Home Before Dark (24 page)

“I can imagine.”

“This is generally everyone's favorite part of the tour,” he said, leading the way to a gymnasium furnished with obstacles. They stopped in the doorway. A sign labeled the facility as Orientation And Mobility.

An instructor worked with a young, eager golden retriever named Flossie and a woman called Margaret, training the client every bit as intensively as she trained the dog. They went through the routine again and again, with the dog being persuaded, praised and corrected every step of the way. When it worked well, the two moved in a perfect unit; other times, the woman wandered, the dog hesitated and she nearly tripped over a rubber cone or smacked her head on a hanging object. The dog focused and concentrated with an intensity that seemed almost human. No, better than human. The dog seemed to have no motive beyond assisting the woman.

“You liked that,” Sully said when they left the area.

“Everybody likes pets.”

“Fred's not a pet. No guide dog ever is. That's one of the first things you'll learn.” He led the way to an apartment and held open the door, letting Fred out of his harness. Instantly
Fred became a typical dog, leaping on a much-chewed toy and dancing around the apartment.

“He's as much a part of me as my ears or my hands,” Sully explained, his gentle self-assurance changing to solemn sincerity. “He's more than a set of eyes, too. He thinks and judges for himself. He makes mistakes and gets things right.”

Jessie smiled. She liked Sully, liked him for his honesty, and for embodying the idea that being blind was not the unspeakable personal tragedy she'd been dreading. She liked the dog, too. “Is it okay to pet him?”

“Sure.”

She stroked the coarse-haired black-and-tan head, earning a canine groan of pleasure. “You must really love him.”

“What I feel for him goes so far beyond love that there's really no word for it.” He spoke without false sentimentality. Reaching down, he held up two pillows from the couch. Each had been imprinted with a photograph of a child's face. “My grandkids,” he explained. “I love them. They're precious to me. But they aren't my blood and bone like Fred is.”

“Do you see them often? I mean—”

“I know what you mean. Yes, I see plenty of them. They live over on Shoal Creek, and my daughter brings them to visit a couple of times a week.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Have you ever actually seen them?”

“No. I've been blind since 1972.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Sure, I'd like to see their faces. But I've held them. Kissed their cheeks, smelled their skin.” Grinning, he touched the strings of a guitar on a stand in the corner. “I've sung them to sleep, read them stories, even written original songs for them.”

“You write songs?”

He picked up the guitar, strummed a chord and sang, “Paul Murray Manufactured Homes…”

“Hey. I've heard that on the radio.”

“I write jingles. Not exactly great art, but fun enough. What do you do for a living?” Sully asked.

“I'm a photographer.”

His smile vanished. “I guess that'll change, then.”

Jessie fought a scream, and tried to sound optimistic. “I've always wanted a dog.”

Luz had supper with the boys, because Ian had called to say he'd be late bringing Lila and Jessie home from the city. She was used to his missing dinner; that was the price they paid for living so far out in the country. Besides, she didn't mind. There was something oddly comforting in preparing the coveted stovetop macaroni and cheese, and in the uncomplicated chatter of her sons as they consumed impossible quantities of chicken strips smothered in ketchup. Beaver sat at attention, watching the food go from plate to mouth like a spectator at a tennis match.

Although Luz would barely admit it to herself, she felt an easing of tension in Lila's absence. It was a good move, she told herself, letting Jessie take charge of Lila for the day. Luz had to start getting used to the idea that Lila was growing up, seeking other mentors. Now if only she could get used to the idea of explaining Lila's adoption to her.

She'd spent the day with Nell Bridger at her side, taking pictures of other people's children. Once Nell explained the purpose of the article, it was exactly as Blair had predicted—
people didn't mind being photographed, even when they were showing raw emotion. In fact, some of them crowded in, craving the validation of being photographed. Luz had faltered at first, then realized that this was little different from photographing her own children. You simply stepped out of the way and recorded their pain, relief, confusion, anger. She wondered why she'd stayed away from this for so long. The work was so gratifying that she'd nearly lost track of the time, and had to rush to pick up Scottie by carpool time. Perhaps the most surprising thing of all was that she actually had a shot at finishing the assignment, provided the parents and teachers proved to be as startlingly cooperative as the students were. She'd arranged meetings with several of them already. She felt a keen sense of their trust. They expected her to portray them with dignity; they wanted her pictures to show the depth and magnificence of their grief. And Luz felt confident in the work she'd done so far. She was good at this, even with unfamiliar equipment and a novice's point of view.

“Some guy came and talked to our class today,” Wyatt said.

Owen made loud chugging noises as he inched a Hot Wheels Mustang along the edge of the table.

“What kind of guy?” Luz asked Wyatt.

“Some police guy.”

“I want to see the police guy,” Scottie said.

“What did he talk to your class about?” Luz asked, pushing preternaturally bright macaroni and cheese around on her plate.

“Safety and stuff.”

Owen's Hot Wheels spun out and crashed off the edge of the table.
“Aaaagh,”
he said. “A hill-hopping tragedy.”

“Aaaagh,”
echoed Scottie. “A hill-hopping tragelly.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake.” Luz scowled at her middle son.
“That's a terrible thing to say, Owen Earl Benning. Why on earth would you say such a thing?”

He hunched his shoulders forward and stared at his plate. Like Jessie, Lila and Luz, Owen had bright red hair and pale coloring that blushed like a sunrise. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You didn't answer my question.” She felt Wyatt and Scottie watching her, wide-eyed. Owen's chin trembled, and her heart turned soft. “Okay, so it was a bad question. But tell me this. Are all the kids at school talking about hill-hopping?”

Owen nodded.

“What are they saying?”

A shrug, a shifting gaze. “Stuff about Lila's wreck and that kid who got killed.”

“We will not make a game out of it, ever. Okay, cowboy?” Luz said.

“Yes, ma'am.” He picked up his fork and started eating, and the other two did the same. They left the issue alone like an unwanted vegetable on the plate.

Luz felt a deep welling of love for her boys, mingled with guilt. In all the hoopla over Jessie's arrival and Lila's accident, she'd put her little guys on autopilot. They'd heard snippets of gossip about the accident and were processing it in their own way.

“Here's what I want you to know about the accident,” she said, addressing all three of them. “Lila and her friends made some really bad choices. They sneaked out without permission, drank beer and crammed too many kids into their car. And they treated the car like a toy.”

Owen's gaze flicked to the overturned Mustang on the floor.

“They weren't being careful and a terrible accident happened and everybody got hurt. Now their lives will never be
the same.” She was shocked to feel the weight of tears in her eyes. “Lila's life will never be the same.”

“So how will it be?” Owen asked.

“Different, moron,” Wyatt said.

“She's grounded,” Scottie said. “That's like time-out.”

“She's grounded because we love her and we want to keep her safe,” said Luz.

“She doesn't like being grounded.”

“It will give her a chance to think about how she's going to change her life.”

Scottie's mouth turned down at the corners. “I don't want Lila to change. I want my same Lila.”

“She'll always be your same Lila. And look at it this way—you'll get to see even more of her.”

“Because she'll never see the light of day again.” With that matter-of-fact pronouncement, Scottie filled his fork with macaroni and cheese. They all fell quiet and finished dinner, more subdued than usual. Wyatt cleared the table without being asked. Owen picked up his Hot Wheels and set it carefully on a shelf.

The sound of a car door slamming disturbed the too-quiet house.

“Dad's home!” Scottie dropped the spoon he was holding for Beaver to lick.

The sound of singing and laughter streamed across the yard from the carport. “Born to Be Wild” was one of Luz and Jessie's favorite road songs from childhood. Luz hadn't heard it in years. Even Ian was singing off-key as they walked to the house and came inside.

Standing in the kitchen, Luz froze.

“You changed your life, Lila,” Scottie said.

“She changed her hair, moron,” Wyatt said, staring.

“It's like Aunt Jessie's,” said Owen.

Jessie grabbed Lila's arm and drew her into the light. “Well?” She turned in a parody of a runway model's slouch, taking Lila with her. “What do you think?”

“You look weird,” Owen said.

“Then she fits right in with the rest of us, buddy.” Ian grabbed him and pulled him into the kitchen to forage for food.

Luz stood rooted to the spot. Her sister and daughter looked incredible. Now that Lila had Jessie's short, layered haircut, they resembled sisters. Both wore low-slung jeans and cropped T-shirts that showed a hint of midriff, and there, above the waistband of the jeans, was—

Luz scowled, set down her dish towel and bent to have a closer look. “What's that? A stick-on tattoo?”

“I want to see the tattoo!” Scottie yelled.

Lila smiled with more true joy than she'd shown in days. “Aunt Jessie has one, too.”

Together, she and Jessie displayed their wares.

“Yuck,” Wyatt remarked.

Luz reeled as she regarded the tattoos of constellations. She recognized them from the old map of the night sky posted by the telescope a sponsor had given their mother one year. Pegasus for Jessie, and for Lila, Andromeda, the chained princess. “They're not stick-ons, are they?”

“I'm starved.” Lila went to the table, sat next to Ian and attacked the macaroni and cheese.

“What's this about a tattoo?” Ian asked with his mouth full. Luz wanted to smack him. He was so oblivious sometimes.

“It's just tiny,” Lila said. “See?”

He glared straight ahead. “No, thanks.”

“You know what,” Jessie said abruptly, “I have work to do. I need to go have a long talk with the Dictaphone.” Before
Luz could stop her, she ducked out and disappeared into the night.

Luz burned, but she kept the rage invisible and strictly under control. When had she learned to do this, to hold in the fire, keeping it banked until she chose to let it flare?

Studiously ignoring her turmoil and Lila's new look, Ian took the boys up to get them ready for bed. Lila excused herself to continue the major excavation project that was the cleaning of her room. But she did it with a song on her lips.

 

As was usually the case in the Benning household, life got in the way of a perfectly good crisis. Deep down, Luz preferred it that way. If she stayed busy enough, she could put off the hard stuff or leave it half finished, like everything else in her life. Homework, baths and bedtime came and went; it was after ten by the time she went upstairs to confront Ian.

He sat in his ancient, overstuffed chair by the window, reading legal briefs from a stack on the floor. Luz loved her husband, but her feelings for him were sometimes tinged with exasperation. Tonight, she was fresh out of patience. “No thanks?” she said, echoing his tone at dinner. “My sister tattoos our daughter, and all you can say is no thanks?”

He took off his reading glasses and set aside the thick document he'd been studying. “I didn't want to look at it.”

“That's the problem,” Luz said through a flash of anger, hearing the echoes of a thousand previous discussions in his words. “You never want to see. Especially when it comes to Lila. What is it with you, Ian? It's like you're barely there for her.”

“She doesn't want me around. To her, I'm nothing but a life-support system for a wallet.”

“That doesn't mean you can step down as her father.”

“I know that. Hell, Lila knows that. But at her age, she doesn't need me the way she did when she was little.”

“She still needs you. Damn it, you wouldn't even discuss that tattoo.”

“Discussing it won't make it go away. And guess what, Luz? Getting pissed and fighting about it won't make it go away, either. It happened, okay? We can't erase it. But we can get over it.”

Luz deflated onto the end of the bed. She poked idly at a basket of unfinished quilt squares she'd been piecing together for years. He came to sit by her, and the bed made a squeak of protest. The way he massaged the back of her neck never failed to soothe her, even now. “Oh, Ian,” she said, “what are we going to do?”

“Hope she doesn't get any ideas about nose rings?”

She leaned her cheek on his shoulder. “You know what I mean. Jessie wants her to know about the adoption. That's really what this is about. She hasn't said anything more, but the haircut and tattoo are speaking loud and clear.”

“I've never heard of a kid going haywire because she found out she was adopted,” he said. “What do you want to do, Luz?”

She flopped back on the bed, exhausted. “To forget about all this for a little while.”

“Now, that's something I reckon I can help with.” He slid down next to her.

She knew they'd resolved nothing, but that was the magic of Ian. For these few minutes, he made her troubles cease to matter.

 

But they were back with a vengeance the next morning. The kids filled the house with commotion as they chomped through breakfast and got ready for school. Luz had to admit
that Lila regarded the prospect of school with a more positive attitude than she had before or since the accident. Nothing like a radical new haircut and a permanent tattoo for bolstering a girl's self-confidence. Lila claimed the new design was “itchy” and she “had” to wear a cropped sweater to keep it from being chafed by her clothes.

Luz watched Lila shoulder her backpack and walk up the hill to wait for the school bus. Her heart constricted at the sight of her walking away, as small and slender and determined as she had been ten years before, heading off to kindergarten. Shaken by the image, Luz got Scottie ready for playgroup. Ian dashed off for a meeting with the ACLU and Luz drove Scottie to the church. Afterward, she endured a pained and emotional meeting at the high school with the parents of some of the students involved in the accident. She was moved and humbled by their willingness to participate and share. She captured an image of Nell Bridger holding Dig's football jersey, which she'd rescued from the impromptu shrine that had appeared in front of the school. Luz photographed Sierra's mom and the cheerleading coach sobbing with their arms around each other, and Kathy's father seated alone in the empty stands beside the soccer field, staring out at nothing but blue sky.

By the time Luz arrived home in the late afternoon, she carried other people's sadness and anger as well as her own. She strode across the property to the row of cabins facing the water. Even in the dazzling autumn sunshine, the outbuildings looked gloomy and dilapidated. She had always meant to spruce them up, and had even painted two walls of the first one, but had never gotten around to finishing. Yet already, Jessie had brought her own colorful sense of style to the place, putting a jar of autumn sage and black-eyed Susans on the windowsill, adding a fringed fuchsia shawl as a swag over the window facing the lake.

Luz knocked once and stepped inside. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Jessie sat at the table, her chin propped in one hand, a cup of coffee dangling from the fingers of the other. She wore a dress of deep turquoise and a pair of buff-colored cowboy boots that would have been a fashion crime on anyone but Jessie. Blair's recorder sat in the middle of the table. Jessie touched a button to shut it off. “I was working on the article.”

All right, thought Luz. They could do their usual dance and talk around this, or plunge right in. Maybe the intensity of her day had affected her. She felt like plunging.

Even so, she forced herself to take a seat slowly and speak calmly. “In what universe is it okay to permanently mark a child who doesn't belong to you?”

Jessie was equally calm and even more implacable. “In what universe is it okay to keep a kid from knowing she's adopted?”

“We discussed this before she was born. You agreed—hell, Jess, you
told
me it would be best not to tell her. And now you're mad because we did exactly what you wanted?”