Her Mother's Shadow (17 page)

R
ick bowled his third strike in a row, and he guessed that Lacey had figured out he was a ringer by now. In the lane next to them, Mackenzie, Jack and Maggie were bowling, all three of them for the first time, and while they weren't actually talking to one another, they
were
letting out sounds of joy or lament as their balls hit or missed their targets. Mackenzie had sulked a bit at first, but he had the feeling she simply couldn't let anyone know this was an activity she might enjoy. On the other hand, Jack, with his Harry Potter glasses and placid demeanor, and Maggie, with her frenetic chatter and energy, were delightful kids. But then, they hadn't just lost their mother.

Lacey had told him she'd practically had to drag Mackenzie out of the house. It was the first time the girl was to meet Rick, and she'd seemed less than taken with his choice of activities. As he was teaching her how to let go of the ball, she'd muttered under her breath, “Bowling. Who bowls? I am like
so glad
I don't know anybody around here who could see me.”

Rick knew that Lacey had felt nervous having to entertain Mackenzie for an entire rainy Saturday, and he was pleased with himself for suggesting bowling. It gave the kids a chance to get to know each other better, and gave him a chance to be with Lacey in a setting where they could talk easily, without the children overhearing.

“I get the feeling you bowl often,” Lacey said, as she stood at the end of the lane waiting for her ball to return to her. She glanced over at the kids and he followed her gaze. Jack was standing at the end of the lane, his ball poised close to his chest, concentrating hard on the pins.

“I'm in a league,” Rick admitted. The guys he bowled with were blue-collar types, and he felt a certain comfort with them that he'd never experienced with his legal colleagues. His father had taught him to bowl. He'd grown up with the echoey sounds of the bowling alley, the smoke, the scent of hot dogs and the smell of men. And although this bowling alley was filled with children, smoke-free—at least this afternoon—and pizza-scented, he felt that old familiar comfort here.

“You're not too bad for a beginner,” he said as Lacey rolled her ball down the lane. She wasn't. He liked watching her. She wore loose navy blue shorts that exposed the tight muscles in her calves. Her long hair was full and curly from the rain, and there was a gracefulness about her when she stepped forward to let go of the ball.

“Well,” Lacey said, as he got up to take his turn. “I called Mackenzie's father again last night, and he's coming to the Outer Banks sometime this week. He plans to stay awhile.”

“Are you glad?”

“I think it's the right thing to do.”

“So do I.” He was quiet for a moment as he concentrated on the pins at the end of the lane. He moved forward, swing
ing the ball back, controlling it carefully as he brought it forward and let it go. He watched it curve too sharply to the right, missing three pins.

“I just hope he's a decent guy and that I'm not making a huge mistake,” Lacey said.

Rick cooled his hand over the fan as he waited for his ball to return. “How does he sound on the phone?” he asked.

“Decent.” She smiled. “Like he's been through a lot and learned from it.”

“Can't ask for more than that.”

“Guess not, Mr. Forgiveness.”

He laughed. “Speaking of which, how's your victim's impact statement coming along?”

She groaned. “Not too well. I'm not much of a writer.”

“You can do it.”

“The attorney said not to be overly emotional,” she said. “But it's my
mother,
and when I start remembering what happened, I want to stab the paper with my pen.”

“Hmm.” He slipped his fingers into his ball and lifted it toward his chest. “I don't know if I agree about keeping your emotions out of it. I think you should play them up. Let out all the pain and fury.”

“That's not what she said, and she's the one who'll be passing judgment on it.” Lacey lifted her legs straight out in front of her and studied the ugly bowling shoes. “I think it might be hopeless,” she said. “The lawyer says Pointer's been a model prisoner. That he plans to become a minister when he gets out.”

Rick focused on the pins, moved forward and let go of the ball. It rolled down the alley and caught one of the pins, but left the other two standing. His concentration was off.

“Is he remorseful?” he asked, turning around to look at her.

“So he says.”

He cooled his hand over the fan again. “I have a radical idea,” he said.

“What's that?” She stood up to take her turn.

“What if you went to visit him?” he asked. “See him for yourself. Listen to what he has to say. Ask him your questions. Then you can make your own judgment as to what sort of man he's become.”

He watched her face harden. “Frankly, Rick, that idea makes me feel nauseous.” She lifted her ball from the rack. “I don't
ever
want to see him again. I saw him once—the day he shot my mother—and believe me, that was enough.” She turned toward the pins and let the ball go with a vengeance. It practically flew into the gutter and she groaned. Then she turned to look at him, her hands on her hips.

“You know,” she said, “it's a good thing you didn't go into criminal law. You are way too soft.”

“You're soft, too, Lacey,” he said. “You try to hide that part of yourself, but you're not very good at it.”

She walked over to where he was sitting and plunked herself down on the bench. “I don't want to talk about this anymore,” she said. “I have too much else on my mind. Like finding a place for Bobby to stay.”

He motioned toward the lane. “You still have another ball,” he said.

“I'll get to it.” She lifted her pale legs to frown at the shoes again. “There are no cheap rooms in the Outer Banks in the summer.”

“Could he stay at the keeper's house?” he suggested.

She wrinkled her nose. “Too close for comfort. I mean, what if he's still a scummy guy? And it just seems like that would be forcing him down Mackenzie's throat.”

“Would Mackenzie's grandmother take him?”

Lacey laughed. “No way. She's furious at me for even contacting him. I'm thinking of asking Tom. My biological father. He's in AA, too, and he's pretty easygoing.” She got up again and walked toward the balls.

Rick thought of the spare room in his cottage. “He can stay with me,” he said.

She whirled around to look at him. “What?”

“I have that extra bedroom. It's just sitting there. He wouldn't have to pay me anything.”

She looked doubtful. “I can't really vouch for what sort of person he is,” she said.

Rick shrugged. “I'm not worried.”

“And I don't know how long he'll want to stay. Wouldn't you feel cramped?”

“All I need is that little corner of the living room where my computer's set up. I haven't even walked in that extra bedroom once since I've been there. It's not a four-star hotel but—”

“God, you are so nice.” She smiled at him, her dimples showing.

He returned the smile and shrugged. “I'd like to help,” he said.

“Thank you. That would be fabulous.” She turned and stood at attention, concentrating on the pins, and he could feel his heart pounding hard against his rib cage.

He did want to help her. To repay her. Because she was going to help him, too, whether she knew it or not.

L
acey heard the vehicle before she saw it. She and Rick were sitting on the broad porch of the keeper's house when they heard the crackling of gravel, and the rough sound of an engine growled above the ocean's whisper. Lacey looked toward the woods and spotted a patch of powder blue through the trees.

“I don't believe it,” she said, getting to her feet.

“What?” Rick followed her gaze toward the trees.

“He's still driving that van,” she said. “It was already ancient in 1991.” The battered-looking, faded-blue-to-white Volkswagen bus bounced from the trees into the parking lot, and Lacey felt a nearly forgotten visceral pull. How she had longed to see that van during the summer she was fourteen. She used to watch for it, eyeing the stream of cars along the beach road, searching for the distinctive blue bus. It had meant excitement. Forbidden danger.

Rick stood up, too, a grin on his face. “I haven't seen one of those since I was a kid,” he said.

“I'll be right back.” Lacey trotted down the porch steps
and started walking across the sand toward the parking lot. Bobby got out of the van, and she had to mask her surprise at the sight of him. She wasn't sure she would have recognized him if she'd passed him on the street. He was completely bald! He wore old jeans and a pale blue T-shirt, the bottom edge of a tattoo visible beneath the sleeve. His shoulders were broader than they'd been when he was a kid and his arms more muscular. Still, the blue eyes and the cockeyed grin she used to fantasize about were the same, and if she hadn't already known it, she knew it now—having Bobby Asher in the area was going to be the ultimate test of her will.

“Lacey!” He reached out and pulled her into a bear hug, and she caught the scent of both soap and tobacco. He stood back to hold her at arm's length. “I'm sure glad you let your hair grow out again. That red-and-black checkerboard look just wasn't you.”

She laughed, trying to gracefully extract herself from his embrace. “It's good to see you,” she said. “I can't believe you're still driving this VW.” She found it difficult to look him straight in the eye, as if he might be able to see right through to the melting core inside her.

He ran one hand over his bald head. “So, what do you think?” he asked.

“You look great,” she said, and she wasn't lying.

“My older brothers both have the same hair gene, so I knew what was coming,” he said. “I shaved it off before it fell out completely. Gave me the illusion of having some control over the process.”

He was self-conscious about it, and that made her feel some tenderness toward him.

“Well,” she said, waving for him to follow her, “come on up to the house.”

He started walking next to her. “It's so cool you live out here,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “I lucked out.” She wondered how she really looked to him. She'd dressed with care that morning, annoyed with herself that what he thought mattered to her, as she tried to strike the right balance between the conservative young woman she was struggling to be these days and the little tart she had once been. She was wearing blue-striped capri-length pants and a sleeveless white shirt cut high on her shoulders, and when she'd looked in the mirror, she thought she'd managed to pull it off. Not too sexy, but not exactly puritanical, either.

They were nearing the house, and Bobby shaded his eyes to look toward the porch. “Is that your brother?” he asked.

“No, it's a friend.” She wondered what he would read into that description of Rick. “Did you know my brother?”

“No, but I remember you have one,” he said. “And where's Mackenzie?”

“Up in her room. She's nervous about meeting you.” She laughed. “Not that she's
told
me she's nervous. She doesn't tell me anything. But when I asked her if she wanted to wait on the porch with us, she declined the invitation.”

“Can't blame her for that,” Bobby said. “This has to be hard for her.”

They'd reached the porch and Lacey introduced Bobby to Rick as they climbed the steps. “Rick's going to let you stay at his place in Duck while you're here,” she said. She hoped Rick didn't regret the invitation now that he saw the man in the flesh. The two of them shook hands, looking almost like separate species. Rick was squeaky clean, from his thick dark hair to his spotless BMW parked next to the old van in the parking lot. Bobby certainly was not grubby or even unkempt, but there was an earthiness about him that no amount of soap and water could ever remove.

“That's really nice of you,” Bobby said to Rick. “I'll be happy to pay you something for—”

“No.” Rick shook his head. “Trust me. The accommodations aren't worth much, but I think you'll be comfortable there.”

“Have a seat.” Lacey motioned to one of the chairs. “I'll get Mackenzie.”

Bobby sat down, but Rick remained standing, leaning against the porch railing. “I'm going to give Bob directions to my house and then take off,” he said to Lacey.

She moved forward to kiss his cheek, grateful that he seemed to know his presence could only complicate matters once Mackenzie came downstairs. “Thanks for being such a help,” she said.

Upstairs, she discovered that Mackenzie was not in her room. Her old possessions had not yet arrived, so she had few things to strew around the room, yet she'd managed to make the space look sloppy, nonetheless. Her new clothes were tossed on the unmade bed and the chair, along with the jewel cases for the CDs. Only the stuffed dog and the teddy bear looked like they were in place, sitting neatly on her pillow.

“Mackenzie?” she called, stepping back into the hallway. She checked the bathroom, then the other rooms, then retraced her steps, this time peeking in closets and underneath the beds. She gave up on the second story and walked downstairs, hunting through the rooms there as well, calling her name.

She stepped back onto the porch, the screen door thudding shut behind her. “I can't find her,” she said to the two men, wondering if her voice betrayed her worry. “She's not in the house.” She scanned the open, sandy area around the keeper's house, then looked toward the woods, the only
place that could offer the girl any cover. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called in that direction. “Mackenzie!” There was no response, only the subdued sound of the waves on the beach and the ever-present buzz of cicadas.

“Do you think she's hiding?” Rick asked.

“She must be,” she said. She looked at Bobby. “I guess she's more nervous about meeting you than I thought.”

“Would she run away?” Bobby asked.

Lacey shrugged. “Anything's possible with that kid,” she said, “but where would she go? It's not like we're near anything out here, and she's on foot.”

“Why don't we spread out and look for her?” Rick suggested.

“Okay,” Lacey said. “I'll cover the house again. Maybe she's up in the attic.”

Lacey opened the screen door and walked inside. She stood still in the living room for a moment, her heart thudding in her chest, as she tried to imagine where Mackenzie might be. Crazy thoughts ran through her head.
Hitchhiking. Suicide.
She remembered stupidly leaving her purse on the kitchen table that morning. Mackenzie could have taken all her money and her credit cards. She could have gotten a cab to come out here and pick her up. She could be on her way back to Phoenix by now. She felt as though she'd been entrusted with someone's priceless jewels and, ignorant of their value, had let them slip from her bungling grasp.

She walked into the kitchen and checked her purse. Her wallet was there, along with all the cash she remembered having and her two credit cards. Scratch the running home to Phoenix theory.

She walked back through the living room, climbed the stairs to the second story, and headed for the door leading to the attic.