Her Mother's Shadow (10 page)

“It's a memorial service,” Veronica said. “Not a funeral.”

“I have it mostly worked out.” Mary pulled a small notebook from her purse and opened it on her lap. “I'll do a reading, and Amelia, you wanted to say something, right?”

Amelia nodded.

“And Jessica's boss will speak,” Mary continued. “And how about you, Lacey? Would you like to do a reading?”

“I…” It had never occurred to her to participate in the funeral. The memorial service. “I wouldn't know what to read,” she said.

“We can find something for you,” Veronica said in a voice meant to reassure, although Lacey did not feel reassured in the least.

Mary studied her notes. “Oh,” she said suddenly, her gaze returning to Lacey, “to answer your question, I don't think you'll be seeing Mackenzie until after the service, back at my house. She refuses to go to the service itself.”

“Oh, she has to go!” Veronica said. “She'll regret it for the rest of her life if she doesn't.”

“She shouldn't go if she doesn't want to,” Lacey said. The words surprised her as much as they did the women. All of a sudden, she was the one who knew what was best for Mackenzie, at least in this regard, and the feeling was alien to her. “My mother died when I was thirteen,” she explained, “and I didn't go to her funeral. I just couldn't. I wish I could have, but I don't regret it. I know I wasn't capable of handling it at the time. Don't make her go.”

“Oh!” Veronica said. “You lost your mother, too.” She turned to Mary. “Maybe that's why Jessica decided Mackenzie should go to Lacey.”

Mary shrugged again. “Who knows,” she said. Picking up one of the books from the coffee table, she leaned forward to hand it to Lacey.

“I know Jessica liked this book,” she said. “It's about living simply and that sort of the thing. I haven't read it myself, but maybe you can find something in it to read.”

Lacey took the book from her, wondering how she would
ever be able to get up in front of a group of people she didn't know, all of whom loved Jessica and most of whom would forever wonder why this childless, unmarried woman was taking Mackenzie away from them, and read the words of an author who meant nothing to her.

“Thanks,” she said. “I'll look through it tonight.”

L
acey found nothing in the book she wanted to read at the service. She leafed through the pages, studying a phrase here and there, unable to truly absorb what she was reading. Then she lay awake much of the night, putting her own words together. She was no speaker and had never spoken in public, unless you counted the occasional stained glass class, and she was afraid she would freeze at the last minute. But she was not going to read an essay that had no meaning for her.

It wasn't until she awakened from a fitful sleep the morning of the memorial service that she remembered the date: July third. Her birthday. So she was twenty-six. She would be without her friends and family today, but she would have more birthdays. Jessica would have none. She vowed to tell no one the significance of the date.

She'd had so little sleep in the past few days that by the time she and Amelia arrived at the small, crowded chapel, she was in a strange, dreamlike state. It felt as if she were moving through someone else's life rather than her own. She
followed Amelia to the front pew of the church where the participants were all seated. And there was Nola. The woman's eyes were red, her mouth a tight, down-turned arc, and although her face was unlined thanks to way too much plastic surgery, she looked very old. Lacey separated from Amelia and walked over to Nola, knowing she had to do this. She could not allow the tension to exist between them any longer.

“Nola,” she said, sitting next to her on the pew. She reached for her hand and was forced to hold on to just the bony tops of her fingers, since Nola would not turn her hand or lift it toward Lacey's.

“I'm heartbroken, Nola,” Lacey said. “And I know it must be so much worse for you. I'm so sorry.”

Nola turned her head away from her, staring in the direction of the chapel's stained glass windows. Lacey lightly squeezed the lifeless hand, then stood up, and as she walked back to her seat next to Amelia, she was mortified to see all eyes on her. Everyone in the front pews had surely witnessed the rebuff.

She'd met with the attorney the day before and signed the necessary paperwork to take Mackenzie back to Kiss River with her. The placement would be temporary, the lawyer explained, because “several people” had come forward, concerned that Lacey's guardianship would not be “in the best interest of the child.” They would have to make their case to have her removed from Lacey's custody, he said. For now, though, Jessica's wish would be granted.

Lacey floated through the service in a daze, her brain not truly in sync with her body. A woman with a stunning voice sang a couple of Sarah McLachlin songs—
Angel
and
I Will Remember You
—and although Lacey could hear sniffling all around her, she felt cried out. People stepped up to the
podium to speak or to read, and when it was her turn, she welcomed the foggy state she was in because it dulled her nerves.

She walked up to the podium and turned around, stunned for a moment at the sight of so many people crammed into the tiny chapel. They filled all the pews and lined the walls.

“I'm Lacey O'Neill.” She spoke into a microphone for the first time in her life and jumped a little as she heard her voice echo in the air of the church. “I was Jessica's best friend when we were children, up until the time she moved to Arizona. Some of you might think you know her better than I do because you knew her as an adult, but I knew all those things you get to know about a person when they're young. Those things people learn to hide from other people when they get older. I knew her secrets and her longings and her dreams. And I knew what she wanted to be when she grew up: a cowgirl.”

People chuckled at that. Lacey clearly remembered the conversation with Jessica. They'd been eight or nine years old, lying on the beach and finding shapes in the clouds, and Jessica thought one looked like a bull. “I want to do what those cowboys get to do,” she'd said. “You know, ride wild horses and throw ropes around the cows or calves or whatever they are. I want to be a
cowgirl.
” From time to time over the years, Jessica had mentioned that aspiration and it had become a running joke between them.

“It's true,” Lacey said. “There are only two things she ever told me she wanted to be—a cowgirl and a mom.” The crowd was beginning to blur in front of her and she blinked hard. “She got to be the most important one of those two,” she continued, “and I'm really, really glad she did.”

It seemed an awkward place to stop speaking, but she stepped down from the podium before she could say more.
She wanted to talk about how today was her birthday, and how Jessica had told her to embrace every minute of her life, and how she planned to do that, always, in Jessica's name. But she knew if she tried to say another word, she was going to simply fall apart.

After the funeral, many of the people from the chapel drove to Mary's house. The one-story house, with its spacious rooms and vaulted ceilings, was like Mary herself—elegant, sparely decorated, with every corner and window ledge filled with prickly cacti.

In the backyard, children played in a huge, meandering pool, and Lacey guessed Mackenzie was among them. Mary poked her head out the sliding glass doors to tell the children she was home from the church, but she did not invite them in. Several women, probably caterers, placed platters of hors d'oeuvres on the massive dining room table, and the guests filled their plates. Lacey stayed close to Amelia's side, the one place she felt safe. Funny how one of the youngest women in the room was also the warmest, as though age had sapped the warmth right out of the older women.

Two nights before, after Mary and Veronica had left the condominium and before she and Amelia had gone to bed, Amelia had apologized for them. “They were rude to you,” she said. “They're not always like that.”

“It's hard for me to picture Jessica being friends with them,” Lacey had felt brave enough to say.

“They were friends because of their children,” Amelia said, and that seemed to explain everything. Lacey wondered if having Mackenzie would force her to be friends with women she couldn't stand. “They truly care about Mackenzie, though, and just want what's best for her,” Amelia added.

She and Amelia now sat next to each other on dining room chairs pushed against the walls of the room. “Well,”
Lacey said, after nibbling some sort of egg roll and knowing that was all she would be able to eat, “there are two people here I really need to talk with.”

“Mackenzie and Nola,” Amelia said, and Lacey nodded. Nola was keeping her distance from her, but Lacey thought she looked as uncomfortable as she was feeling. Nola was chatting with a group of people, talking quickly as she always did when she was anxious, and focusing on the features of the house. Lacey saw her point out the tall windows and ceramic floors and the open kitchen with its decorative tile. She had on her Realtor hat; houses were a safe topic for her. Watching Nola's own discomfort gave Lacey courage.

She stood up. “Here goes,” she said to Amelia. “Will you excuse me?”

“Go for it.” Amelia smiled at her. She reached for Lacey's empty plate. “Let me ditch that for you.”

She gave Amelia her plate, then walked toward the massive arched window, where Nola was talking to a man, waving her arm in the air as if describing something. Lacey touched her elbow, and Nola turned to look at her.

“Could I speak with you for a few minutes, please?” Lacey asked.

Nola hesitated, but only for a second. “Yes,” she said. She smiled at her companion. “It was nice talking to you. Please excuse us.”

Lacey looked behind her at the vast open space that contained the living room, kitchen and dining room. People were everywhere. Privacy would be hard to come by.

“Should we go out front to talk?” she suggested.

“In this heat? We'll melt.” Nola pointed toward a hallway. “Let's just find one of the bedrooms. No one will mind.”

Lacey wasn't sure about that, but she followed Nola down the hall and into a large bedroom with French doors lead
ing out to the pool. This had to be the palm tree room, Lacey thought. Palm trees graced the bedspread and the curtains and the art on the wall, and a potted palm stood in one corner.

Nola sat down on the platform bed and Lacey took the upholstered chair next to the dresser.

“How are you doing?” Lacey asked.

“How do you think I'm doing?” Nola snapped back, but there was so little energy in her voice that the question lacked punch. She rested one hand on her chest. “There's a big empty, aching void in my heart,” she said. “First, I lose my only daughter. Then…” She shook her head and looked up at the ceiling, and Lacey waited for her to continue. Nola finally lowered her gaze to Lacey again. “Knowing that Jessica wouldn't immediately think of me when she considered who should take care of Mackenzie…I just don't understand that. She's
my granddaughter.
I'm her only relative.”

“If it was up to me, I'd agree with you, Nola,” Lacey said. “That's what would make the most logical sense. But it wasn't up to either of us, and we have to make the best of this. Please. I have to do what Jessica wanted, but I'll make sure you have all the time you want with Mackenzie. I promise that.”

Tears filled Nola's eyes and she stood up to pull a tissue from the box on the dresser, then sat down again. “I'm thinking of fighting for custody of her, Lacey,” she said, and there was a warning in her voice. “My attorney says I could get her if I did. You need to know that. A court would take into account the best interest of the child, and any judge worth his salt would know that it's not in her best interest to be with you. You're so irresponsible and—”

“I'm not irresponsible.” Lacey felt wounded.

“Jessica would never have gotten pregnant if she hadn't been hanging around with you.”

She had to bite her tongue to keep from telling Nola she had it backward, that her dear daughter had been far more reckless and irresponsible than she had been that summer. “That's history, Nola,” she said. “I'll do my best with Mackenzie. That's all I can do.”

“You know, Lacey.” Nola sighed and her features suddenly softened. “I also want to carry out Jessica's wishes. I truly do. And the only thing I can think of is that she wanted Mackenzie to have a mother your age. Just please…” Nola's lower lip trembled so terribly that Lacey wanted to wrap her arms around her. “Just please don't cut me out,” she said.

Lacey nodded and stood up. “I won't,” she said, then leaned over to hug her. “I want to see Mackenzie now,” she said. “Could you take me to her?”

“She doesn't know yet.” Nola looked a bit alarmed. “You won't tell her, will you? I think it should really come from me and Mary.”

“I won't tell her,” Lacey promised. “But I want to at least say hi to her and give her my condolences.”

Nola got to her feet and walked toward the French doors. Her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to Lacey, a small smile on her lips.

“I'd completely forgotten that Jessica wanted to be a cowgirl,” she said.

Lacey followed Nola across the patio toward the pool. The yard was filled with the giggles of preteen girls and the sound of splashing water. Five slender, tanned bodies in various stages of prepubescent development sat on the edge of the pool, their backs to the house, their legs idly kicking the water. Nola walked toward the skinniest of the girls.

“Mackenzie?” she said.

The girl turned to look up at her grandmother. Lacey was
not certain she would have recognized Mackenzie, she'd changed so much in the few years since she'd last seen her. Her hair was long, a dark blond bleached paler by the sun. The beginning of breasts sprouted beneath her hot pink bikini top. Her eyes, reddened from crying, reminded Lacey of Bobby Asher's blue eyes, but her face was Jessica's, pure and simple.

“What?” Mackenzie asked her grandmother.

“Do you remember Lacey O'Neill?” Nola asked her. “Your mother's old friend?”

“Oh, yeah. Hi.”

“Mackenzie—” Lacey had to shade her eyes from the sun “—I'm so sorry about your mom.”

“That's okay,” the girl answered, as if Lacey had apologized for bumping into her in the hallway.

“Could I talk with you for a few minutes?” Lacey asked.

Mackenzie hesitated. It was obvious she wanted to stay with her friends, but good manners seemed to win out. She stood up. She was long-waisted, like her mother. Lacey was going to have an everyday reminder of Jessica in her home and that thought brought a smile to her lips. Mackenzie smiled back at her.

“Why don't you go into that bedroom we just came out of,” Nola suggested. “And I'll go back into the house through the living room door.”

Lacey was grateful to Nola for giving her time alone with Mackenzie. She touched the girl's shoulder, pointing her in the direction of the French doors. Walking in silence next to her, she wondered what she would say to her once they were inside the bedroom.

She took her seat on the upholstered chair again, while Mackenzie climbed onto the platform bed on all fours, like a little kid, then sat cross-legged near the pillows. Her hands
rested on her knees and chipped pink nail polish graced her stubby fingernails.