Home to Harmony Page 2

  “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.”

  Her son colored, not pleased about being reminded.

  “So what kind of hell did you raise?” Aurora asked. “Back talk? Independent thought? Authority figures in institutions hate people who think for themselves.”

  “No shit,” he said.

  “Language,” Christine warned. “It was for fighting, disrespecting teachers and—other things.” Suspected marijuana possession, which was the part that most worried Christine. He had been using pot, she knew. Stopping was part of their deal.

  David had promised to finish his schoolwork online and return in the fall with a new attitude. And Christine would do everything in her power to make that happen, including getting David some counseling. Aurora had told her about a therapist in nearby New Mirage, which was a lucky break in such a minuscule town.

  “Christ, kids are kids, Crystal. They’re not all taking Uzis into social studies class.”

  “Aurora…” Christine shot her mother a look. They’d discussed this over the phone, since Christine was concerned about her mother’s permissive style and the free-to-be atmosphere at Harmony House.

  “Okay,” Aurora said. “Your mother wants me to remind you to obey the rules. There aren’t many, but the ones we have we mean. No fighting. No smarting off…well, maybe a little smarting off. No drugs, of course. A fresh start, right? Pull your weight with chores. We all share and care. That’s our motto. Always has been.”

  She nodded at the commune rules posted next to the chore board, where everyone was assigned duties. It looked as though there were only a half-dozen residents at the moment.

  “Are we agreed?” Christine said to David. They had to be on the same page if they had any hope of her plan working.

  “Chill, okay?” David said. “I got it.”

  “We’ll have fun anyway,” Aurora pretended to whisper behind her hand. That was typical Aurora. When she’d visited, she’d let David sip mescal, skip dinner and stay up all night watching vampire movies that gave him nightmares for a week.

  David, of course, had adored her.

  “Here we go.” Bogie set down a plate of creamy cheese and big triangles of pita bread.

  “Sit down, you two,” Aurora said, spreading blobs of the cheese onto the pita, then handing them out. “Eat, Bogie,” she said. “Since the radiation, he hardly eats.”

  “I do fine,” he said. “I have…uh…medicine.”

  Christine felt a twinge of worry. Bogie grew a few marijuana plants for medicinal use, since pot was good for pain suppression, nausea and poor appetite. He’d promised to never smoke around David and to keep his half-hidden grow-room locked.

  In the old days pot had been everywhere at Harmony House, a fact that had annoyed Christine immensely, since it led to so much silly, lazy behavior in the grown-ups.

  Christine took a bite of the pita. The cheese was lemony and so delicate it melted like butter on her tongue. “Mmm,” she said, then sipped the rose-hip tea, which tasted fresh and healthy.

  David grimaced at the tea and barely nibbled the pita. He was a junk-food maniac, so the grow-your-own meals would be an adjustment for him. She’d take him to Parsons Foods in town for a stash of processed sugar and sodium nitrates. She had enough issues with David. Nutrition could wait.

  “You’ll love Doctor Mike, David,” Aurora said. “He’s brilliant. So intuitive. He sees right into you.”

  David shrugged, not enthused about the counseling. The guy would have to be good to get through to him.

  “If you don’t like him, we’ve got Doctor B.,” Aurora said.

  “Doctor B.?” Christine asked.

  “Marcus Barnard. He’s a big shrink in LA. He’s working on a book while he’s here.”

  So the man in the garden was a psychiatrist. That certainly explained his cool formality and intense gaze, along with his attempt to interpret Aurora’s obstinacy for her.

  “He’s a hard worker, too,” Bogie said. “A good thing since we’re low on residents right now. Lucy—she runs the clay works operation—thinks you should hire part-time kids, Crystal.”

  “Crystal doesn’t need to mess with any hiring,” Aurora grumbled. “I’ll be back in a week.”

  “The heart doctor said six weeks,” Bogie said quietly.

  “We’re here to work, Aurora,” Christine said. Bogie had warned her that her mother might resist help.

  “You’ll have your hands full with the animals, the gardens and Bogie’s greenhouse,” Aurora said.

  “Let’s just see how it goes.” If she had to hog-tie her mother to her bed to make her take it easy, she would. She’d need her A game to manage Aurora, that was clear.

  Christine was a pro at finessing difficult clients, but here with her mother in the Harmony House kitchen, she felt herself shrinking into her childhood self, like Alice in Wonderland eating the cake that made her very small.

  “If that travel article brings more folks out, we’ll have more hands,” Bogie said.

  “There was an article?” Christine asked.

  “It was about out-of-the-way travel spots. It said we’re the oldest continuously inhabited commune in the western U.S. We got a couple of hikers from Tucson due to the story.”

  “Harmony House is the oldest?” That fact fired up Christine’s professional instincts. “We could market that in ads, up your census, then raise your rates.” It was a relief to talk about something she knew how to do.

  “We don’t have rates,” Aurora said. “We ask for a contribution to cover food and laundry services and whatnot.”

  “What about your cash flow? Is it predictable?” Christine’s mind was spinning with the key questions she’d ask a client.

  “This is a commune,” David said. “It’s about living off what you produce and being sustainable. It’s not about cash.”

  Thank you, Brigitte. “Even Harmony House needs income.” She pointed at the Parsons Foods bag on the counter. “I doubt the grocery story lets them barter.”

  “They do buy our eggs and goat cheese,” Bogie said.

  David made an impatient sound. “Just because your job is getting people to buy crap they don’t need, doesn’t mean the rest of us want to live that way.” He was showing off for Aurora and Bogie, she could tell.

  “It was my evil capitalist job that paid for your cell phone, laptop and Xbox,” she said, hoping he would joke back.

  “Whatever, Christine.”

  She winced. Calling her by her first name was another Brigitte brainstorm: We’re all peers on this planet. But Christine was not about to object at the moment. She had to pick her battles or they’d be in a never-ending war.

  “Hell, we all start where we are and do what we c
an, right, Crystal?” Aurora said, surprising Christine with her kindness. Maybe her mother’s brush with death had softened her a little. “Your boss is cool with you taking off the summer?”

  “I’ve brought projects to do from here.” If the commune work tied her up too much, she’d have to dip into savings, but that would be fine. Within a year, she intended to leave Vance Advertising and open her own agency. “The main thing is for you to get your strength back.”

  Her mother bristled. “I am not an—”

  “Invalid, yeah. That’s what you said.”

  “And I mean it,” her mother said sharply. Except the emotion that flashed in her eyes wasn’t anger. It was fear. A chill climbed Christine’s spine. She’d never seen Aurora afraid and it made the world tilt on its axis. Aurora was clearly weaker than she wanted to be. Oh, dear.

  “How about we get you settled in now and tomorrow Aurora can show you around the clay works?” Bogie said, evidently trying to smooth the moment.

  “That sounds great,” Christine said before her mother could object. “So I’ll stay in my old room and put David in the spare one next door?” Christine and Aurora had lived in the old boarding house owners’ quarters at the back of the building.

  “The spare’s got furniture at the moment,” Bogie said. “We could move it if you like.”

  “Nonsense,” Aurora said. “David can pick one of the empty rooms on the far end of the second floor. Once you’ve picked it, grab a key.” She nodded at a rack by the kitchen door.

  “Okay. Cool.”

  He’d be too far away from her, but seeing the delight on David’s face, Christine wouldn’t object.

  “We never used to lock a door,” Bogie said, shaking his head sadly. “People insist these days. Your room’s open, Crystal. I figured you’d want to stay there.”

  Outside, David barreled up the stairs to pick out his room. Christine grinned at his eagerness. Of course, dragging buckets of table scraps to the compost heap might chill his excitement, not to mention the lack of cell service or high-speed Internet, but Christine hoped he’d be so busy learning and exploring that he’d forget all about Brigitte.

  She caught up with him halfway down the terrace, opening doors. When he reached a faded blue one, Christine got a jolt of electric memory. That was Dylan’s room, where she’d lost her virginity not exactly on purpose.

  “Not that one!” she called, then saw that David had opened the door to Marcus Barnard, who was buttoning up a blue shirt.

  “Sorry,” David said, the moved on to the next room.

  “He didn’t realize the room was occupied,” she said, watching Marcus’s fingers on the buttons. His ring finger had a pale indentation. He was divorced or widowed and not long ago. Hmmm.

  “No problem,” he said, tucking in his shirt. “I’ll get the dolly.” Before she could object, he was loping down the terrace.

  “Thanks!” she called as he took the stairs down to the yard. Leaning on the terrace rail, she watched him cross to the clay barn, moving with the easy grace of an athlete, strong, but not showy about it. Easy on the eyes. Maybe she shouldn’t stare, but, heck, window-shopping didn’t cost a dime, did it?

  CHAPTER TWO

  MARCUS ROLLED THE clay-spattered dolly toward Christine’s car, not certain what bothered him more: how much David looked like Nathan or how abruptly he’d been caught by Christine.

  She was pretty, of course, and lively, a coil of energy ready to spring into action. It had to be the contrast to his quiet life. She was like an explosion of confetti, a surprise that made you smile.

  And when she’d burst in on him dressing, he’d all but expected her. He’d felt abruptly alert. Awake.

  Which made him realize he’d been numb for a while, since long before the divorce. The sensation almost hurt, like the tingling ache of a sleep-numbed arm regaining circulation.

  Then there was her son. The last thing Marcus needed was a walking, talking reminder of his stepson. His memories and regrets were difficult enough.

  He got to the car as Christine staggered beneath the huge suitcase she’d dragged from the overhead luggage rack. He lunged to catch it before it hit the gravel. If she’d waited… But, then, Christine Waters didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who waited for much at all.

  She jumped in with both feet, which at the moment were clad in heeled sandals, not exactly stable on uneven ground. She was dressed for the city in a filmy top, white shorts and flashy jewelry. It was as if she hadn’t wanted to admit she was coming to a commune. Her mother was clearly a source of tension, too.

  What the hell was he doing analyzing the woman anyway?

  “That’s David’s bag,” she said, nodding at the one he held, her face flushed from exertion. “Let’s load his stuff first.”

  Marcus put the bag on the cart and David added an electric guitar case. “You play?” Marcus asked.

  David nodded. He had the same long blond hair, scrawny frame, soulful eyes and narrow face as Nathan. Even Lady had been fooled, barreling at him with joy, her owner home at last.

  “His teacher says he’s gifted, but he hardly practices,” Christine said. “He’ll have time when we’re here to—”

  “I’m not gifted,” David blurted, glaring at his mother.

  “I didn’t practice much until I got into a band,” Marcus said to smooth the moment.

  “You play, too?” Christine locked gazes with him. Her eyes were an unusual color—a soft gray.

  “Acoustic these days, but yes, I play.”

  “Maybe you and David could jam.” Her face lit up, but her son’s fell, clearly mortified.

  “God, Mom.”

  “If you’re interested, of course.” But he was certain the boy would decline. A good thing. Marcus would prefer to keep his distance.

  “David…? Answer the man!”

  Easy, Mom, Marcus wanted to warn her.

  “Maybe, whatever,” David mumbled, clearly fuming. He yanked the cart forward just as Christine tossed a bag. When it hit the ground, she teetered and Marcus steadied her arm.

  Balance restored, Christine stepped back, her cheeks pink. He noticed that in the swelter of early summer the woman smelled like spring.

  “Sorry,” David muttered, tossing the fallen suitcase onto his load and shoving the cart toward the house.

  “Everything I say pisses him off,” she said with a light laugh, though she looked sad and confused.

  “That’s not uncommon with teenagers.”

  “Really? So, in your opinion, he’s normal?” She faced him dead on, standing too close, digging in with her eyes. “Aurora told us you were a psychiatrist.”

  “I’m a partner at a mental health institute near L.A., yes.” Until they offered to buy him out, which he expected when he returned. Better for everyone.

  “But you’ve treated clients, though, right?”

  “In the past, yes, but—”

  “I mean, I wasn’t asking for free therapy…well, not yet anyway.” Another grin. “I bet that happens at parties a lot, huh? People hitting you up for advice?”

  “At times.” Not that there had been any parties after all that had happened—the controversy over his research, Nathan, his crumbling marriage. Fewer phone calls. A handful of e-mails and cards. Mostly silence.

  Christine had turned to watch David drag the dolly to the terrace. “He’ll be seeing a counselor in New Mirage, which I hope will help. Michael Lang? Do you know him? Is he good?”

  “I don’t know him, no.” It surprised him to learn the tiny town had a therapist of any kind. His friend Carlos Montoya, a GP, offered the only medical care, a three-daya-week clinic, with Carlos driving over from Preston.

  “It should help, right? I mean, the counseling?”

  “It can,” he said. “If the therapist’s style suits the client. Assuming your son wants to be treated.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that. David’s not exactly into it. He agreed to it to keep from getting expelled. Pl
us, it was my idea and he hates me lately.” She sighed.

  “The transition to adulthood can be difficult,” he said, moving to the trunk, wanting to get on with the task.

  “We never used to fight like this,” she said, joining him in surveying the load of office equipment, again standing too close. “We always talked, you know? About everything. He came to me with his problems, talked about school and friends. Now every conversation is a minefield. One wrong word and he explodes.”

  “It can be that way.” And so much worse. He leaned in to shift a computer into position.

  “Do you have kids, Marcus?”

  The question startled him and he jerked upward, banging his head on the trunk lid. “Not of my own, no.”

  “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  He realized he’d spoken sharply. “It’s fine.” He braced the CPU on the rim of the trunk with his hip so he could rub the knot on his head.

  “Sorry about that. Wait, we need the cart.” It sat empty outside the room David had chosen. “David, the cart!” she called. “I swear I taught him better manners.”

  She dashed after it. It was impossible not to watch her run, graceful and quick, even in heels. The sight of her firm curves and long legs in motion set off an unwelcome reaction below the belt. He was human, of course. And a man.

  No excuse to gawk. He started emptying the trunk.

  The rattle of wheels told him she’d returned and he began stacking items onto the cart. “He’s excited about the room,” she said, as if he’d asked the question. “This is just a rough patch, you know? Most parents and their kids survive the teen years, right?”

  “Most, yes.” But not all.

  Not all.

  She stared at him, clearly wondering what he meant.

  Afraid she’d pry—the woman seemed to have no boundaries—he put the last item, a fax machine, on top and pushed the cart toward Harmony House. “Where to now?”

  “Toward the back of the house. Through the courtyard.”

  They walked together, with Christine placing a steadying hand on the stack. “I hate that David’s room is so far from mine. Of course, you’re next door, so can I count on you to make sure he keeps curfew?”