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His arms wrapped around her back, cocooning her in a warm, familiar way. The weight of his cheek pressed into the top of her hair. “Hey, Scout,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.
When had she started crying? She sniffled and wiped her eyes. A lopsided smile pulled on her lips and she batted away her tears. “What are you doing here?”
Her fingers petted over his clothing. He looked as though he robbed a thrift store dealing only in Ralph Lauren. A white dress shirt fit him well, the cuffs rolled to the crease of his elbow and top button undone to display the hollow of his throat. His belt showed over his fitted gray slacks where his tailored gray vest drew up as his arms held her shoulders. A trendy blue tie with horizontal white stripes hung loosely at his neck. He always had that youthful cover model look, a little grunge with the hand-me-downs of polished society. But seeing him in pressed clothing was altogether different than seeing him in a corduroy blazer with elbow patches and a worn, moth-eaten sweater.
His green eyes glittered, the corners creasing with mirth. Her hand rose to touch his hair. “You cut your hair.”
He smiled. “I was due. Why are you crying?” His finger grazed her cheek.
She shook her head. “I thought you were dead.”
“Oh, no, Scout, I would never die without first having the courtesy of telling you.”
She laughed and wiped her eyes. “Where have you been?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.
“It does to me.”
“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
It took her a moment, but she got it. So like Parker to start quoting works of literature. “Are you claiming to be Gatsby?” she teased.
His expression sobered. “No,” he said softly. “I’m still Parker, trying to float on and hoping to land in the right part of my past. I’ve decided to stop fighting the tide.” He looked over her shoulder at Lucian, and Evelyn stepped back, immediately recalling his presence and perceiving her closeness to Parker as wrong in Lucian’s eyes.
“Gatsby, for all his efforts and greatness, never could manage his own destiny,” Parker whispered.
She had plenty to say to that, but remained quiet as Lucian retrieved her hand and said, “Let’s sit down.”
They sat and a waiter filled their glasses. As Lucian ordered the wine, Evelyn leaned close to Parker and whispered, “Are you off the streets? You look so different. Tell me everything! I can’t believe you’re sitting here.”
Her fingers continued to trace the sleeve of his shirt, barely touching, but needing to prove he was really there all the same. Lucian reached for her fidgeting hand and held it in his, suppressing her urge to keep touching Parker.
Parker cleared his throat. “Well, I got a job.”
“That’s great! Doing what?”
“It’s an office job, actually. It’s been a day-to-day thing for the past few months. I’m learning my way quickly and I’ve already gotten two promotions. I just put a deposit down on my own place.”
The pride one might imagine for such an accomplishment was absent. While Evelyn put weight in financial stability, Parker always disqualified it as more of a means to an end. She laughed at the familiar stubbornness. All those pretty clothes did nothing to disguise how unimpressed he would always be by the rich.
“Careful, Parker,” she teased. “In those fancy clothes someone could mistake you for one of those wealthy snobs you so detest.”
He looked down at his chest and grimaced. Brushing an invisible piece of lint off his cuff he said, “Tragic, isn’t it?”
“I think you look good.”
“Let’s order,” Lucian interrupted, waving over the waiter.
He had been quiet since they arrived. Although he was in complete control of himself, it occurred to her that he had done this. He had arranged for her to see Parker. Lucian must have had to hire someone to find him, because Park was clearly not spending time at the tracks or the shelters anymore.
She squeezed Lucian’s hand, trying to quietly express her gratitude for such an incredible gift. He smiled at her, but said nothing, just gave her hand an affectionate squeeze back.
The waiter returned and left to inform the chef of their order. Lucian was very reserved. He watched Parker in a manner that cloaked the table with an unsettling mood Evelyn found easier to ignore than acknowledge. Parker was her friend. Lucian had to come to terms with that.
Her mind was still reeling at the fact he was there. “So where are you working?”
“I’m working for a company in the West End. You know how I feel about work. Let’s talk about other things. Are you happy?”
The simple question dropped like a sinker into a pool, ripples tickling all of them with its implication. She smiled softly. “Yes, I’m happy,” she said quietly, sending Lucian a gentle flick of her eyes.
