The doctor had wonderfully soft hands. “And what kind of doctor are you exactly?” Wendy asked, already thinking she could do a feature on him for Enjoy!.

“Actually, he’s more Mandy’s doctor than mine,” Peaches said. “Mandy’s the one with MS,” she clarified.

“Except not really.” Mandy shook the doctor’s hand. He seemed more amused than anything.

“And is there anything I can help you with right now?” he asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Oh, you betcha.” Peaches backed away into the shadow of a rhododendron bush.

“Anyone else?” the good doctor offered, following her.

“Absofuckinglutely,” Mandy said, following right behind them.

“Oh.” Wendy understood now that Dr. Conway wasn’t a medical doctor. “I probably shouldn’t—”

She stole a glance at Roy, chatting with Tupper and Elizabeth on the other side of the bonfire. Someone had put on music—the Eagles. She loved the Eagles.

“Wait for me!” she called, following her new friends.

Chapter 24

“Ted?” Stuart padded down the upstairs hallway. The Clarkes’ house was huge. Empty bedroom. Empty bathroom. Linen closet. Another bathroom. He came to a closed door and stopped. “Ted?” he called out again and opened the door.

It was Roy Clarke’s daughter’s room. She was under the sheet with Peaches’ son. Clothes were piled on the floor beside the bed. Her Gucci sneakers had been kicked askance. A purple lava lamp cast a bacchanalian glow.

“Sorry.”

Shy giggled beneath the sheet. “Is he gone?”

“Sorry.” Stuart backed into the hallway and closed the door.

Peaches’ hat-wearing husband was alone in the living room thumbing through a shelf of vinyl records, a pair of noise-canceling headphones slung around his neck.

“Hey, man,” Stuart greeted him. “Have you seen my kid?”

“No. No, I haven’t.” Greg gestured at the record collection. “It’s impressive they own vinyl. Their sound system is amazing. But their taste in music is terrible.”

Stuart walked over to examine the records. The Eagles. Elton John. Eric Clapton. Cat Stevens. Harry Chapin. The Beatles. “Eric Clapton’s cool.” He held out his hand for Greg to shake. “I’m Stuart. We haven’t officially met yet. You’re Peaches’ husband.”

Greg nodded, unsure whether to punch the guy or shake his hand.

“Yeah. Greg Park.” He shook Stuart’s hand. He was not going to pass up this chance. “So hey, I’ve been sort of aware of your career and like, the fact that we’re practically neighbors and I was wondering. I’ve written a bunch of kids’ songs? But I kind of need, like, a collaborator.”

Peaches had already warned him, so Stuart was not surprised. “That’s cool.”