Her Mother's Shadow (30 page)

“Come on,” he said, gently giving her shoulders a squeeze. “Spill it.”

She breathed in the scent of the sea from his skin. “Too hard,” she said, her voice so muffled she doubted he could hear her. “It's too hard for me to explain.”

“Is it Rick?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. Rick and I don't have that kind of relationship. At least, not yet.”

“What is it then?”

She could feel him stroking her hair, playing with it. “It's my mother,” she said, and his hand suddenly stopped moving.

“I don't get it,” he said.

Lacey licked her lips. “A year ago, I found out that my mother had been unfaithful to my father.”

“With Tom,” Bobby said.

“Yes, with Tom,” she said, “but with many, many,
many
other men as well.” She lifted her head to look at him. “Tom doesn't know any of this,” she said. “Please don't say—”

He pressed his fingers to her lips. “I won't,” he said. “How did you find this out about your mother?”

“My father told me. He hadn't known about it, either, until Mary Poor, the old lighthouse keeper who used to live here, told him.”

“How on earth did
she
know?”

“Because this is where my mother brought her lovers,” Lacey said. “She and Mary had some sort of…I don't know. Some deal or something. Mary would let my mother bring men here. She cheated on my father over and over and over again. She was…she was a
slut.
There's no other word for it. That's why I can't get that victim's impact statement written. Every time I try to write about how terrible it was that my family lost a wife and mother, I think about what a lying, cheating, two-faced tramp she was.” She winced as the words left her mouth. They felt blasphemous.

“Why didn't she ask your father for a divorce if she wanted to be with other men?”

“You're being logical, and my mother was anything but,” she said. “She was an incredibly complicated person. I al
ways
knew
she was complicated, but until a year ago, I had no idea how much. She loved my dad. I believe she truly did, with all her heart. But something drove her to have all these other guys.” She squeezed her eyes closed more tightly. “And the scary thing is,” she said, “I seem to have inherited the…the slut gene.”

He laughed, and she could hardly blame him. “I don't think that's possible,” he said.

She lifted her head to look at him. “I know it sounds ludicrous,” she said, “but Bobby, I was repeating the pattern and I didn't even know that she'd been like that.”

“What do you mean, you were repeating the pattern?”

She sat up and reached for her beach towel, wrapping it around her shoulders in spite of the fact that she was still very warm. She had a sudden need to cover herself from his eyes. “Until a year ago, I had one lover after another with no steady relationship,” she said. “I avoided anyone who wanted to get closer. I avoided anything deep. It was so bad that my family was worried about me and I know some people—maybe a lot of people—talked about me. After I found out about my mother last summer, I made a pact with myself that I'd stop.”

“Did you see a counselor?” He was looking at her, but seemed to know better than to touch her.

“Yes.”

“Did she say you were a sex addict?”

“She said I didn't fit the criteria.”

“Were you able to stop?” He was asking a lot of questions, but she thought she owed him the answers.

“Yes,” she said. “Until tonight.”

He smiled at her. “I contend that tonight is different, though,” he said. “Or am I just kidding myself?”

She shook her head. “I'm sorry, Bobby,” she said. “I just don't know. All I know is that I wanted you to make love to
me. But it's not as simple as it was with all the other guys, because you're Mackenzie's father. I have too many other feelings for you. They complicate things.”

“That's the way it's supposed to be, Lace,” he said, reaching up to run his hand down her arm. “It's not supposed to be just about sex.”

“You're the type I've always been drawn to,” she said. “The wild sort of guy. I can spot a bad boy across a room.”

“I'm really not a bad boy,” he said. “Maybe once upon a time, but not now. And I'm not interested in only having sex with you.”

She sighed and dropped her head, feeling defeated. “I think I need to revisit my therapist,” she said.

“Not a bad idea.”

Resting her cheek on her knees, she studied his face. The whites of his eyes looked luminous in the darkness. “Do you think I'm a sex addict?” she asked.

“I don't know,” he said. “Are you into porn?”

“Ugh. No. Not at all.”

“Are you preoccupied with sexual fantasies?”

She shook her head, amazed she was sitting here, having this conversation with him.

“Do you always feel as bad after sex as you're feeling right now?” There was a small, sad smile on his lips.

“I didn't used to,” she said. “But tonight I feel…disappointed in myself. Weak.”

With a sigh, Bobby sat up and looked out to sea. There was a light in the distance, a ship out there, traveling through the dark night. “I don't think you're the classic sex addict,” he said, turning to look at her. “But I do think you have some things to work out.”

She nodded. “That's why I've been hanging around with Rick. I'm not at all attracted to him.”

Bobby laughed. “You're beautiful,” he said, “but I'm afraid one of your beautiful screws is loose.”

She nodded. “I know,” she admitted. “But it's like…” She watched the light make its way slowly along the horizon as she struggled to gather her thoughts. “It's like you're the equivalent of my mother's lovers, and Rick is the equivalent of my father.”

He said nothing, and she knew she had spoken too freely. She'd hurt him.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “That sounded awful.”

“It's okay,” he said.

“I'm afraid of you,” she admitted. “I mean, I'm afraid of how I feel around you. Of losing control, like I did tonight. I'm not afraid of Rick.”

“He seems very safe.” Bobby acknowledged the truth.

“I think he could be good for me,” she said.

“You make him sound like cod liver oil,” he said, “and when's the last time you had a swig of
that
stuff?”

“Bobby, I'm really sorry,” she said again. “I feel like I used you tonight. Like I took advantage of you.”

He smiled at that, then sobered. “I was going to invite you to take advantage of me any time you like, but after all you just told me, I know that's not what you need to hear.”

He stood up, and she turned away as he pulled on his shorts. She looked toward the dark shoreline, wondering what had become of her own bathing suit.

“Come on.” He held his hand out to her.

She got to her feet, rearranging the towel around herself before taking his hand and walking with him toward the house.

“Will we be okay?” she asked as they neared the porch. “You and me? I mean, we have to be able to get along all right, for Mackenzie's sake.”

“Of course we'll be okay, Lacey,” he said. “Though if you expect me to forget that tonight happened…” He shook his head. “I can't do that.”

She nodded, knowing she could never ask that of him. She didn't even want to, because despite the pain it had caused her, despite her shame and disappointment, she didn't want to forget it, either.

F
aye parked the rental car in front of a beautiful old Victorian-style house a few blocks from the Princeton campus. The street was lined with trees that hung so low they formed a leafy green tunnel over her head as she got out of the car, and the air was thick with the sound of cicadas. She gazed at the house. It had been carefully restored, she thought, painted a soft blue color with maroon trim, and a turret rose from the right-hand side of the second story. A porch ran the entire length of the house and curved around the side, and a swing hung on chains from the porch's high ceiling. If this was truly Freddy's house, he was doing very well for himself. And he must be married. A single man would not live in a huge house like this one. Did she have grandchildren? Faye could not see the backyard, but she imagined a swing set back there, or a tasteful wooden playground, or maybe a playhouse in keeping with the style of the main house. She'd been speaking to her son in her mind for the entire trip from San Diego to Princeton, and she was still speaking to him now:
Please, Freddy, no matter what's gone on be
tween you and me, please let me be a part of my grandchildren's lives.

Maybe, though, she thought suddenly, this was some sort of student house, so close to the University. Maybe Freddy was in graduate school and lived with a bunch of other guys.

There was only one way to find out. She pressed her damp palms together, took in a breath as if she were about to jump off a high dive, and started up the slate sidewalk.

There was no doorbell, and she used a huge brass knocker shaped like the house itself. She waited nearly a minute, and was about to knock a second time when a young man—who looked nothing like Freddy—opened the door. Her guess that the house was being used by students was probably correct, and she had to quickly let go of her fantasy about grandchildren.

“Can I help you?” the man asked. He was about her height and somewhat overweight, and his smile was warm. He lifted his eyebrows, waiting for her to speak.

“I'm looking for Fred Pointer,” she said.

“Oh, I'm sorry, but he's out of town for a while.” The man tilted his head to the side, a look of frank curiosity on his round face. “Can I give him a message?”

“Is this where he lives?” She peered behind him, trying to see what the house looked like on the inside, and had a terrible thought: Maybe Freddy had seen her arrival from one of the upstairs windows and told his friend not to let her in.

The man nodded. “Are you from the university?” he asked.

“I'm his mother,” she said, returning her gaze to him.

His jaw dropped open, but the smile never left his eyes. “Mrs. Pointer?”

“I go by Collier now,” she said. “Faye Collier.”

The man shook his head. “I absolutely cannot believe you're here.” He stepped back from the door. “Please come in.”

His response both perplexed and pleased her. “Thank you,” she said as she walked into the house. The floor of the foyer was marble and the walls were painted a pale gold, but she knew that the house had not been completely restored to its former glory because welcome, cool air surrounded her. She could see into the living room, which was richly furnished with antiques, or at least, with reproductions. A baby grand piano sat in one corner. The decor did not fit any student housing she could imagine.

“My name's Christian,” the man said. “Come in and have a seat.” He led her into the living room, and she sat down on a red camelback sofa. In her shorts and sandals, she felt too casually dressed for the room.

“Is this Fred's house?” she asked. “I mean, does he just rent a room here, or—”

“It's his house.” Christian took a seat at the other end of the sofa. “His and mine.”

“Oh,” she said, still struggling to make sense of the situation. “You two bought it to fix up and sell, or…” She stopped talking, suddenly understanding, and she could not seem to say another word.

“He's my partner,” Christian said, an endearing mix of joy and apology in his face that made her feel an instant tenderness toward him.

She pressed her fingers to her mouth, letting the news sink in, and Christian leaned forward to study her face. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She was able to smile. “I just…I never had a clue,” she said. “He was…” She'd been going to say that he'd been interested in girls as a teenager, but did she know that to be
the truth? Or had he had feelings for other boys all along and had never felt able to express them to her? “I thought he liked girls when he was younger,” she said.

“Well,” Christian said, “technically, he's bi.”

“Bi? Oh, bisexual.” She shook her head, smoothing a trembling hand over her short hair. “This is a lot to take in,” she said, trying to laugh.

Christian looked amused by her reaction. “Can I get you something to drink while you absorb the shock?” He started to get to his feet and she noticed his hands.

“You're wearing a wedding ring,” she said.

He sat down again. “We have a civil union.”

She was not sure what that meant, but she was certain it reflected a deep level of commitment between her son and this likable man. Although she had never expected to learn that Freddy was gay, the thought of him being able to commit to another person in a loving relationship pleased her. She had worried that she and Zachary might have ruined him.

“How long have you been together?” she asked.

“Five years.”

A realization suddenly struck her, and she laughed. “I guess I'm your mother-in-law,” she said.

“You can be,” he said, but for the first time his expression grew serious. “First, though, you have to be…Fred's mother.”

She felt mildly chastened and feared she deserved it. “Does he still hate me?” she asked quietly.

“I don't think he ever did,” Christian said. “He just felt that you turned against his father and he wasn't able to do that.”

Except for her conversations with Jim, Faye had wiped Zachary from her mind, but now she had an image of him playing catch with Freddy on the beach, fishing with him
from the pier near their trailer park. Zach had been a good man at one time.

“Is he still in touch with his father?” she asked.

“Often.”

“My God.” She shook her head. She never even thought of Zachary in the present tense, as if he still existed.

“Listen.” Christian got to his feet. “Would you like to see some pictures of Fred?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes!”

He left the room for a moment, returning with a photograph album, and he sat down close to her on the sofa.

“These are a few years old,” he said apologetically as he opened the cover. “They're from our civil union ceremony.”

An engraved invitation was on the first page. “This is our invitation,” he said. “A friend designed it for us.”

She looked at the names: Christian Tenley and Rick Pointer.

“Rick?” she asked, confused.

“He goes by Rick,” Christian explained. “You know, short for Frederick. You're the first person I've ever heard call him Fred.”

“Oh,” she said, remembering that Freddy had told people to call him “Rick” as long ago as high school. “He never liked the name Fred.”

They paged through the album. “My God, he's handsome,” Faye said, and Christian laughed.

“You don't need to tell
me
that,” he said.

She came to the picture she and Jim had found on the Internet: three men standing in front of the Princeton chapel. She recognized one of the men as Christian.

“Are the two of you graduate students at Princeton?” she asked.

Christian laughed. “We were at one time,” he said. “But now we teach there. I teach biology, and he teaches law.”

“Law!” She shook her head. She wondered if she'd been holding him back in some way, that he'd needed to escape from her to carve out his own path. “He's accomplished so much,” she said with a sigh. “He didn't really need me in his life, did he?”

“Yes, he did,” Christian said. “And he still does.”

She turned one page of the album, then another. Freddy was smiling in every single picture. “He's happy, isn't he,” she said. It was a statement rather than a question.

“Yes, except for…” Christian's voice trailed off.

“Except for what?”

Christian rested his hands on the photograph album. “He wants his father out of prison,” he said. “Right now, this summer, he's on sabbatical in North Carolina, working on a book about the parole process, which is inspired, of course, by his father, who's up for parole.”

“I didn't know that.” Shouldn't someone have told her? She guessed she would have been contacted if she'd been easier to find. “What are the chances that Zachary—that Fred's father—will get out?” she asked.

“I don't know,” he said. “All I know is that he
should
be out. He doesn't belong in prison.”

“He
killed
someone,” she argued.

“He's completely rehabilitated,” Christian said with such conviction that she decided she would say no more.

She looked down at the album again, at Freddy's handsome smile. “When is he coming back to Princeton?” she asked.

“He comes home every other week or so,” he said. “But he's staying down there at least for the summer.”

“I want to see him,” she said. “I'll go to North Carolina.” The thought of setting foot in the state she thought she had left in her past was not pleasant, but right now, she didn't care.

“He will be so
happy
to see you, Faye,” he said, using her name for the first time. “He's always regretted the way things ended between the two of you.”

“Me, too,” she said.

“Shall we call him and tell him you're coming?” Christian asked.

She still felt afraid to speak with him on the phone. “Let's not,” she said. “Now that I know he'll want to see me, I'd rather surprise him, okay?”

“Sure.” He nodded.

“Can you give me directions?” She was already reaching into her purse for her keys. She couldn't wait to call Jim to tell him everything she'd learned about her son.

“It's a long drive,” Christian said. “Why don't you stay here tonight and head down tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “Now that I know where he is,” she said, “I can't wait another minute to see him.”