Her Mother's Shadow (14 page)

L
ate the following morning, Lacey sat in the waiting room of the attorney's office, waiting for her father and Clay. She hadn't yet returned to work at the animal hospital, and she hadn't cut a piece of glass since the trip to Arizona, but that would change the following week. She and Nola had come up with a plan, however temporary it might be. Weekdays, she would drop Mackenzie off at Nola's on her way to work at the animal hospital and pick her up on her way home from the studio, although occasionally Mackenzie would spend the night at her grandmother's house. Mackenzie would spend her weekends, when Nola was busiest with her real estate company, at the keeper's house. In theory, it sounded like a good plan. They would have to see how it worked out in practice. She wondered how Nola had made out with Mackenzie's overnight visit, and hoped it was going well. Although she was not prepared to let Nola take Mackenzie away from her—at least not yet—she wanted the girl to be comfortable enough at her grandmother's to spend the night now and then so that Lacey would have some respite.

She'd slept better the night before than she had since learning of Jessica's death. Tempting though it had been to fall asleep floating on the sound, she'd craved a good night's sleep in her own bed, without the worry of Mackenzie in the room down the hall.

Clay and her father walked into the waiting room the same moment Diana Guest, the attorney, stepped out of her office to call them inside. In spite of her carefully cut light brown hair, her dark suit and her sophisticated plastic eyeglass frames, she could not have been more than Lacey's age.

“Wow,” Diana spoke to the two men. “There's no doubt that you two are father and son, is there?”

Her father and Clay smiled the same smile at the attorney, their identical sets of ice-blue eyes acknowledging the truth in her statement. Lacey had long ago accepted the fact that, without her mother's presence, she did not look as though she fit into the little family unit at all.

Diana Guest ushered them into her office, and Lacey and Clay took seats on either side of their father.

“Okay.” Diana sat down, and picked up some papers from her desk. “Let's see.” She read a few lines to herself, then looked up at them. “The first thing you need to know is that, unfortunately, Zachary Pointer has a strong case for parole, so our task won't be easy.”

“Why?” Clay asked. “What gives him a strong case?

Diana tapped her closed fountain pen on the leather desk blotter as she checked her notes. “To begin with, he received psychiatric treatment when he first went into prison,” she said. “The psychiatrist he saw said he'd had a stress-induced psychotic breakdown and—”

“Yes, all that came out at the hearing,” her father said. “It's not news, and he was found to be sane at the time of the incident.”

Diana nodded. “That's true, but it really isn't an issue at this point. He was treated for the psychosis and is stable on medication. According to prison records, he's been a model prisoner. And to make matters worse—for our case, at least—he studied theology while in prison and if he's released, he plans to attend seminary and become a minister.”

“Convenient,” her father said with a cynicism Lacey rarely heard him use. “Maybe every prisoner up for parole should try that line. ‘Let me out and I'll become a minister.'”

“The prison records indicate that it's not a passing fancy with him.” Diana lifted one of the sheets of paper from her desk. “This is dated 1993,” she said, then began reading from the paper. “‘Pointer is repentant for what happened and is involved in the Bible study program run by the prison chaplain.' Then in 1995—‘Pointer is helping Chaplain Luce lead the Bible study classes.' And in 1997—‘Pointer is studying theology in a correspondence course as well as with Chaplain Luce.'”

Saint Zachary,
Lacey thought to herself.

“I'm delighted he found some solace in God,” her father said in a flat voice. “I wish my wife had had that chance.”

“I'm not saying it's impossible to keep him in prison,” Diana said. “You just need to know what we're up against.”

“So what do we need to do?” Clay asked.

“I wasn't in this area when your wife was killed,” Diana spoke directly to Lacey's father, “but I've heard about all the good she did for the community. I suggest you come up with a carefully formulated letter-writing campaign. First, since you three are the direct victims, you should each write a compelling victim's impact statement.”

Rick had been on the right track, Lacey thought.

“The statements should describe how the loss of your mother and wife affected you. Still affects you.” She looked
at Lacey. “This will be most important coming from you, Lacey, since you were there with her when she was murdered. Even if no one else gets around to writing a statement, you absolutely must.”

“I'm really not a good writer,” Lacey said truthfully. She thought of Rick's warning that she would have to relive her mother's death if she pursued legal action to keep Pointer in prison. He'd been right, and she wondered if she'd be able to handle it. Revisiting her mother's death was not something she had the energy to do right now.

“You don't need to win a Pulitzer,” Diana said. “Just write about the lasting impact that losing your mother—and being there when it happened—has had on you, and do it in a compelling but not overly emotional way. Too much emotionalism can be off-putting for the parole board. You have to strike the right tone, and I'll help you. All three of you. Write your statements and then I'll go over them with you.”

“Is that all we can do?” Clay asked. “Write these statements?”

“Don't minimize their importance,” Diana said. “And the statements won't just come from you. I need you all to think about who else should write one. The directors of the places she volunteered. That sort of thing. We want to demonstrate the magnitude of her loss on the entire community, not just on your family.”

“When do you need them by?” her father asked.

“The hearing's in September,” Diana said. “But to give me time to go over them with you, you'll probably want to finish them by mid-August. Here's some information I've put together to help you see what you should include.” She handed a sheet of paper to each of them. “I suggest you make copies of it and give it to anyone you hope to have write a statement.”

“We could have one hundred statements for you,” her father said. “Is that overkill?”

“I would say it's more important to choose carefully. Quality over quantity.” She stood up, obviously through with the meeting. “Ten great letters would do more good than inundating the parole board with a hundred overemotional diatribes.”

Her father stood up and reached out to shake Diana's hand. “All right,” he said. “You'll keep us posted?”

“I will.” She smiled at Clay, then Lacey. “It was very nice meeting all of you,” she said.

They walked out of the office in silence, and once in the parking lot, her father put an arm around each of them. “You guys okay?”

“Fine,” Clay said. “I wish there was something more we could do, though. I didn't expect his staying in prison to boil down to how well we write.”

“Why don't we grab something to eat?” Alec pulled his keys from his pocket and hit the remote button to unlock his car. “Then we can talk about who we should ask to write the other statements.”

Lacey looked at her watch. “I can't, Dad,” she said. “I have to pick Mackenzie up at Nola's in a few minutes.”

“How's it going, hon?” Her father had met Mackenzie a few days earlier, when Lacey'd brought her over to introduce her to Jack and Maggie, a visit which had not been a success. No surprise there. Although she and Jack were the same age, Mackenzie was a couple of inches taller than him and looked a year or two older, and nine-year-old Maggie had looked like a little girl next to the newcomer. While Jack and Maggie swam in the sound behind their house, Mackenzie basked in the sun on their deck wearing her pink bikini. She wanted nothing to do with the weedy, brackish-looking
water close to the beach. “In Arizona,” Mackenzie had told them with a haughty style she was quickly perfecting, “everyone has a pool.”

“Let's just say that I've decided if Nola wants her, she can have her,” Lacey said, not really sure if she was joking or not.

“Ouch,” Alec said, and Clay laughed.

“She
is
a challenge,” Clay said.

“Are you serious?” Alec asked her. “Is it that bad?”

“I don't know, Dad,” she said. “I'm so crazed right now, I can't think straight.”

Clay put his arm around her shoulders. “Well, I personally hope you keep her around,” he said. “She'll make a great baby-sitter in another year or so.”

 

Nola greeted her on the front porch of her three-story house in Southern Shores. “She's upstairs on my computer,” she said. “She's been on my computer nearly her entire visit.”

“I know.” Lacey climbed the stairs to the porch and leaned against the railing. “She misses her friends.”

“Has she talked to you?” Nola asked.

“About?”

“Her mother? Or…well, about anything.” She looked exhausted. “I really haven't been able to get her to talk.”

“Don't blame yourself, Nola,” Lacey said. “She's not talking to me, either. Has she always been reserved like this?”

“Not when she was younger.” Nola fanned herself with her hand. “But the truth is, she doesn't know me very well. I saw her once a year, if that. It was just not enough. I regret that now.”

“I feel the same way,” Lacey said.

Nola slipped a wayward lock of her white-blond hair back into her French twist. “Tell me something, Lacey,” she said. “And please be truthful.”

Lacey nodded, waiting.

“Why do you really think Jessica left her with you and not with me?” Nola asked.

“I simply have no idea,” Lacey answered honestly.

“Was I a bad mother?” It was rare to see Nola look and sound so vulnerable, and Lacey felt sympathy for her. “Jessica told me that I could sometimes be cold.”

“Of course you weren't a bad mother,” Lacey said, letting honesty fly out the window. “I doubt that has anything to do with why she asked me to take Mackenzie. I think what we talked about in Phoenix is right. Jessica probably wanted a peer, someone her age, to raise her daughter. Maybe she thought she'd come up with a brilliant idea by having it be me, since she knew I lived close to you.” She looked in the direction of the ocean. Although she couldn't see it from the front porch, she could tell the water was rough today; she could hear the waves smacking against the beach. “But—” she looked back at Nola “—if we mutually decide at some point that she would be better off with you, or if she says that's what she wants, I won't fight you on it.”

“Well—” Nola let out a long breath “—I certainly expected to fight you for her,” she said. “But the truth is, I don't know that I could handle her on an everyday basis. Maybe Jessica knew that, that I'm not cut out to have an eleven-year-old child in my life. Though I do love her. She's all I have left of Jessie.” Nola sighed. “I just want whatever is best for her.”

“I think I'm going to contact her father,” Lacey said suddenly.

Nola's eyes widened. “She has no father,” she said, a warning in her eyes.

“I know Jessica listed the father's identity as ‘unknown' on the birth certificate, but you and I both know who her father is.”

“She didn't want him involved,” Nola said. “That boy was a complete and utter loser.”

“Then why did she leave Mackenzie with me, when she knew I would want to let Bobby Asher know about her?”

“He corrupted Jessica.”

“I thought
I
corrupted her.” Lacey couldn't resist throwing that statement back in Nola's face.

“I was angry when I said that, Lacey. Angry and hurt. I'm sorry.”

Lacey had never seen Nola as soft and wounded as she seemed today. Twenty-four hours with Mackenzie had humbled her.

“That's all right.” Her head was starting to ache and she rubbed her temples. “I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do about Bobby, Nola, but I'll keep you in the loop. Okay?”

Mackenzie was quiet on the drive back to Kiss River, giving her usual one-word answers to Lacey's questions about the time spent with her grandmother. When they arrived at the light station parking lot, she jumped out of the car and ran ahead of Lacey into the house. By the time Lacey got inside, Mackenzie was sitting on the floor of the living room, watching a soap opera on TV and cuddling with Sasha, the one creature whose love was unconditional, who didn't care if she talked or sulked. Mackenzie looked like a little child at that moment. Not like the girl who dressed like Britney Spears, who made scornful comparisons between life in Phoenix and life in this godforsaken place. She was, Lacey had to remind herself, just a hurt little kid.