Her Mother's Shadow (18 page)

B
obby watched Rick walk through the sand toward the woods in his Docker pants and Rockport shoes, then slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans and tried to put himself in Mackenzie's place. Poor kid. He could imagine what this was like for her. Her mother had died suddenly. She'd never known her father and had been told nothing good about him. She'd been thrust into a new world here in the comparative isolation of Kiss River with a woman she barely knew. He would have been able to handle it better than she would at eleven, because even at that age, he was already well into marijuana and beer, and he'd learned how to cope with just about anything that came his way by numbing his mind to the situation. His brothers had trained him well. Five years ago, when he'd finally gotten sober, he'd had to learn how to cope without those mind-numbing aids, and it had not been an easy task. He'd had to learn all those skills he should have perfected as a teenager.

This girl, Mackenzie, should be developing those skills now, when she was supposed to. If there was anything he
wanted to do for her, it was to keep her from numbing herself to life's problems. His daughter or not, he could make that his gift to her.

So, where would he hide if he were an eleven-year-old female? Maybe the beach? His gaze went instantly to the lighthouse, and for the first time he noticed that the top was missing. He'd forgotten. There was a certain beauty to the tower now, in the way the late afternoon sunlight was reflected off the jagged bricks near the top. He began walking toward it, realizing quickly there would be little beach in Kiss River for Mackenzie to escape to, since the water was up so high that it actually surrounded the base of the lighthouse. He kicked off his sandals and rolled his jeans halfway up his calves, as high as they would go, to wade through it. There had been beach here twelve years ago, he remembered, a sliver of white sand, hidden away from much of the world. A great place to get high or have sex.

He climbed the three steps leading into the building and walked into the cool, octagonal foyer. “Mackenzie?” he called, craning his neck to look up at the narrowing brick cylinder. His voice echoed back at him, and he heard the twittering of birds, the flapping of their wings, and could see patches of the blue sky high above him. “Mackenzie, if you're up there, please answer me. We're worried about you.”

“I can't move.” The voice was soft, but loud enough for him to hear.

He started up the stairs. “Why can't you move?” he asked as he climbed. He pictured her with a foot stuck between the metal steps. Or maybe she'd fallen and broken an ankle.

It was a moment before the voice came again. “I just can't,” she said.

“I'm on my way up,” he said. “How high up are you?”

“I can't think about it.”

He found her on the third landing, sitting on the floor, her back against the bricks and her arms wrapped around her skinny bent legs. He stopped on the top step and looked at her. “Are you all right? Are you hurt or something?”

“I freaked out. It's so high. I can't make myself go up higher and I can't even go down. It's like I'm paralyzed or something.”

“Oh.” He nodded in sympathy, leaning against the brick wall near the top step. “That happened to me once. I was mountain climbing. You know, trying to scale a mountain that went straight up. I got halfway up and froze. Had to be rescued.” The tale was a complete fabrication. He had never even been mountain climbing, but it seemed like a good time for a lie.

“Are you my father?” she asked.

He hadn't expected the question so soon, and he knew
this
was nothing to lie about. Sighing, he walked across the landing and sat down as she was, on the floor, his back against the wall and a few feet away from her. He didn't want to frighten her.

“The honest-to-God truth is, I don't know,” he said. He had to pick his words carefully, knowing that his own rationale for being here was muddy at best. “But your mother thought I was, and that's good enough for me.”

She was quiet, and he wondered if she was disappointed or pleased by his uncertainty. “What if you don't like me, though?” she said. “You might not.”

“Hey, there isn't a kid alive who's likable all the time,” he said. “Not a normal kid, anyway.” He studied her face. She was beautiful. Jessica's daughter, without a doubt, but he could see none of his features in her. None at all. Her neediness, though, her vulnerability, was a palpable force here on
the cool landing. It pulsed in the air between them, pulling his heart in her direction. “Let's go down, Mackenzie. What do you think?”

“I can't even stand up.”

“Hold on to me.” He stood and reached his hand out to her. She took it and got stiffly to her feet, as though her legs were made of wood. He could feel the quivering of her body through her hand. He walked her slowly toward the stairs. “Do you want me to hold on to you or you to hold on to me?” he asked.

She leaned forward gingerly to grab the railing as if it were a life preserver. “I'll keep one hand on the railing and one on you,” she said. “But I have to close my eyes.”

He laughed. “Okay,” he said. “Whatever works.”

They made their way down the stairs in that fashion, Mackenzie clutching his forearm hard enough to cause one of his fingers to go numb, and him repeating, “Step, step, step, step, okay, now we're on a landing, walk, walk, walk, now we're at the steps again. We'll be down soon.”

When they reached the foyer, Mackenzie let go of his arm and ran ahead of him. She jumped over the three steps into the water, finally free. “I am
never
going into that stupid lighthouse again,” she said, shaking her arms up and down, as if she could rid herself of the experience that way.

He walked with her through the sand toward the keeper's house. “Were you up there to avoid meeting me?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she said, with a bit too much defensiveness. She grew quiet, then—she no longer needed him—and he didn't push her to talk.

He looked at his watch as they walked across the sand. It was nearly six o'clock. He should have timed his arrival better. He would be getting a call at six sharp and he'd need to take it in private. The thought made him anxious. He was trying to juggle too many balls at once.

Rick was returning from his fruitless search of the woods when Bobby and Mackenzie neared the house, and Lacey rushed onto the porch.

“You found her!” she said, running down the steps toward them. She tried to hug Mackenzie, but Bobby could tell it was like hugging the trunk of a rough-barked tree. “I was worried about you,” Lacey said to the girl. “Where were you?”

“She was in the lighthouse,” Bobby said.

“In the lighthouse?” Lacey looked amazed.

“I'm going upstairs,” Mackenzie said, pushing past them.

“No,” Lacey said. “Stay down here and talk to Bobby for a while.”

He put his hand on Lacey's arm and mouthed the words, “Let her go.”

“All right,” Lacey said. “You can go up if you want.”

“Thank you.” The words were sarcastic, and the three adults watched the girl walk up the porch steps and into the house.

“I can't believe she was in the lighthouse,” Lacey said. “I thought she was terrified of it.”

“She is.” Bobby looked at the screen door through which Mackenzie had disappeared. “But apparently not as much as she was of meeting me.”

O
nce Rick had gone home, Lacey left Bobby on the porch and went upstairs to check on Mackenzie. She found her sitting at her computer, madly typing an e-mail to her friends.

“You're making a big deal out of
nothing!
” Mackenzie shouted when Lacey asked if she was all right.

“I just wanted to be sure you weren't—”

“I am
fine,
” Mackenzie insisted. “I just decided it was time to see what it was like from the top of the lighthouse, but I got hydrophobia up there. That's
all.
”

Lacey struggled not to laugh out loud. “All right,” she said. “I'm glad you're fine.”

She went downstairs again and, as she walked through the kitchen, she could hear Bobby talking to someone on the porch. Maybe Clay or Gina had arrived home. It wasn't until she pushed open the screen door that she realized he was talking on his cell phone. He was sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs, his bare feet propped up on the railing and Sasha by his side, and he glanced at Lacey when she stepped onto the porch.

“Gotta go,” he said into the phone. “I'll try to call you later.”

She felt intrusive as she sat down in the other chair, but he quickly slipped his phone into his shirt pocket and looked over at her.

“How is she?” he asked quietly, and she wondered if he'd heard any of her conversation with the girl through Mackenzie's open window, which was right above the porch.

“Embarrassed, I think.” Lacey kept her voice low. “She says she had an attack of hydrophobia in the lighthouse.”

Bobby laughed. “Better keep her away from the ocean, then.”

“Well,” Lacey said, “this has been a really rocky start to your visit. Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea or soda?”

“What I would
really
like is to go all the way to the top of the lighthouse,” he said, pointing toward the tower. “It's so cool, the way the stairs jut up in the air. Is it safe? Can we climb it?”

“Sure.” She stood up, and Sasha leaped joyfully to his feet.

“You stay here, Sasha,” she said, and the dog lay down again with a great sigh.

She and Bobby descended the porch steps, and they were quiet as they walked toward the lighthouse. The tide was high, and Lacey rolled her capris above her knees before wading through the swirling, knee-high water to get to the steps. Bobby's jeans were so tight that he could only roll them partway up his calves, and they were already wet from his earlier foray into the lighthouse. He didn't seem to care, though, and he plowed right into the water.

Once they were climbing the interior stairs, Lacey told him about the Fresnel lens. “It was salvaged from the ocean
bottom last summer,” she said, “and they're going to display it next to the keeper's house in a little building that will look like the old lantern room.”

“Just last summer?” he asked. “I thought the storm was a long time ago.”

“It was, but no one had the motivation to salvage it until Gina—my sister-in-law—moved here. It's a long story, but she was the one really responsible for raising it.”

“You work out, huh?” he asked suddenly. Apparently his mind was not on the lighthouse at all. She was a few steps above him and suddenly grew self-conscious about her body. What part of her had given away the fact that she worked out?

“I have for years,” she said, “although having Mackenzie here has put a dent in my schedule. What made you ask?”

“You're not the least bit breathless climbing these stairs,” he said.

“Neither are you.” She'd noticed that. Most people needed to stop at least once to catch their breath on the circular stairway.

“I try to stay fit,” he said, as if his cut and corded arms had not already given him away. “Is there a Y around here?”

“I can get you a guest pass to my gym,” she said.

“That would be great,” he said. They had reached the landing closest to the top of the lighthouse. “This is where I found Mackenzie,” he said, as they crossed the landing to start the next flight of stairs.

“Wow.” Lacey was impressed. “I can't believe she made it up this high.”

In another minute, they reached the top of the stairs. “Careful here,” she said to him. “Hold on to the railing when you turn around.”

“Whoa,” he said, reaching quickly for the railing. “I guess I have a touch of hydrophobia myself.” He turned carefully and sat down next to her on the top step, several feet above the jagged edge of the tower. “Oh, man,” he said. “It's like being suspended in the air up here.”

“I know.”

He twisted his neck to the right, then the left to take in the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. “Do you ever see the horses from up here?” he asked.

“Oh, I hate to tell you, but the horses are gone.” She explained how the wild mustangs had been moved farther north to protect them from the ever-increasing traffic. “You can only see them now by paying for an all-terrain-vehicle tour.”

“You've got to be kidding.” He shook his head. “Pave paradise and put up a parking lot.”

“Right.”

“Would it bother you if I smoked?”

She shook her head. “Not outside. Just please not in the keeper's house.” Rick would not want smoke in his cottage, either, but she would leave it to him to set his own rules.

He reached into the rear pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crushed pack of Marlboros and a book of matches. He had to walk down a few steps to light the cigarette so that the breeze wouldn't blow out the match. Sitting next to her again, he exhaled a stream of smoke.

“I've been trying to quit,” he said, then laughed. “But I've been trying to quit for five years, so I guess that's a load of bullshit, huh?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I'd say so.” She wanted to lift the sleeve of his T-shirt to see his tattoo. The part that showed beneath the hem of the sleeve looked like small blue squares.

“Thanks for arranging a place for me to stay,” he said. “I
figured I'd have to sleep in the bus. It wouldn't be the first time.”

She remembered the mattress in the back of the bus. He used to park the VW in the lot at Jockey's Ridge and four or five of them would sit on that mattress and get high in the hot, smoky air. Bobby would eventually kick everyone out except Jessica, and Lacey would try to block from her mind what was happening inside the bus while she and her other friends sat on the sand, waiting. If Bobby still had a mattress in the van, she at least hoped it was not the same one he'd had in 1991.

“Well,” she said, “I hope it works out okay. Rick's pretty easygoing, but his cottage is tiny.”

“He seems like a nice guy.” Bobby took a drag on his cigarette. “How long have you been seeing him?”

“Just a month, and it's not serious,” she said. “I'm avoiding seriousness these days.”

“How come?”

She shrugged. “He…the feelings just aren't there, at least not yet.” She laughed, stretching her arms out in front of her. “I guess I still have this romantic notion that I could find a man I'd love enough that nothing else would matter. A till-death-do-us-part kind of guy. Someone I'd lay down my life for.”

“Have you ever felt that way about anyone?” he asked.

“Not even close,” she said. Her relationships with men had involved too little emotional intimacy and way too much sex. She squirmed at having revealed so much to him. “So, how about you? Have you ever felt that way about anyone?”

He nodded. “I felt that way about my ex-girlfriend, Claudia,” he said. “I still do.”

“You're still in love with her?”

“Not
in
love. I just love her. She's a special friend.”

“You're lucky,” she said.

“Well, who knows.” He watched as the ash fell from his cigarette into the depths of the lighthouse. “Maybe it will work out for you with Rick.”

“Maybe,” she said, although she doubted it.

“What's the light like at his place?” Bobby asked.

“The light?”

“Right. Is there good natural light to work by? I brought my work with me since I didn't know how long I'd be staying.”

“Oh,” she said. “The light might not be great. The cottage is pretty deep in the woods.”

“I'll work it out,” he said.

“I'd love to see your scrimshaw.” The image of three-masted schooners etched into whale teeth came back to her.

“I brought most of my stuff, actually.” He took another drag on his cigarette and exhaled, and the breeze stole the smoke away before she could even see it. “This is the season when I usually exhibit at craft fairs and I'm going to miss a few. So I thought I'd bring my wares with me in case I could sell at any of the venues around here.”

“There's a craft fair next weekend in Manteo,” she said. “You were supposed to sign up months ago, but I'm sure I can get you a booth.”

“That'd be great, Lacey. Will you be exhibiting there?”

“Yes.”

“I want to see your work, too,” he said. “I remember your mother's. I always thought it was so sad she'd died, you know, with all those ideas and creativity and talent inside of her. I'm glad you carried on the tradition.”

“I'm not as good as she was,” she said, annoyed at her self-deprecation the moment the words left her mouth. “Or at least, I'm different. I work mostly in her old studio in Kill
Devil Hills, but I use the sunroom here, sometimes. Do you remember the studio?”

He took another pull on the cigarette. “I do,” he said. “The guy with the ponytail, right?”

“Tom Nestor.” She wasn't ready to tell him that Tom was the man who'd turned out to be her father.

“I think it's very cool that we both ended up being artists,” Bobby said. He was smiling to himself, his gaze on the horizon. He held his cigarette in his mouth while he reached down to reroll one wet leg of his jeans, and removed the cigarette without taking another drag. “So, how's it been, having Mackenzie here?” he asked.

“I don't like her.” The words slipped out before she could think. “God. That sounds terrible, doesn't it?”

“It sounds honest,” he said.

“It's so strange.” Lacey watched a speedboat as it bounced across the water in the distance. “I usually like everyone,” she said, “but she really is a little twit. I'm honestly thinking about letting Nola have her. She wanted her at first. Planned to fight for custody and everything. But I don't think Nola's having much more luck with her than I am.”

“Nola, ugh.” Bobby shivered with what was—perhaps—mock horror, and Lacey had to laugh. “I'd tried to forget about Jessica's mommy dearest,” he said.

“She's not that bad.” Lacey felt strange defending Nola, but she was coming to feel sorry for the older woman. They were both in the same bind.

“What makes Mackenzie a little twit?” he asked. His cigarette had reached the point of needing to be crushed out, but he held it between his fingers, letting it burn itself out instead of crushing it on the lighthouse stairs. “You said on the phone that she was obstinate and that she stole from you. What else?”

“Like that's not enough?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Is there more?”

“Well, if I say black, she says white. She's very negative.” She would not tell him about Mackenzie's most recent escapade: just that morning she'd found her vibrator in the center of the kitchen table, pointing up toward the ceiling, and knew that the girl had gone through her night table. She was glad she'd been the one to find it and not Clay or Gina. “I caught her lifting false eyelashes at the Kmart, and who knows what else she's stolen that I haven't discovered.”

“False eyelashes?” Bobby laughed. “At least she's original.”

“You think it's funny now, but just wait till you have to deal with her yourself.”

“You never shoplifted when you were a kid?”

“No, I didn't,” she said with some indignation. “I know you did, though.”

He smiled at her, that crooked smile that she simply could not look at for more than a second without her legs turning to jelly.

“You were a good kid, weren't you?” he asked. “I mean, deep down. You really were. That's why—”

“That's why what?”

He rubbed his hands over his thighs. “I liked you a lot back then,” he said. “More than I liked Jessica, at first. But there was something so vulnerable about you. So trusting. I just felt like you were too young and innocent for me to corrupt.”

He'd liked her more than Jessica? She wanted to ask him for details about his attraction to her, but stopped herself. What did it matter now?