Coffees and goodies in hand, Fiona walked down the street, passing the Five Elements Gym and Dojo on the way. The wide windows on the corner unit gave passersby a good view of the goings-on within, and it seemed there was quite a show. Most of the hovering gawkers were women.
“Who do you think he is?” Fiona overheard one ask.
“I hear he’s renting the Patterson place on Geneva Street. John Patterson told me he was getting a new short-term tenant.”
“Oh! Look what he’s doing now.”
Fiona glanced through the window and felt her eyebrows rise to her hairline. Dom was doing an advanced yoga position, a one-armed plank on a medicine ball. The other arm stuck straight up, perpendicular to the ground. His body rippled with sinewy muscles beneath his clinging T-shirt. He made the exercise look effortless.
“Oh, my,” a woman said, fanning herself. “What do you suppose he does for a living?”
“With a body like that, I wouldn’t care if he was a garbageman.”
Dom got up from the mat and glanced out the window, his eyes connecting with Fiona’s. There was no mistaking the spark of recognition in his baby blues. He gave her a salute.
Fiona felt heat climb up her neck. Arms loaded with coffee and pastries, she could do little more than nod. His grin broadened.
Thinking he’d been grinning at them, the other women collectively swooned. Fiona shook her head as they started arguing over who he’d been making eyes at. She walked back to the bookshop, feeling just a little sorry for Dominic Payette. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be swarmed by Salmon River’s most ardent husband hunters and matchmakers.
THE SMACK TO THE BACK of his head made Dom flinch, not in pain, but in surprise.
“What do you think you’re doing, Domo-san?” Mako tapped a rolled-up newspaper against his hip. He used to punish him with a swat whenever Dom’s attention wandered during lessons. It seemed old habits died hard.
“I was just waving to a friend.” Mrs. MacAvery, her blond hair shining in the sun, her eyes dark and watchful. A small part of him had wished one of those coffees and whatever was in that box had been for him, since he still hadn’t eaten a proper breakfast. Beyond the window and the staring faces he saw her enter the bookshop across the street. Maybe she worked there?
Thwack! The newspaper came down harder, bouncing off his scalp this time. “You have more important things than girls to think about right now,” Mako admonished with a dour look. “Give me twenty rolls.”
Dom suppressed a grim but knowing smile. He knew his sensei would keep him on track.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN FIONA FINISHED WORK at four o’clock, she went to get Sean from fun camp. Since so many people worked weekends to cater to the tourist crowds, the town’s family and community committee had set up the service so that parents would have somewhere to send their children who needed babysitting.
Sean shuffled over as she got out of the car. “Hey, sweetie.” Fiona didn’t lean in for a hug or a kiss; her son was getting to that age where he abhorred public displays of affection. She probably wouldn’t be able to call him “sweetie” soon, either.
Sean mumbled a reply, scuffing his toe against the ground.
“Did you have a good day?” she asked.
He shrugged thin shoulders. His T-shirt looked much more rumpled than usual. Then she noticed dark purple marks on his arm.
“Where’d you get that?” She pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and gasped at the sight of a huge new bruise. “Who did this?”
“Cut it out, Mom.” Sean pulled away and walked around the car to the passenger side.
“Ms. MacAvery?” The fun camp supervisor, Mrs. Madden, called. “Could I please speak with you?” It was practically a demand.
Fiona steeled herself. Seventy-seven-year-old Teresa Madden was a God-fearing widow whose acerbic tongue spared nobody. But her age, religious zeal and dedication to public service made her a paragon of virtue. She was active and volunteered her time to a lot of community causes. Fiona secretly suspected the old woman was like a shark, and would die if she stopped moving.
“Hello, Mrs. Madden,” she said, pasting on a smile.
The corners of the woman’s mouth were turned down so far it looked as if she’d drunk vinegar. “Sean was in another fight today. I had to pull him off Rene Kirkpatrick and send him to the closet for the entire afternoon.”
It was Fiona’s turn to frown. The closet was exactly that—an empty, windowless cubbyhole where ill-behaved students were sent to “think about their sins.” Unfortunately, it seemed the wrong kid had been punished again. Rene was half again as tall and heavy as Sean. Did Mrs. Madden really think her son could have pinned him to the ground?
“I don’t have to remind you about our three-strikes policy,” the woman said. She picked at the linty moss-green sweater she always wore, even though it was a balmy 78 degrees out. “And this is strike three. I’m going to have to ask you not to bring him here anymore.”
Exasperated, Fiona demanded, “Did you at least ask him what happened?”
“What was there to ask? I came out and saw your boy sitting on Rene’s chest. I may not be as young as you, but my old eyes still work.” Her mouth crimped in distaste. “If you don’t get a handle on your little hellion, he’ll end up in jail just like his father.”
Fiona reeled back in shock and anger. “I will not allow you to insult my son, Teresa. Sean is a well-behaved and polite young boy. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Rene. You know he provoked him to attack!” Her voice had risen to an angry pitch. “And Sean is nothing like his father.”
But her words bounced off the old woman’s thick hide. “Have a good day, Mrs. MacAvery. I don’t expect to see you or Sean here again.”
And that was that. Fiona could say nothing in protest, knew there was no one she could appeal to who would change Teresa Madden’s mind. She, like Denise, was a part of the Salmon River establishment. No one would raise a hand or a word against her better judgment.
Injustice burned through Fiona’s blood. She briefly considered flinging her purse at the old woman’s head, but counted to ten instead. Then she marched to the car, her hands balled into tight fists.
What was she supposed to do now? Saturday was the busiest day of the week at Leeds Reads, and her paycheck was dependent on those hours. But she couldn’t leave Sean at home alone all day.
Maybe Marion would allow him to stay in the back room of the store while she worked. Sean would hate it, especially now that the weather was so nice and summer break was coming up fast.
Her mind was scrambling for alternatives as she reached the car. Sean was waiting for her by the passenger door. He was staring intently at the tips of his shoes, his face beet-red as he held his breath, and held in his emotions.
Fiona sighed. Gently, she said, “Mrs. Madden says you got in a fight again.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” Sean whipped his head up. “She didn’t even listen to me!”
“I know.” Fiona’s heart broke at her son’s anguish. It was so unfair that he had to go through this. “Sean…she said you can’t go to fun camp any more.”
His cheeks drained of color. “I hate it there any how,” he muttered, and spun around so she wouldn’t see the tears gathering