A Sea Change (41 page)

But the biggest reason I could never quite bring myself to talk to Mom about Nick is because I felt it would somehow spoil the beauty of what Nick and I had. That telling her anything at all would infect our love, and make it as diseased as Mom’s relationship with Dad.

Her denial of Danny’s existence – her refusal to speak to him when he first got here – has driven an even bigger wedge between us. The first couple of times we talked I’d beg her to call him, but she always ignored me and went on about something totally irrelevant. And since she never asks about him, I’ve finally learned not to bring him up at all. She doesn’t know he’s gone now. I guess it wouldn’t matter to her if she did.

In October she started dropping hints about my visiting them. I never took the bait. I think she wanted me to spend my birthday there. But last week I turned forty here, uneventfully, surrounded by people who really do care about me. I got a card from Danny, but it wasn’t mailed. It was hand-delivered. I suppose he arranged that so I couldn’t track him down. It was a bittersweet gift, that beautiful, hand-drawn card. How many years did I wish for a word from my lost brother when I blew out the candles on my cake? Now, I’ve gotten my wish, and it’s brought me nothing but sadness. And what a grim little farce Thanksgiving at “home” would be. I’m much happier with my Salmon Beach family.

Anyway, I never did make the call to Mom.

It’s quit snowing, but it’s so dark outside it might as well be night. The cable’s out (again). On the radio they’re saying maybe a little more snow in the foothills, but I guess that’s it for Winter Storm 2000. Too bad. It’s been a cozy adventure and I’ll miss it.

Chapter Fo
rty-Nine

A warm breeze drifted through the Gillespie family-room, bringing with it the fading aroma of barbecued turkey, which seemed appropriate since the Cowboys were pretty much roasting the Cardinals in the third quarter.

The loud roar of the football game minimally masked the snores emanating from Tom’s side of the room. The sleeveless jersey Nick’s brother-in-law wore – something left over from high school, no doubt – stretched across his stomach, and rose and fell with each deep breath. Nick’s father added his own counter-rhythm with an occasional loud snort, while Nick watched, hypnotized by the syncopated beat.

Just outside the screen door the muted sounds of children could be heard – barely. And Nick knew Kay and his mother were out there somewhere, drinking iced tea, trying to convince the kids it was time for a quiet nap, and getting nowhere.

Thanksgiving in Phoenix. Things never changed. The only difference this year was Becky’s deeply-felt absence. That’s what Nick liked to think, anyway, but it was more than that.

He thought about Maddy often, talked about her never. It just seemed easier that way. If he didn’t say her name, Nick’s grief was held at a minimum. The “one day at a time” lesson he’d learned in rehab had resurfaced to help get him through the two months without her. Each morning he woke expecting the yearning for her to be a little less. And each morning he was severely disappointed.

Tommy Junior raced into the room, his bathing suit dripping, and catapulted into Nick’s lap, sending his bare thighs into hypothermia.

“C’mon, Uncle Nick! We’re ready to play Marco Polo now.”

Recovering from the shock, Nick said, “Okay. Give me a minute to put on my trunks.” He stood with five-year-old Tommy – a damp, blond, leech – attached to his waist. A mischievous grin spread across Nick’s face. “It’ll be more fun if your dad plays, too.” He set his squirming nephew down.

“He’s taking a nap.”

“Yeah, and it looks like it’s gonna take a bomb to wake him up.”

Tommy took direction well. The words were barely out of Nick’s mouth when all forty-five pounds of wet child performed a cannonball onto his father’s supine body.

Tom Gillespie, Senior would have flown out of the Barcalounger if it weren’t for his son’s trajectory, which caught him mid-snore. The best he could manage was a combination grunt-snort, while Tommy shrieked, “Marco Polo!” three inches from his face, also waking the elder McKay in the process.

“Tommy! What’ve I told you about how we wake people up?”

“Uncle Nick’s gonna play with us, too!”

Tom’s eyes searched the room until they found Nick leaning against the doorjamb, smiling.

“You’re just lucky it’s Thanksgiving, and I’m feeling charitable.”

Nick pushed away from the door and said, “See you in the pool.”

With the sun down, the desert grew cold. Nick pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, and made his way to the empty backyard. The lounge chair next to the pool looked inviting, and he sank into the cushions with a sigh.

His parents had gone home half an hour ago. Tom was putting the kids to bed. Kay was in the kitchen doing what she did every Thanksgiving: making the adults a late-night snack.

He’d talked to Becky the day before. She seemed happy enough to be spending Thanksgiving Day at Jim Kingston’s parents. Even Janet’s mood had improved lately. Nick had been stunned they’d actually been able to carry on a three-minute conversation without a single trace of sarcasm creeping into it.

Now, it occurred to him that maybe the reason was his own slow acceptance of what life had to offer. He had concrete plans for the future. He lived close enough to his daughter to be a major player in her life again. And, hard as it had been for him, he finally knew what it was like to love someone. Which meant he could do it again. Not that he wanted to. Not for a long time.

“Think you can choke down a sandwich?”

A plate, attached to Kay’s hand, appeared in front of Nick’s face.

Taking it from her, he said, “Only if it comes with a cold one.”

“I thought you divorced Janet?” Kay replied, handing Nick a bottle of beer.

“Hey, that’s pretty funny,” Nick said dryly. “Has Letterman booked you yet?” He watched Kay drag a chair across the patio and settle in next to him. “You’re not having any?”

“I’ve been picking all day. My size twelve Levis are protesting.” She let her head drop back and gazed up at the half moon. “Free at last…”

“Come on. You love it.”

“Up to a point.”

“Hey. I think I know you pretty well.” Nick plucked a piece of white meat off his lap and popped it into his mouth. “And if you didn’t want to do this every year, we’d be having leftovers from, like, Denny’s.”

“Oh – ugh.”

“Exactly. Where’s Tom?”

“My guess is he fell asleep reading Tommy a story. I can’t tell you how many times I go up there, and there’s Tom, sawing logs while that kid’s wide awake.”

Nick chuckled, then said, “Mom and Dad look pretty good.”

“Dad was sure excited about your plans. I think he’s really serious about investing in it.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“What? Your baseball school? Or Dad investing?”

“Well, I meant about Dad. But both, I guess.”

Kay smiled at him. “Dad wouldn’t do it if he didn’t think it was worthwhile.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

“I think it’s terrific. And by the way, Tom’s got that five thousand burning a hole in his checkbook.”

“Yeah, but he’s probably got better things to do with it.”

“Didn’t you see his face when you were talking about it? He looked like a kid in a candy store holding a month’s worth of allowance.” Kay closed her eyes. “Besides, you can give him a better rate of return than anything else short-term out there.”

Nick watched his sister and thought how much he loved his family. Every last one of them. He had uncles and aunts and cousins spread out across the country. Nick didn’t see them often, but the time he’d spent with them only reinforced how unusual – how lucky – he was. They were a good-hearted, salt-of-the-earth bunch. The kind of people who made you feel welcome, loved you unconditionally, and only expected the same in return.

Some he hardly knew, but it didn’t seem to matter to them. When he was still playing ball, traveling from city to city, they’d take Nick in and he’d feel a little less lonely; a little more connected.

The light from the pool reflected a pale blue-green, turning Kay’s face into a ghostly mask, but he could see the entire McKay/Latham family there. It was there in his face, too, he knew. All their lives people had asked if they were twins. And Becky was the spitting image of Kay when she was her age, a happy twist of genes for which he was thankful, since his daughter didn’t have the misfortune of reminding him of Janet. Nick grinned to himself, thinking of his ex-wife and her husband having to look at a miniature version of Nicholas Patrick McKay on a day-to-day basis.

Nick was still smiling when the thought came to him: he’d do anything for his family. Help them in any way he could. Protect them from every possible danger. Defend them until the last drop of blood had left his body.

Suddenly, a groundswell of regret surged through him.

“What’s that look for?” Kay asked, startling him out of his reverie.

Nick was thoughtful for a moment then he said, “I love you very much.”

Kay made a face. “What’re you getting all sappy about?”

“I did something really stupid to Maddy.”

His sister sat forward.

“I know you’ve been waiting for me to spill my guts about this, so here it is – I let the woman I love go for doing exactly the same thing I would’ve done in her place.” He slowly shook his head. “God, I’m
such
an asshole.”

“Tell me about it,” Kay said.

Nick glanced at her with a wry smile. “I guess I deserve that.”

Kay sighed with impatience. “No, you dope. I mean,
tell
me about it. What happened?”

Nick gave her the short version, and finished with, “I acted like what she’d done was wrong. Didn’t even bother to see her side of it. Even when she begged me.”

Kay was uncharacteristically silent, but only for a few short seconds. “It’s been killing me not to tell you this, but Becky talks about her all the time. And Danny. I guess he made a pretty big impression on her – something about drawing?”

Nick nodded.

“It’s not too late, Nicky. Call her right now. Tell her you’re sorry. Tell her you want to start again.”

“What if she won’t take me back?” he asked.

“Then it’s her loss,” Kay replied without hesitation.

Nick smiled as he rose from the chair. Kissing his sister on the cheek, he said, “I’m not so sure about that.”

He sat on the arm of the couch and dialed the phone one more time. Again, it rang and rang. No answer, and for some strange reason, no machine picked up.

“Hey, Nick?”

He looked over his shoulder to see a bleary-eyed Tom standing in the doorway of the family room.

“How was your nap?”

Tom yawned as he stepped onto the carpeting. “Listen, I was channel-surfing, and CNN says the Northwest’s been hit by a really bad storm.”

Nick put the receiver down and stood.

“How bad?”

Tom picked up the remote control and switched on the television.

“See for yourself.”

Cha
pter Fifty

The clock on the kitchen stove stopped at exactly 8:18 p.m., the moment the first power line snapped. It broke and hit the cold, wet ground; a noise with the decibels of a sonic boom followed. When the live wire bounced up and smacked the snow again it repeated its thunderous death rattle. The house was plunged into a darkness so complete, even the fire in the hearth couldn’t penetrate it. Not at first.

Maddy’s book jumped from her fingers as she drew in a sharp breath. The noise was familiar, like a cannon being fired at close range, but it made no sense. When her body was finally able to move, just after the second round, it didn’t know which message to obey first: hide or flee.

Her hand shook as she lit a candle. She ran to the French doors and peered out, her breath fogging the panes, but there was nothing to see except a black void.

Grabbing the heavy-duty flashlight from the mantle, Maddy flung open the front door. Her right foot came down on the porch, touched it, and flew out as if repelled. She clawed at the doorframe, held her ground, but dropped the light. Maddy watched in fascination as it skittered and spun across the thick sheet of ice that had turned the ordinary boards into something treacherous.

Then her ears picked up a foreign sound. In the hush of nighttime it seemd to grow and clamor, until it drowned out anything else. She didn’t need the flashlight to see the arcing power line. It lit up the path like a large, blue sparkler. But it was only one note in the disharmony she was hearing.

On hands and knees, Maddy reached for the torch, then played it up into the woods.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

There had been a fairy tale from her childhood so frighteningly gorgeous she’d never forgotten it, because it told of something she could never have imagined on her own. Now, the story of the Ice Queen unfolded before her in all its chilling beauty.

Everything – from the largest tree limb to the most delicate blade of grass – was encased in ice. Saplings bent under their sparkling burden. The scarecrow the neighbor’s children had put together in the fall stood like something out of a horror movie, waiting for the thaw to come to life.

And then there was the noise. A constant cracking underscored the sudden loud pop of a branch, as it gave up trying to hold on. It would break free, crash through the undergrowth then fall to the ground with a muted tinkle. The sounds went on all around her, like someone walking across giant sheets of bubble wrap.

Maddy moved the beam next door and saw the icicles hanging from the eaves, some nearly a foot long. Everything the light touched was crystalline. Every piece of wood and metal, coated in a clear glaze. It was the most awesome thing she’d ever seen. Maddy suddenly thought of the mermaid, and knew what she’d be doing tomorrow morning.

A massive, rippling shiver tore through her, and she crawled back to the doorway. The frozen rain continued, steadily layering everything it touched.

When Maddy picked up the receiver the phone whispered and crackled, its own way of telling her she’d have to check on Mary by foot. She placed another log on the fire before dressing to go outside once more.

The trek to Mary Delfino’s house was slow and dangerous. With every step, Maddy stamped her booted foot to break through the ice to the snow underneath. She used a garden stake as a cane. Her eyes went from the frozen sheet beneath her feet to the power lines above her head in a constant vigilant sweep.

Maddy held her breath as she passed the electrical cobra that weaved and bobbed on the hillside, just a few yards above where she walked. She lost her footing once, slipping on a piece of plyboard someone was using as a sidewalk, and landed with a grunt, never letting go of the flashlight. When she stood, an explosion echoed through the community, almost knocking her off her feet again. She stayed still and waited, but didn’t see any flames. This time it was a noise she recognized. Somewhere high above the beach – probably at Point Defiance – a transformer had blown, and Maddy could hear the keening wail of the sirens begin; another instrument added to the cacophonous symphony.

Not bothering to knock on Mary’s door, she walked inside, made her presence known, and then stood still for a moment, relishing the solid floor beneath her feet and the relative warmth of the entry.