Joan Kilby - Spencer's Child

“Davis,” she said, turning to her son, “get Charlie out of your collar and back in his cage. Then run and wash your hands. You don’t want lizard slime in your oatmeal.”

“Lizards aren’t slimy, Mom. Sheesh!” But he plucked the reptile off his neck and returned to the laundry room where the less socially acceptable of his pets were housed, his feet dragging in exaggerated slow motion. Just to let her know he was complying under duress.

Through the open door, Meg watched him put Charlie away. “Keep going,” she said, stepping across to where she could see the hall to make sure he didn’t get sidetracked on the way to the bathroom.

Patrick clucked his tongue as he put the kettle on to boil. “Ease up on the boy,” he said, measuring ground Colombian into the coffee plunger. “Watching his every move like a hawk won’t teach him self-reliance.”

Meg dropped a handful of raisins into the oatmeal and turned down the heat. “Oh, Patrick, you know what he’s like.”

“Vividly. But you can’t be the earth, moon and stars to the child. You need a break before school starts. Why don’t you let me look after him for a couple of days while you pamper yourself with a weekend at the Empress Hotel?”

“You know I can’t afford that.”

Even if she could afford a weekend at the Empress, she wouldn’t go. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Patrick’s life-style; he was just way too lenient. Davis constantly pushed the limits. He needed a firm hand. He needed stability, continuity and routine. He needed to know where he stood every moment of the day. She could just imagine how spun out her son would be after a couple of days with Patrick giving him whatever his heart desired. If only she could call on her mother.... But there was no use wishing.

The telephone began to ring again.

Meg reached for the cordless phone and, still stirring the oatmeal, tucked it under her chin while she opened the fridge to get some milk. “Hello?”

Noel hopped out of his open cage above the kitchen counter and onto her shoulder. “Hello?” he squawked in her other ear.

“Get away.” She brushed at the bird and it flew to the top of the fridge. “Sorry, not you,” she said into the receiver. Behind her she could hear Davis rummaging through the cupboard. The kettle began to hiss. “Hello? Is anybody there?”

A man cleared his throat. “May I speak to Meg McKenzie?”

Her hand froze on the wooden spoon. Spencer. She’d know his deep voice anywhere, anytime. The pale yellow walls of the kitchen seemed to swirl. The sounds around her faded away. Without warning she was snatched from the mundane activities of breakfast and dropped, like a stone through water, into the past. She was sinking, fast.

“Who is this?” she whispered hoarsely, buying time. What could he be calling for now, after all these years?

“Spencer...” He paused. “Spencer Valiella.”

A prickling chill ran from behind her ears and down her arms. Glancing up, she saw Patrick’s round hazel eyes regarding her avidly. She turned away so he couldn’t see her face, which she was sure must be pale.

“Dr. Ashton-Whyte from the university asked me to call you,” Spencer went on, as though speaking to a stranger. “I’m taking over Dr. Campbell’s position—I assume you know he had a stroke?”

His words caused a roaring in her ears. Spencer, it’s me you’re talking to. “Yes. I—I went to see him in the hospital.”

There was a pause, then he said slowly, “I used to know a Meg McKenzie—about seven years ago. She did the best biological illustrations I’ve ever seen.”

He did remember. If she shut her eyes she could almost imagine she was hearing his voice in the dark—

“Mom! Can I have my oatmeal? I’m starving.”

Davis. Meg felt her spine go cold. Spinning around, she held a finger against her lips to shush him, then hurried over to spoon oatmeal into his bowl.

With her free hand pressed to her other ear, she walked back into the kitchen and said quietly into the receiver, “Thank you. Spencer.”

Silence while she listened to the sound of her thudding heart and shallow breath.

“Meg,” he said at last, “so it is you. I couldn’t believe it at first. How are you?”

“Fine. Just fine.” Unexpectedly anger coursed through her, bringing the blood back to her cheeks. She was not fine. He’d made love to her, then left town without even saying goodbye.

“I had no idea you would be taking over Dr. Campbell’s position,” she said, covering her anger with an artificially bright voice, taking refuge from hurt by reverting to her preppy self of seven years ago. Before Davis. Before poverty. Before the falling out with her mother.

“I’ve kept in touch with Doc over the years,” Spencer said. “He knew I was available and suggested to Ashton-Whyte I’d be suitable for the job. I’ll be an assistant professor, not a full professor like Doc, but I can live with that.”

He’d kept in touch with Dr. Campbell. But not with her. Meg gripped the telephone, trying not to weep with anger and frustration and hurt. When she thought of all the nights she’d lain awake and fantasized about an emotional reunion. Idiot.

“Well, you certainly know your cetaceans,” she replied, still in that overbright tone reminiscent of her mother’s garden-club voice.

“Have you decided on a topic?”

“Topic? Oh, you’re talking about my thesis.” She didn’t mean anything to him. Never had. “I’ve got some ideas I was going to discuss with Dr. Campbell.”

“I guess you’ll be discussing them with me, instead.”

It hit her then. She was not only talking to Spencer, she would soon see him. And not only see him, but work with him on a daily basis. Meg groped for a chair and lowered herself into it. Davis spooned oatmeal into his mouth and watched her, wide-eyed. Patrick set a cup of coffee in front of her.

“So you’ll be my honors supervisor?”

“If you have no objection.”

“Do I have a choice?” She laughed to show she was joking, but it sounded thin.

“Not if you want to work with killer whales.”

Nothing was going to stop her from working with killer whales. Not even Spencer Valiella. Then she thought about why he’d said that, the reason he was there at all. Dr. Campbell had been the only-marine mammalogist in the department. “Won’t Dr. Campbell be coming back to work?”

“The doctors don’t know yet how permanent the damage is. Right now, he’s got some paralysis down his right side, but he’s recovering well. I only expect to be here until Christmas.”

“Oh.” Dear God. Did she feel hope or disappointment? Where Spencer was concerned she’d known too much of both.

“Meg, why are you doing your honors now? Seven years later?”

The answer was sitting there at the kitchen table,. licking milky droplets from the side of his mouth. She was going to have to tell him about Davis. But it wasn’t something she could blurt over the phone. After all this time of wishing he could know his son, and vice versa, she was suddenly terrified of them meeting.

“I guess we’d better make a time to discuss my thesis,” she said, evading his question. “I’ll be up at the university today to register.”

“I just got into town. I need some sleep before I can think coherently. How about this afternoon in Doc’s office? Say, three o’clock?”

“Two o’clock would be better. I’ve, uh, got something I have to pick up around three.”

“Fine. I’ll see you then.”

The phone slipped from her cold fingers into its cradle. She wiped a hand across her forehead and felt the perspiration. She was not disappointed he hadn’t declared his long-lost love.

Over at the sink, Patrick was rinsing his bowl. “What was that all about?” he said. “And don’t you tell me ‘nothing’ sweetcheeks, because I know it’s something. Something big.”