Home Before Dark (30 page)

Pushing aside those thoughts, she accompanied him into the concert hall. Once seated, she gave herself over to the music, an exuberant celebration of American composers. But at the gala reception for subscribers, Tim fell into a conversation with a fellow programmer about something called PERL, and it didn't take Jessie long to contemplate the entertainment
value of listening to paint dry. When the programmer offered to introduce Tim to an associate, he politely asked if she'd be all right on her own for a few minutes.

She gratefully assented and remained standing by a refreshment table that smelled of garlic chicken wings and strong cheese. She stood for several minutes, absorbing snippets of other people's conversations and trying to figure out how to find the ladies' room. One couple kept trying to reach the baby-sitter on a cell phone only to find the line busy. A woman smelling of Joy and Jack Daniel's walked unsteadily past in stiletto heels. A young boy declared the food “barfy” and whined that he was bored. His mother made an apologetic sound in Jessie's direction, and Jessie favored her with an understanding smile.

“Could I ask for your help getting to the ladies' room?” Jessie asked.

Silence. Damn. The woman had gone already, leaving Jessie to speak to the empty air. She really had to go. I hate this, thought Jessie. I hate my life. I hate everything.

She felt stripped down to nothing. She had no dog, no escort. She'd foolishly left her cane in Tim's car.

“Everything all right, ma'am?” asked a male voice.

The sweet drawl sounded so much like Dusty that, for a moment, hope sang in her veins. But she quickly realized she was projecting an impossible wish onto a stranger. “You bet.”

“You look like you could use this.” A champagne flute found its way into her hand. He didn't sound like Dusty after all. His voice was more nasal and affected, a Kappa Alpha fraternity twang.

Jessie curved her mouth into a dismissive smile. Her back teeth were floating. She really ought to ask the guy to escort her to the bathroom, but angry pride got in the way. Some
times she was so good at acting as though she were sighted that people didn't notice. “Thanks.”

“What's a pretty lady like you doing here all alone?”

She favored him with a smile. “Trying to stay that way.”

Sharp intake of breath. Clearly Frat Boy was used to getting what he wanted. “With that attitude, you'll have no problem.” Leaving a puff of Canoe aftershave in his wake, he left.

She felt physically ill, nauseated by the smell of cologne and food and champagne. All her hard work and training didn't help. At the Beacon, she'd been remade, redefined and managed to remain on a road that ensured her independence. And damn it, she was good at survival. Or was she fooling herself?

On this absurd date, she reflected, she'd been humbled by her own helplessness. Sure, she could avoid getting run over by a truck. But the little, everyday things—like facing desertion in a strange place, or being hit on by a jerk—were pounding her into the ground. She was in no physical danger, but in a way, this was worse. The horror was subtle and she had no solution for it. She couldn't fix this by labeling it with a Braille strip or by counting steps.

“I see you found the champagne,” said Tim, rejoining her.

Even as she tried to force a smile, the truth hit her. Everything she'd accomplished, all the skills the sighted found so admirable—all of it was a sham. She was fooling everyone—herself most of all—by trying to prove she could make it alone, in darkness.

She tried to step away from Tim, but there was a cold marble wall behind her.

“Jessie?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she managed to blurt, just before she threw up on his shoes.

Balancing cold drinks on a tray, Luz walked outside to find Ian and all three boys hard at work on another new ramp, this one leading from the yard down to the dock. Even Scottie lent a hand, clearing broken rock from the path while his brothers hammered down the speed bump strips.

At the top of the shallow incline, she stopped for a moment to watch. It was a misty morning, the air sweet with the promise of spring. Ian wore the tool belt the kids had given him one Father's Day, and a cap embroidered with the logo
Carpe Diem.

“That's quite a sight,” said a voice behind her. “I hope you're prepared for a flock of girls to come calling when Wyatt hits puberty.” Glenny Ryder came to join Luz.

Luz took her mother's hand. She and Stu had arrived the day before, having driven from Phoenix in a van that had more bells and whistles than a fighter jet. They had stayed up late the night before, talking about Jessie. Everyone was totally shocked, yet it explained so much. Luz was sick with anticipation. She had wanted to go tearing off to Austin, armed with
the information from Simon. She'd burned to track down her sister and scoop her into her arms. In the end, it had been Ian who stopped her.

“Let Dusty do this, Luz,” he'd said.

Dusty hadn't had a single doubt. “I'll bring her home. But you're not keeping her. That's my job.”

“No one can keep Jessie,” Luz had warned him.

“I can love her. I can make her want to stay.”

Luz hadn't had the heart to point out that no one had ever succeeded at that before. Not even her baby.

“I'm glad you're here,” Luz said to her mother, and she meant it. Despite the complicated threads of emotion and history that bound her to her mother, she loved Glenny and was glad she'd come to visit.

“I can't believe this is happening to our Jessie,” said Glenny. “I can't believe she didn't tell us.”

“I can,” said Luz. “This is her way of protecting us. She's always done this. Most people think I'm the protective one, trying to manage everyone's problems. But Jessie has her own methods. She thinks going away will shield us.” Ever since Simon's phone call, Luz kept hearing Jessie's voice:
I just want to see Lila…. I want her to know who I am…. You don't want what I've got.
And deep in the darkest, most hidden part of Luz's heart lay something she despised about herself. Jessie had stolen her thunder again. On the very day Luz found out about the Endicott, Jessie's troubles had eclipsed Luz's shining triumph. And given what Jessie was going through, a prize seemed so trivial.

But not, it seemed, to the world of professional photography. On the heels of the announcement about the award, offers and requests had poured in at a steady rate. Luz was reminded of the magical times in her youth when her mother had won a major title. The heady aftermath of success turned
the world into a banquet of possibility. But deep down, Luz still felt like a phony, only playing at being a professional. How could something that meant this much to her actually become a job?

She took a gulp of tea, so cold it gave her a headache. “God, why didn't I realize there was a problem when she handed over all her cameras?”

“How do you guess something like this?” Glenny said. “In the past two days, you've read volumes on the Internet about AZOOR. Could you have seen it coming?”

“No,” Luz admitted. “There aren't any predictors, other than a tendency toward myopia. It mainly afflicts females under the age of forty.”

“So does VD, but it's not something you think about. Quit trying to take the blame for this, Luz, for God's sake.” In a softer voice, Glenny asked, “So do you think this guy—this Dusty—will bring her home?”

“He's not the type to take no for an answer.”

“She's not the type to do something because some guy tells her to.”

“This is different,” Luz said. “There's something between them. The air just crackles when they're together. He's crazy about her. And Jessie—I've never seen her like that.”

“Grandpa Stu!” Scottie burst into a run at the top of the slope. “Come and try out the ramp!”

Stuart Burns positioned his wheelchair at the head of the new ramp. The boys hooted with excitement, running along beside him as he navigated the way down to the dock.

Luz felt Glenny tense beside her. Stuart was a fit, good-looking older man who was wheelchair-bound from a climbing accident a decade before. He and Glenny had met at a fundraiser, and they'd been together ever since. Of all her mother's husbands, Luz liked him the best. He was kind,
caring and funny. Unlike his predecessors, he hadn't spent Glenny's money and disappeared.

He made it down to the dock without incident, and Luz saw the tension leave her mother. He, Ian and the boys celebrated with high-fives. Stuart hoisted Scottie onto his lap and treated him to a spin in the chair while Scottie shrieked with glee.

“He's a wonderful grandpa,” Luz said.

“Your boys are a handful of fun. Two hands full.”

Luz took a deep, nervous breath. “Mom, I need a favor.”

Glenny looked at her sharply. She was clearly aware of how hard it was for Luz to ask for something. Anything. “What's that?” asked Glenny.

“Can you and Stu look after the boys today? I thought maybe you could take them to Woodcreek for putting practice.”

Glenny's hesitation was weighted with reluctance. “I don't know, Luz. They're awfully active.”

Luz ground her teeth. She'd lain awake late into the night, agonizing over her decision. It was going to be so hard. She simply couldn't do it with the guys running around. “Ian and I need some time alone with Lila. Please, Mom. For once in my life, I'm not going to pretend I don't need you. I'm asking for a little help.”

Glenny must have heard the desperation in Luz's voice. She took a Virginia Slims and a lighter from her pocket. “Is Lila in some sort of trouble?”

“Not specifically. There's not a crisis like the accident. It's just…” Luz hesitated. “We've decided to tell her about the adoption.”

Glenny lit up and gazed out across the lake as she exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “And that'll fix what's wrong?”

“I'm not that naive, Mom. But it's what Jessie wanted before she left us.”

“Then you're doing it for all the wrong reasons.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You're Lila's mother. Telling her otherwise is only going to confuse the girl.”

“Fine. Then you tell me what to do.” Luz eyed her challengingly but without any real hope of an answer. She'd been waiting all her life for her mother to make a decision for her, and it hadn't happened yet.

“Don't look to the past for answers,” Glenny said, surprising Luz. “Look at what
is.
And don't look at Jessie or Lila. Look at yourself.”

“What about me?”

“Did you ever think…maybe you have all this tension with Lila because you're too focused on what you expect of her? Maybe you need to find a way to put the past to rest and find a dream of your own.”

“Like you did, Mom?” The sharp note in her voice brought Glenny around to face her.

Luz flashed on a memory of a typical summer. Jessie was in the back seat of the Rambler, lost in another world while Luz tracked their progress on a map, tallied up their expenses in a small black notebook, tried to find a motel that would not set them back too much. Glenny's mind was on her next tournament, her next man, her next move. Luz was always the good daughter, the dutiful daughter, the responsible one. Caretaker and peacemaker.

“Tell me, Mom. When did I ever have time to dream?”

“You make time for what's important.”

Luz bit her lip. She didn't want to have to beg, but she and Ian needed this time with Lila. “Look, if I've learned anything from Jessie, it's that keeping secrets is destructive. My God,
she couldn't bring herself to tell you or me or anyone what was going on. I don't want to keep secrets anymore.”

Glenny finished her cigarette and waved at Stuart and the boys. “Who's up for a round of putting and ice cream at the Dairy Queen?”

“Me!” the boys yelled in unison.

“Into the van, then,” Glenny said. “Chop chop.”

Each morning when she woke up, Jessie lay still with her eyes shut and tried to think about seeing. There was nothing left of her vision but fog. She thought about colors and shapes. The faces of people she loved—Dusty and Amber, Luz and Lila, Ian and the boys. The sight of snowcapped mountains, gleaming lakes, birds in flight. Even her mother's smile, a cherished gift. Where were those images now? They still belonged to her, didn't they? They hadn't gone anywhere. They were still part of her; they lived inside her.

Then, inevitably, she opened her eyes to the shadowy gray that was her only reality. She despised the fears and humiliations, the clumsy mistakes, the limitations of her condition. She despised the orderly, methodical person she'd become. She missed the mindless freedom of riding a bike, hopping in a car whenever she wanted, even simply jaywalking. Her life had slowed down to a crawl.

She had more time for reflection, Sully and Irene had reminded her. More time for regrets, Jessie realized. When she couldn't simply flee at breakneck speed, she was forced to
examine her life and her choices too closely. She wished too hard for things she couldn't have.

Why on earth would she think her road would be easy? Or that she'd have a choice?

Flambeau could never be fooled. Jessie didn't know how she did it, but the dog knew the moment she opened her eyes. Like a persistent toddler, she gave Jessie no time to wallow in despair, but whined softly, her tail a fan that stirred the air. Time for her morning curbing.

“Okay, girlfriend,” Jessie mumbled, and went to the bathroom to get ready. A few minutes later, teeth brushed, hair brushed, sweat suit on, she harnessed Flambeau and out they went. She wished she'd brought an apple or something to settle her stomach. The morning air was crisp and dry, and the sun had barely risen. Spring was coming. She caught a whisper of scent from a Ligustrum hedge, felt a waft of warmth on her face. Jessie liked the relaxing early moments of the morning and the muted sounds of traffic on distant MoPac.

She paced back and forth on the sidewalk. Living as a blind person was not the hardest part of the future that lay ahead. Not by a long shot. Her failed date at the symphony had proven that.

Flambeau had a tiny bell attached to her collar. In this way, Jessie could keep track of the dog's morning wanderings. She heard the bell and realized the dog was loping away from her. Flambeau would never run off, but sometimes allowed herself to be lured away by a squirrel. Jessie called out to her.

She heard the dog coming back and could tell she wasn't alone. She could also tell Flambeau liked the stranger. She was prancing and lightly sneezing. Flambeau was an excellent judge of character. But her demeanor clearly indicated that this was indeed a stranger. If the dog recognized someone, she acted differently, announcing that fact with a soft whine.

Jessie felt a disturbance in the air. People who didn't know any better sometimes claimed the blind had special powers of acuity in their hearing or smell or tactile sense, but that wasn't true. Not being able to see simply allowed her to focus on other sensations.

This disturbance was different, fraught with tension. When people approached Jessie, the dog was not protective but she was definitely proprietary. She trotted up to Jessie's side, and Jessie leaned down to clip the walking leash to her collar. Flambeau pranced and then settled at her left side. Jessie lowered her hand to the dog's warm head, but she faced directly forward.

“Hello?” she said.

Long, unhurried strides rang on the buckled concrete sidewalk. Her skin recognized him first. Oh, she felt him, so close, and it was something she had missed with every fiber of her being. The sound of his breathing confirmed it.

“Oh my God.” The words rode a soft breath of disbelief.

“Lady, you are some piece of work.”

“Don't. Don't yell at me, Dusty.”

“Somebody needs to yell at you, Jessie,” he said. “Or is that going to make you run again?”

“I wasn't running. I was—” She stopped. “I was taking care of my own private business.”

“Right.” He gave an angry laugh. “I offered you my damned heart on a platter. And still you left without a word. What the hell were you thinking?”

He had it all wrong, she thought. How could he have it so wrong? “I was thinking that what was happening to me was not the sort of thing I felt like sharing. Particularly with a man who had just lost his wife.”

“What the hell's that got to do with it? Do two losses make a right?”

“I didn't want you to suffer, Dusty.”

“I fell in love with you, and you left. You think I didn't suffer?”

She jerked her chin up in defiance. “Going blind is bad enough when it happens to one person. Why should I make it happen to the people around me?”

“You are one weird woman,” he said, anger crackling around him like a force field. “Damn you, Jess. Why do you believe you can make these decisions for people?”

“Because forcing you to love me like this would be cruel.”

“Like what?” he demanded.

She hated him for making her say it. “I'm blind. Don't pretend it doesn't matter. Don't pretend people will understand. The whole world will look at you and think, what a waste. That wonderful man sacrificing his happiness to take care of a blind woman. I won't let you, Dusty. That's why I left, and that's why you should do the same.”

He gave a snort of disgust. “You make a lot of assumptions on your own. It's exactly what you did about Lila. You kept the identity of her father from everybody because you thought that would be easier on them.”

“And it was.”

“That's bullshit, Jess. Jesus, look what it did to you. It made you into a person who can't let herself love, can't trust herself to stay.”

She couldn't defend herself against that. He was holding up a mirror, and she recognized the truth. Still, she couldn't take the final step. “If I'd told Luz, she would have tried to fix this. It's what she does. Why should I hand her a problem she can't solve?”

“Sighted or blind, you're a problem, Jess, but that doesn't mean we don't love you.”

And then he took her in his arms, and she broke open,
all the terror and hurt flowing out of her on a raft of tears. “Damn it, Dusty. I haven't fallen apart once. Not once. And now you come here and—”

“Yeah, I'm here.” He kissed her hair, her face—forehead, cheeks, eyes, lips—until the tears were gone. Her senses filled with him—the way he tasted and smelled and sounded, the warmth of him. “Don't you ever do that again, Jess,” he said. “Don't you ever leave me.”

There was an assumption in his anguished command that she knew she should object to, but it felt too good to hold him, to melt in his arms, to forget for a moment how impossible this all was. She let her mind drift back to the night in Mexico—the lush, decadent romance, the dark, fragrant garden, the mindless pleasure. Finally, she made herself ask the obvious. “How did you find me?”

“Your old flame contacted Luz, looking for you.”

“Great. Something else for Luz to worry about.”

“I told her not to worry. You're going to be all right.”

She put a hand to her hair. “I'm a wreck.”

He plunged his hand into her hair. “Do you think that matters?”

They strolled together along the periphery of the park. Jessie's blood sang; she couldn't help it. He shouldn't have come. She should be fighting him off, but she couldn't. “Flambeau likes you,” she told him.

“She's going to love Amber and Arnufo, too. I figure she'll put up with Pico de Gallo.”

“What are you implying?”

“You're coming back to Edenville with me.”

“I don't think so.”

“Jesus Christ, woman, would you listen to yourself? Who do you think you are, walking away from me, from your
sister, from everyone who loves you?” His anger shocked her and bit deep.

“I'm blind. How can you stand me?”

“I'll pretend you never said that.”

Emotions welled up in her, frightening in their intensity. She tried to fight them, to make excuses, anything to keep this from happening. She thought about her sterile apartment, her closed little world. “Who do you think
you
are, barging in here, ordering me around?”

“I would never do that. You're coming because you want to.”

“What makes you think—”

“Your sister won an Endicott Prize. Did you know that?”

Wonder broke over her. “Really?”

“Who do you suppose she needed to tell when she got the news? You weren't there for her, Jess. You've got to fix this thing with your sister. She needs you. So do I, even though you're a pain in the ass. I love you, Jessie, and you love me.”

For a moment she couldn't breathe. She stepped back and tried to find her voice to give Flambeau the command to take her home, away, anywhere but here.

“Let's go,” he said.

“Go where?”

“Back to your place.”

“I intend to. But you're not invited.”

His laughter washed over her like a song she had nearly forgotten. “Oh, honey,” he said, “when has that ever stopped me?”