Her Mother's Shadow (5 page)

Conversation with the other attendees was easier than she'd anticipated. Several people knew who she was; a few of the doctors even knew about her book. Jim was good at introductions, telling her a little something about each person she met and giving that person a tidbit or two about her. He was used to this sort of high-powered social event. That much was obvious.

Halfway through the evening, when Jim had been taken aside by someone to talk business, one of the women ushered Faye away from the crowd and into the women's lounge.

“I just wanted to tell you how thrilled we all are to see Jim with someone,” the woman said. She was very attractive, her dark hair twisted into a knot at the back of her head. She had to be close to sixty, but her skin was flawless. “He grieved for so long.”

Faye was touched by the woman's words, but she felt a need to defend Jim. “Thank you,” she said. “I don't think there's a time line on grief, though.”

“No, of course not,” the woman said. There was a faint hint of an accent to her voice. Italian, perhaps. “It's just that he hasn't looked happy in years. He looks happy tonight, though.” The woman smiled. “We were worried that if he finally did find someone, it would be one of the young nurses he works with. We're a little sick of watching the older guys leave the wives who've stuck by them all these years for some young babe.”

“Well, I guess I'm glad for once that I look my age.” Faye laughed. She knew a backhanded compliment when she received one.

“Oh, sorry.” The woman laughed at her own faux pas and squeezed Faye's hand. “I didn't mean to imply that you look old. Just—”

“I know what you meant,” Faye said, forgiving her with a smile.

“Just, someone with maturity,” the woman continued. “It's refreshing. My husband has an oncology practice in Escondido and he read your book. He said you're the real deal.”

“That's so nice to hear,” Faye said, as sincere as she was surprised.

“I'm Rosa Stein, by the way,” the woman said.

“How do you do.”

“So, is it serious between the two of you?” That question again.

“Not yet.”

“Well.” Rosa touched her shoulder. “I hope it gets that way.”

“Me, too.” Faye surprised herself with the words.

When they stepped out of the lounge, she spotted Jim across the room, near the window. He was engaged in conversation with a man and a woman, and the sight of him filled her chest with warmth. God, she liked him.

 

“Thanks for going with me,” he said later, as he drove her back to her house. “I know those affairs can be stuffy, but they're for a good cause.”

“I enjoyed it,” she said honestly. She was wondering how to handle the next part of the evening. Leda and Judy's discussion of the third-date rule still rang in her head.

He pulled into the driveway of her modest, one-story house, shut off the engine, and turned to her with a smile. Reaching over, he gently touched the short hair at the back
of her neck. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch, both at his touch and at her uncertainty about what to do next. She had to say something.

“If I invite you in,” she said, “does it sound like I'm asking you for more than coffee and conversation?”

He laughed lightly, then took her hand. “That's what I like about you,” he said. “You're so straightforward. No games. And though I'd love to come in for some coffee and conversation, I think maybe I'd better not. I'm not ready for…for…”

It was the first time she'd seen him at a loss for words, but she understood.

“Neither am I,” she said.

He walked her to her door, where he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

“I can't believe I used to work with you and never even noticed you,” he said, drawing back to look at her.

“You were thinking about your patients,” she said. “And your wife.”

He nodded slowly. “I think that's one thing that drew me to you.” He smoothed a strand of her hair away from her forehead. “You know, the fact that you were widowed. That you know what that's like.”

“Yes,” she said, although the truth was, she didn't know.

She was only pretending.

L
acey didn't even consider telling Clay and Gina that she had a date. She left the keeper's house at six-thirty, stating only that she was meeting a friend for dinner. They would assume it was a female friend; they knew she wasn't up for dating. They were proud of her. Everyone was, as though she'd successfully battled her demons and won. For the most part, she had, although she knew she wasn't yet ready for temptation.

A date with Rick Tenley, however, was no threat to the pact she'd made with herself to end her promiscuous behavior. He was the sort of man that might make other women swoon, but his preppy good looks did nothing for her. He was simply a nice guy, and she would have dinner with him as friends. She also had an ulterior motive in meeting with him: he was a lawyer. She might be able to pick his brain about how she and her family should approach Zachary Pointer's parole hearing.

She'd had trouble deciding where to meet him, finally deciding on the Blue Point Grill in Duck. She would have pre
ferred a restaurant less filled with tourists, but Shorty's Grill, her favorite eatery, was not the sort of place she could picture a guy like Rick. Besides, everyone knew her at Shorty's, and tongues would start wagging. If people wondered why they never saw her with a man these days, they were keeping their curiosity to themselves, and for that she was grateful. She didn't need to stir the pot. It would be best if she and Rick simply blended in with the tourists.

He was already waiting for her when she pulled into the parking lot by the Blue Point. She could see him on the deck next to the little restaurant, leaning against the railing, looking into the water. He was dressed in a sports coat and crisply pressed trousers, and she wondered if her description of the restaurant had made it sound more formal than it was. Didn't he realize he was at the beach? No one dressed up here. Plus, it was hot. He had to be roasting in that jacket.

She pulled a wide barrette from her purse and clipped back as much of her hair as would fit inside the clasp, letting the rest of it fall free over her shoulders. Her long sundress skirted her sandaled feet as she got out of her car and started walking toward the deck. The dress was loose-fitting without being matronly. At least she hoped it was not matronly. Her wardrobe had changed dramatically. She'd tossed out her more provocative clothing, shocked at how little that left in her closet, and she'd taken herself on one of the most depressing shopping sprees of her life. She might as well let her belly button piercing close up for all the exposure it had gotten this year.

Rick turned just as she climbed the last step onto the deck, and he smiled broadly when he saw her. “Great choice,” he said, motioning toward the restaurant. “The specials look fantastic.”

“I thought you'd like it,” she said. “Everything they serve is good.”

They had a short wait for a table and they passed the time standing on the deck, leaning against the railing and watching the sailboats on the sound.

“It's going to be a beautiful sunset,” he said, noting the clouds on the horizon.

She nodded. “I grew up on the sound,” she said.

“That must have been wonderful.” He pointed south. “The cottage I'm staying in is just a mile or so in that direction. It's on the water, too, but it doesn't have a view like this. It's very small and so deep in the woods you can barely see it until you're on top of it. But there's a path leading to the sound.”

“It must be perfect for someone working on a book,” she said.

“You're right. It is.”

The hostess stepped onto the deck to call them into the restaurant, and Rick rested his hand on her back as they walked into the welcome air-conditioning. They were lucky to get a table by the window, and he held the back of her chair as she took her seat.

“Did you write today?” she asked as he sat down across from her.

“Not as much as I should have,” he said. “It was so beautiful out, I had to play a round of golf.”

“Ah,” she said. “Do you do that often? Play golf?”

“As often as I can.” He smiled at the waitress who brought them their water, and Lacey saw the young woman nearly melt under the power of Rick's long dark eyelashes and white teeth.

They studied the menu for a few minutes, both of them selecting the shrimp and scallops. The waitress took their order, and once she had walked away, Rick returned his gaze to Lacey.

“So,” he said, lowering the cloth napkin to his lap. “Do you want to tell me about your breakup?”

For a moment, she thought he had said “break
down
” and was startled by the question. She would not have described what she went through after learning about her mother's infidelities as a breakdown, and how could he know about that, anyhow? With relief, she realized what he had actually said.

“What breakup?” she asked.

“You know, the breakup that's made you take a breather from dating.”

“Oh, it's not that.” She suddenly wished she were a more dishonest person. She could simply say, “Yes, it was painful, but I'm getting over it.” Even as a kid, though, she'd been a lousy liar. “I've just sworn off men for a while,” she said.

“Because you were hurt?”

“Only by myself.” She offered a rueful smile. “By my choices. My actions. I have a tendency to move too fast. To not look out for myself. To pick the wrong kind of guy.” That was enough. She didn't need to go into any more detail with him.

The waitress poured wine into their glasses and neither of them spoke until she had walked away again.

“What's the wrong kind of guy?” he asked.

“Oh, well.” She squirmed uncomfortably, wanting to change the direction of the conversation. “Not a guy like you.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she realized she might be giving him hope with that statement.

“All I mean is that you seem very safe to me,” she said.

He laughed, his wineglass halfway to his lips. “Why does that feel like an insult?” he asked.

“It's not,” she said. “At least I didn't mean it that way.”

He took a sip of his wine and set the glass on the table
again, then leaned forward. “You don't need to worry about me, Lacey,” he said. “You've made it clear you don't want a romance. I'll honor that.”

“Thank you,” she said, grateful for that clear communication. He really had a lot of charm. She could think of a couple of friends she could fix him up with who would appreciate him far more than she would.

“So, now,” he said. “Tell me everything there is to know about you.”

“Everything?”

“You grew up on the sound, you said. A child of the sand and the sea.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“Is your family still in the area?”

“My father and stepmother live nearby, in Sanderling. My brother and his wife and their little girl live with me in the keeper's house at the Kiss River light station.”

“You're kidding. You live in a keeper's house?”

She nodded.

“How did you manage that?”

“I got very lucky. My brother and I helped with the restoration of the house. It's going to be turned into a museum next year, though, and we'll have to leave then, unfortunately.”

“Amazing.” He sipped his wine again. “You didn't mention your mother,” he said. “That beautiful woman in the photograph at your studio. You have her dimples. Does she live nearby, too?”

“No,” Lacey said. “She died when I was thirteen.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” He looked a bit embarrassed and she wished she could say something to put him at ease.

“It was a long time ago,” she said.

“It must be so hard to lose a mother, especially as a girl that age. Had she been sick long?”

“She wasn't sick. She was murdered.”

“God, no. What happened?” He raised a hand to prevent her from answering him. “I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about this. I mean, I'd understand if you don't want to.”

“Actually, I'd like to tell you about it since you're a lawyer. I'd like to pick your brain a little, if you don't mind.”

“What about?” He leaned back as the waitress set their plates of shrimp and scallops in front of them, and Lacey waited until the woman had walked away again.

She picked up a slice of bread from the basket on the table. “Well,” she said, spreading butter on the bread, “my family and I just learned that her murderer may be getting out on parole and we want to prevent that from happening. My dad's getting in touch with an attorney, but I wondered if you might know what we should do to fight it.” She took a bite from the bread and watched him absorb the information.

He sighed. “That's not my area of expertise, I'm afraid,” he said. “Not by a long shot. I'm a tax attorney. I could run it by some of my friends, though, if that would help.”

“Oh, no, you don't have to do that.” She suddenly felt guilty for asking.

“How did it happen exactly?” he asked. “Your mother.”

Between bites of seafood, she told him about the battered women's shelter and how her mother had saved the life of Zachary Pointer's wife. Rick listened with rare attentiveness for a man, barely touching his food as she spoke.

“It's heartbreaking,” he said. “She sounded very special. I'm so sorry.” He reached across the table for her hand, and she let him hold it. His touch felt friendly, brotherly. She thought he actually had tears in his eyes, but she wasn't sure. One thing she
was
certain of was that she really was safe with this guy. Maybe he
could
be a friend. But she let
her hand rest in his only a moment before gently withdrawing it.

“What's your goal?” he asked. “I mean, with the legal system. Do you want to punish him longer or do you want to keep him off the streets because you think he might hurt someone else?”

“Well, we—my father and brother and I and all the people around here who loved my mother—we just feel that twelve years is not long enough. He'd be out, alive and healthy and free and getting on with his life, while my mother can never come back.”

“I'm going to look into this for you,” he said with sudden determination. “I can check with people who know that part of the law better than I do.”

“That's so nice of you.”

“I have one important question for you first,” he said.

She set her fork on the edge of her plate, waiting for him to continue.

“I may be…I apologize, because this might not be fair of me to ask, but…have you thought about what pursuing this will cost you?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he stopped her.

“I don't mean financially,” he said. “I mean emotionally. It could be long and drawn out. You and your family need to really think this through. You need to be sure you're up for going through the whole thing again.”

“I think we have to do it,” she said.

He moved a scallop around on his plate. “I'm just playing devil's advocate here, all right?” he asked. “I can't possibly know how this feels to you, how it feels to lose your mother…but have you thought of…just letting it go? Putting it behind you? Maybe even taking it one step further by forgiving the guy who did it?”

He must have seen her stiffen, because he continued quickly.

“Maybe not forgive him, exactly, although I have to tell you, I believe strongly in the power of forgiveness,” he said. “It brings peace to the person doing the forgiving. I understand that's probably too much to ask. But you might consider not fighting his release. Not wasting your energy on him. As long as the parole board decides he's not a danger to anyone else, as long as he's truly been rehabilitated, can you just let it go?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said.

“Lacey, I'm not talking about letting it go for his sake, but for yours,” he said, his dark eyes searching her face. “If you fight this, you'll have to relive everything that happened.”

“I'll never stop reliving it,” she said, but she was frankly touched by what he had said. He was a kind man, and she knew there was wisdom in his words. “You sound like you've been through something like this.”

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not really.” He pressed his napkin to his lips, then smiled at her again. “I haven't known you long,” he said, his voice soft, “but just seeing you with customers at the studio, seeing the sweet and gentle way you are with
me,
I can tell that you're a compassionate person. I bet you usually forgive people very easily.”

“Well.” She sighed, lifting her fork from the edge of her plate. “The irony is that my mother would have been the first to forgive him,” she said, spearing a scallop. “Unfortunately, though, I'm nothing like her.”