Christine Waters parked her sturdy Volvo in front of the
main building of Harmony House, the commune where she'd
grown up, her heart pinched as tight as her hands on the
steering wheel, a spurt of panic overriding her
determination.
What the hell was she doing back here? When she'd left this
place at seventeen, it had been for good.
She knew why she'd come, of course. She had two good
reasons: to give her fifteen-year-old son a fresh start and
to help her mother recover from heart surgery.
Simple. Easy.
Except nothing about David, her mother or Harmony House
itself was simple or easy. Ever.
David shoved off his ever-present headphones, which shut
out the world—especially her—and jumped out of the car,
enthusiastic for the first time since Christine had
announced they would be here for the summer.
"It's like an old-time hotel," David said, surveying the
two-story building surrounded by gardens, the clay works
barn and the animal stable.
"It was a boarding house back in the thirties, I think,"
she said, joining him. In the years she'd been gone—
eighteen of them—the place had become stooped with age, the
yellow paint gone as faint as cream and the different-
colored doors were milky pale. The wraparound terraces
looked as though they'd give way in a breeze.
This shocked and saddened her, like seeing a lively friend
wan and weak in a hospital bed. She'd never liked the
place, but it had always seemed bright and vibrant.
"Cool," David said, nodding.
Cool? Christine hid her smile of relief. The one thing in
her favor was that David's girlfriend, who shaped his every
opinion, approved of communes.
Well, la-di-dah.
"Check out the school bus," David said, indicating the
ancient vehicle painted with hippie rainbows and peace
signs.
"I can't believe Bogie still has that monster. Wonder if it
even runs." She used to hate when it broke down on the
winding road to town. Being late for school had been
mortifying, not to mention all the stares at her homemade
clothes. Christine was seven when Bogie had talked her
mother into moving out of the cozy apartment in Phoenix to
the commune in the middle of nowhere. To Christine's young
eyes, beyond the bright paint, the place was all mud, stink
and chaos.
Now, weary after the four-hour drive from Phoenix,
Christine peeled her sweat-drenched tank top off her back.
The cooler air in the hills was a relief, at least, though
there would be many hot hours in the clay works, as well as
tending the gardens, the animals and the kitchen, helping
out until her mother and Bogie were back on their feet.
Bogie, her mother's old friend and partner in the commune,
was recovering from prostate cancer.
Absently, Christine scratched the back of one arm, then
examined the itchy red bump. Mosquitoes already? The flying
pests bred in stagnant irrigation water or at the nearby
river's edge and they'd eaten her alive as a kid.
As if on cue, both her legs began to itch, too. She bent
down to scratch them. "Remind me to get bug spray in town."
"No way. Too toxic. Just cover yourself up," David said. He
would say that, dressed in his usual flannel shirt over a
ratty T-shirt and shapeless cords, all too hot for early
May in Arizona.
"We'll see. Grab a suitcase, okay?"
He went for the backseat, crammed with luggage, his too-
long straw-colored hair hanging over his face, hiding his
gorgeous eyes. Dragging out one of the bigger bags, he
stumbled a little. The two inches he'd grown in the past
year had made him as gangly as Pinocchio, not quite able to
work the long limbs he'd suddenly gotten.
How she missed the old David. They used to be Team Waters
against the world, as close as a mother and son could be.
She'd been so proud of the way she'd raised him. She'd been
open, direct, affectionate and accepting, and always,
always talking things out. So different from the way she'd
been raised, with all her questions unanswered, Aurora mute
or dismissive.
From the moment she found herself pregnant she'd sworn to
be a better mother than Aurora and she'd succeeded.
Until David slipped into puberty's stew of hormones and
hostility. After that, and so much worse, came Brigitte.
Two years older and snottier than David, she'd wrapped him
around her sexually active little finger in no time flat.
He was too young. Only fifteen. Too young for sex, for
drugs, for dangerous friends, for any of it. Christine's
anxious heart lurched with sorrow.
Watching him drag the bag across the gravel, she made a
vow: I will not lose you.
"What? What's wrong?" he demanded, letting the suitcase
drop to the dirt. He assumed she was criticizing him.
"Nothing's wrong," she said, managing a smile. Not so far,
anyway. Away from Brigitte and drugs, David's head would
clear. He'd get involved in the commune, finish his
schoolwork, talk to a counselor and, eventually, to her,
and gradually get back on track.
That was Christine's plan, along with helping Aurora
without damaging their fragile relationship.
Oh, and doing some ad agency projects on the side.
She would make this work. She had to.
A goat's baa drew her attention to a side garden, where a
man in a straw hat was pulling weeds, watched over by a
black-and-white sheep dog perched on its haunches.
Bogie?
She headed over to see, lifting her bag because of the
gravel. When he shooed the goat with his hat, Christine saw
the gardener wasn't Bogie. Not at all. He was mid-thirties,
not mid-sixties, and tanned, not leathery. He was also
handsome.
Strikingly so.
The goat trotted past her and Christine caught the sour
stench that had gotten her labeled "Goat Stink Girl" at New
Mirage Elementary. Ah, the good times.
The sheepdog gave an excited woof and galloped at David as
if he knew him. Once he got close, though, the dog drew
back, turned and shot off toward the cottonwood grove.
"Did we scare your dog?" Christine asked.
"Lady's shy. She tolerates me only because I feed her." The
gardener smiled at her so quickly she wasn't sure she'd
seen it, but when he looked at David his face went tight,
as if in unpleasant recognition. Odd.
"I'm Christine Waters. This is David."
"Marcus Barnard," he said, whipping off a leather glove to
shake her hand. He looked her over with cool green eyes
that held a glimmer of masculine interest…or maybe that was
a trick of sunlight. It hardly mattered. She was not about
to reciprocate.
"You're Aurora's daughter," he said, nodding. "She said
you'd be coming."
"How is she doing?" Bogie had told her the prognosis was
good, but Christine was anxious to see for herself. The
news that her mother was ill had hollowed her out. Aurora
had always seemed indestructible.
"She seems weak, but managing. I've done whatever extra
Aurora will allow." He shot her a brief smile.
"Allow? That sounds like my mother. Bogie asked me to say
I'm here because he needed help, not her." She smiled, but
she felt far from happy. If Bogie hadn't called, she was
certain Aurora never would have. That hurt deeply, though
Christine told herself it was Aurora's way and always would
be.
"People as self-sufficient as your mother often find it
difficult to accept help," Marcus said.
"Self-sufficient, huh? That's one way to put it, I guess."
It irked her that this stranger felt the need to explain
her mother. Over the years, Christine had tried to bridge
the chasm between them, but her mother hated questions and
wasn't much for phone calls. E-mail was out, too, since
Aurora didn't approve of computers. Christine sent cards
and called, but made no headway.
"So how long have you been a guest, Marcus?" She figured
him for a short-timer. He carried himself like a business
guy dressed for a hike in a neat chambray shirt and newish
jeans, not a bit like the grubbier, weather-worn and laid-
back commune residents.
"Almost three months, I guess." His eyes were piercing, but
cool, lasering in, but warning you away at the same time.
As striking in demeanor as he was in good looks, he seemed
wound tight, watchful, and there was a stillness about him….
Not a man easy to ignore. That was clear.
"Can I help you with your bags?" he asked.
"We don't know where we'll be yet, so, thank you, no."
"When you do, I'm here." He settled his straw hat onto his
head in a firm, deliberate way. Sexy. Definitely sexy. "And
good luck in there." He flashed her a smile.
"Can you tell I'll need it?" When she walked away,
following David to the porch, she stupidly wondered if
Marcus Barnard was watching her go.
At the door to Harmony House, all thoughts of anything but
what she faced fled. Christine paused to collect herself.
Ready or not, here I come. For better or worse, Christine
was home.
Once inside, she was startled by how everything looked the
same as she remembered. There was the same ham-mered-tin
ceiling, dark carved paneling, marble fireplace and antique
furniture. It even smelled the same—like smoke, old wood
and mildew. She was swamped with memories, her feelings a
jumble of fondness, nostalgia, dread and anxiety.
She followed David down the hall into the big kitchen,
which was empty and eerily quiet, unlike the old days when
it was always crammed with people cooking, talking, eating
or drinking. Christine had loved mealtimes, when everyone
was in a good mood, not too high or drunk or argumentative.
As a child, Christine had stayed alert to the vibe, braced
to scoot when it got ugly. Remembering made her pulse race
the way it used to. Ridiculous, really.
The back door opened and Bogie entered with a canvas holder
of firewood in his arms. "Bogie." Christine's heart leaped
at the sight of him. Bogie had always been kind to
Christine, offering a gentle word on her behalf during the
daily arguments with Aurora over food, clothes, toys and
Christine's free time.
"Crystal!" He dropped the wood into the box by the
woodstove and approached her, a grin filling his gaunt
face, which was sun-brown and webbed with wrinkles. His
ponytail had gone completely gray. He'd aged so much,
though his cancer treatment might have temporarily set him
back.
"Who's Crystal?" David asked her.
"I'll explain later," she murmured. God. She'd forgotten
about the name thing.
Bogie shifted his weight from side to side, lifted then
dropped his arms, as if not knowing whether or not to give
her a hug. She decided for him, throwing her arms around
him. He was skin and bones. "It's good to see you," she
said.
He ended the embrace fast, blushing beneath his tan, and
studied her. "You're so pretty, like I expected, but your
eyes look tired. We'll help you with that for sure."
She flushed at his close attention, surprised and warmed by
his obvious affection for her. He'd always been in the
background here. "Bogie, this is my son, David."
"Nice to meet you, young man," Bogie said, ducking his
head. So humble. He'd organized the commune, yet he'd let
the much younger Aurora take charge. "Aurora's lying down.
Let me tell her you're here."
"Oh, no, let her sleep. Please." Feeling as rattled as she
did, she wouldn't mind delaying her first contact with her
irascible mother.
"She'd never forgive me." Bogie thudded down the wooden
floor of the back hall.
Christine was dripping with sweat, ridiculously nervous.
Her mother needed her help and she was here to give it.
Maybe it would be as simple as it sounded.
"So…Crystal? What's that about?" David asked.
"Lord. Aurora changed our names when we got here."
"She named you Crystal Waters?"
"And she wasn't joking, either. She wanted it to be a
spiritual rebirth, like a baptism. I was to be sharp and
true and sweet as the truth." She'd resisted at first, but
her mother had been so excited and happy, she'd given in.
"That is so whack."
"You're telling me." Seeing David so amused, she told more
of the story. "Picture the whole second grade laughing
their heads off when I got introduced that first day."
"That would be harsh for sure." He smiled his old smile and
Christine's heart lifted. So far, so good. "What about
Grandma's name? Aurora sounds made up."
"It was. Her real name's Marie. Aurora means dawn. She
wanted to experience daybreak as a bright new woman" The
words had stayed with Christine. When her mother had been
that happy, Christine had felt swept away on a merry
current. When she turned sad or angry, the trip became a
churning tumble over sharp rocks. Probably how all kids
felt.
"That's so trippy," David said, just as Aurora tromped in
from the hall, Bogie on her heels.
"I can get out of bed on my own, dammit. Quit treating me
like an invalid, Bogart."
Christine sucked in a breath at how small and frail her
mother looked. Aurora had always seemed larger than life
and tough as an Amazon warrior, even once Christine became
an adult. When David was five, Aurora had come to Phoenix
for a short, awkward visit and seemed as substantial and
strong as ever.
Christine hid her alarm with a smile. "Aurora, hi."
As always, her mother's brown eyes slid away without making
contact. "It's about time you got here. Bogie, get them
iced tea. It's rose hip," she said to Christine.
"No need to fuss. We snacked the whole trip." But Bogie was
already in the fridge.
"You look wrung out to me," Aurora insisted. "What are you
doing in a silk top out here?"
"I don't know. It's light and cool." She smoothed her hair
as if to prove how fresh she was. God. She'd automatically
defended herself against her mother's tossed-off criticism.
"Look at you, David, tall as hell." Aurora started to move
forward—to hug him perhaps?—but instead sank into a chair,
breathing heavily.
"Should you be resting?" Christine asked, alarmed at her
mother's weakness.
Aurora drilled her with a look. "Don't you start the
invalid treatment, too." She swung her gaze to David. "Nice
tat." She meant the ring of yin-yang symbols around David's
heartbreakingly thin upper arm.
"I think it's awful," Christine said. It was a Brigitte
idea, along with the eyebrow stud.
"It's a kid's job to rebel," Aurora said. "That's how they
individuate. You rebelled by conforming." She turned to
David. "Your mother loved to iron. Can you imagine that
around here?" She winked at him. "She brushed her hair a
hundred strokes, flossed her teeth every night, followed
every rule. We didn't have many, so she made up some of her
own."
"She still loves rules, that's for sure," David said.
"I'm not that bad, am I?" If being the butt of a joke or
two helped David get comfortable here, Christine would
dance around the room with boxer shorts on her head.
"Get the herbed goat cheese and some pita, Bogart," Aurora
said gruffly. Bogie had already set out four mason jars of
iced tea. "So, David, how'd you get kicked out of school
anyway?"
"He wasn't expelled, Aurora. We talked the principal down
to a suspension. As long as David keeps his side of the
bargain."