,” Meg squealed, and ran around to hug him. “What will be your official title?”
“Lieutenant Patrick Warren, at your service,” he replied with a snappy salute and clicking heels.
“Very impressive.” Containing a smile, she stepped back to study him, one finger laid alongside her cheek. “But don’t you think the frilly pink apron rather mars the effect?”
“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport.” Patrick went back to the kitchen counter and began tearing lettuce into a salad bowl. “There’s just one teensy-weensy little thing you should know.”
“What’s that?” Meg eyed him narrowly. Patrick’s teensy-weensy little things generally turned out to be the size of battleships.
“I might have given the selection panel the impression I was married. With a son.”
“Patrick! How are you going to pull that off? And why? I thought it was against navy rules to harass people for their sexual orientation.”
“That’s official policy, sweetcheeks. Sure, I could win a case if it came up, but after all the trouble I go to being discreet, I don’t want the publicity. Daddy would not be amused.”
“He’s some high-mucka-muck in the navy, isn’t he?”
“My dear, he’s practically an admiral.”
“How amused is he going to be when he hears you’ve got a family you haven’t bothered to mention?”
“He’s based in Ottawa. Gossip doesn’t travel that far east. A harassment suit would.” Patrick ripped at the lettuce as though storming the beaches.
“Patrick, does your father know?”
“I told him a couple years ago. He hasn’t disowned me or anything, but he doesn’t like it spread around.”
“Oh. Well, okay, I’ll be your cover. Those navy types aren’t going to come poking around the house, are they?”
Patrick flapped a hand. “I doubt it. But if anyone calls whose voice you don’t recognize, can you throw in a reference to ‘my husband, Patrick’?”
“I’ll try to remember,” Meg said, and reached for a carrot stick.
“Those are for Davis,” he said, slapping her hand away. “So how did it go at the university?”
Meg let her shoulders sag. “Emotionally exhausting. Terrifying. Weird.”
“And you haven’t even started classes yet.” He pushed an open bottle of chardonnay across the counter. “Pour yourself a glass of wine and tell me all about it. I’ve been prostrate with curiosity about your mysterious phone call.”
Meg got herself a glass of wine and sat on the bar stool across the counter from Patrick. “That was my new honors supervisor who called.”
Patrick stopped tearing lettuce. “Go on. Is he a hunk?”
“You could say that. But mainly, he’s Davis’s—”
“Mom, when’s dinner?”
Meg gave a start. Drops of cool wine spilled over her fingers. “Davis! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I wasn’t sneaking, I was