Keeper of the Light (28 page)

“No.” She sat up, smoothing her hair away from her face with her hands. “It’s got to be me he’s coming back for.”

“Well.” Alec sat up too and reached for his T-shirt. “I think it’s about time you got to see a little more of the Outer Banks. We’ll see how much fun you can tolerate.”

He took her to Jockey’s Ridge. She had seen the enormous sand dunes from the road many times, she said, but it had never occurred to her to actually
walk
on them. She’d put a pair of shorts on over her bathing suit and Alec lent her a T-shirt. He dug around in the glove compartment of the Bronco until he found a tube of zinc oxide—in neon green—and painted it on her nose. The wind was up and the dunes were practically shifting in front of their eyes as they climbed. They reached the highest peak, out of breath, and sat on the ridge to watch a group of helmeted people learning to hang glide.

Then he took her to the Bodie Lighthouse. They walked around the site, looking up at the black and white horizontally striped tower, while he told her the history of this particular light. He felt some guilt over not taking her to the Kiss River Lighthouse, especially since he was asking her to speak about it. It was too far from where they were, he told himself, although his real reason was clear to him—the Kiss River Lighthouse belonged to him and Annie. He was not at all ready to share it with someone else.

They had an early dinner, then started the drive back to her car at Rio Beach. They were quiet. Content, he thought. A little tired.

“When are you going back to work, Alec?” Olivia asked when they were a block from the beach.

“Not you, too,” he said.

“Well, it doesn’t seem healthy to take so much time off.”

“That’s because you’re a workaholic.”

“And I need the income.”

He pulled into the little parking lot and turned off the ignition. “Annie had a life insurance policy.” He looked over at her. “It was ridiculous. Three hundred thousand dollars on a woman who earned about fifteen thousand a year and gave most of it away. Or,” he laughed, “spent most of it on insurance premiums, I guess. It was a shock to me. Tom found it when he was cleaning up her stuff at the studio.”

“Why did she do it?”

Alec watched the windsurfers on the sound. “I have two theories,” he said. “Either she knew I’d be so devastated if she died that I wouldn’t be able to work for a long time. Or else, some insurance salesman got to her and she just wanted to make his day. She needed people to like her.” He shook his head. “I think that was why she gave so much of her work away. She never lost that insecurity. She never thought people would care about her just for herself.”

“Well, money’s not the only reason for working,” Olivia said. “You loved treating that horse last night, Alec. You lit up when you were talking about it. Why don’t you go back a day or two a week?”

He hesitated. “It scares me. I’m not in such great shape, though I’m a lot better than I was before you told me about that night in the ER.” He looked at her. Her cheeks were red. The zinc oxide had faded from her nose. She would be hurting tonight. “But it gets stressful at the animal hospital, especially in the summer,” he continued. “Lots of emergencies— Well, look who I’m talking to about emergencies, and I’m just talking about dogs and cats.”

“Yes, but they still suffer. And so do the owners.”

“Right. It never used to bother me, but since Annie…”

“It’s like getting back on a horse, though,” Olivia interrupted him. “You’ve got to do it, and the longer you wait the harder it becomes. After something terrible happens, I sometimes force myself to go into work the next day even if I’m not scheduled. I went in the day after Annie died, even though I didn’t have to.”

He stared at her. “You push yourself too hard, Olivia.”

“Don’t change the subject,” she said. “Just one day a week, okay?”

He smiled. “If you’ll call Paul and try to see him this weekend.”

Paul thought he’d made a mistake in leaving her.

Olivia drove from Rio Beach to the little shop across the parking lot from Annie’s studio, where she bought the Jenny Lind crib she’d had her eye on for weeks. The sales clerk helped her load the box into the trunk of the Volvo, and she drove home with a long-forgotten sense of hope and well-being—and the beginning sting of a fierce sunburn.

She lugged the box into the house and rolled it on its sides through the hall until she reached the little room she would make into a nursery. There, she rested it against the wall, stopping short of taking it apart and setting up the crib. She wouldn’t tempt fate by being overly optimistic.

She would call Paul tonight, ask to see him, talk to him. She was rehearsing the conversation in her mind as she walked out to the mailbox to pick up her mail, and it was there she found the note, scribbled on the back of a used envelope.

“Stopped by on my way to Washington,”
Paul had written.
“I’ll be up there for a week or so working on a story about oil drilling off the Outer Banks. Call you when I get back.”

She stared at the envelope, at the familiar handwriting. She turned it over, peered inside. Then she balled it up in her fist, crushed it between her palms. She wanted to track him down, call him at his hotel, scream at him.
“Didn’t you just tell Alec O’Neill you’d made a mistake?”

But she knew she would do no such thing. Instead, she walked back into the house, where she soaked a few teabags to nurse her burn. Then she called Alec to tell him she’d be happy to accompany him to Norfolk on Saturday.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
S
IX

Wednesday was Jonathan Cramer’s birthday, and Olivia agreed to take his night shift, hoping it would keep her mind off the amniocentesis scheduled for the following morning. Around six, Alec dropped off a blue folder filled with lighthouse in formation she would need to know for the radio interview on Saturday. The waiting room had been full then, and there was little time to talk as he handed her the folder across the reception desk.

“What time are you done here?” he asked.

“Midnight.” She returned his look of disappointment. They would not be able to talk on the phone tonight.

It was close to eleven when a teenage boy was brought in by his friends. Olivia heard him before she saw him.

“I’m gonna have a fucking
heart
attack,” he screamed, as Kathy and Lynn wheeled him into one of the treatment rooms. Olivia joined them and began questioning the boy—a good-looking kid with sun-streaked blond hair. He was seventeen, he said, and he had been at a party, drinking a little, when his heart started racing, beating so loudly he couldn’t hear anything else. He reeked of alcohol. His blue eyes were glassy, frightened.

“Start a monitor,” she said to Kathy. Then to the boy, “What did you have besides alcohol?”

“
Nothing.
Just a couple of beers.”

He was lying. He was too agitated, too wired, his palpitations too wild. “I know you had something else. I need to know what it was to be able to treat you properly.”

“My heart’s gonna fucking
burst.
”

She glanced at Kathy. “He has friends here?”

Kathy nodded. “In the waiting room,” she said. “I asked them what he took, but they claim he was just drinking and then started complaining of a rapid heartbeat.”

Olivia left the boy under Kathy’s care and walked into the waiting room. There were three of them, two girls and a boy, and they sat close together on the blue vinyl couch, sharing a stony, defensive demeanor. They had probably talked on the way over here, agreeing with one another about how they would answer any questions asked of them. Olivia felt their fear, though, as she neared them. Behind their hardened features, their faces were ashy pale.

“I’m Dr. Simon.” She pulled up a chair, glad the waiting room was empty now, save for these three. “And I need to get some information from you about your friend in there.”

They stared at her. The boy looked about eighteen. He was barefoot and blond, his hair brushing his shoulders. The blond girl wore skin-tight jeans and a white T-shirt, the sleeves and midriff cut into fringes, while the other girl had on a scoop-neck jersey and a light blue miniskirt. Olivia was so astonished at being able to clearly see the girl’s floral underpants that it was a moment before she noticed her hair. It was very dark, and looked as if it had been cut by a butcher. Olivia knew without a doubt who was sitting in front of her. The girl may have tried to rid herself of her mother’s red hair, but there was little she could do to mask those freckles and dimples and dark blue eyes.

“Lacey?” Olivia asked.

The blond girl drew in her breath. “How does she know your name?”

Lacey struggled to avoid Olivia’s eyes.

“I need to know what your friend in there took,” Olivia said.

“Just beer,” said the boy, his voice deep, challenging.

“No,” Olivia said. “He did not have just beer. This is serious. Your friend could die. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

“Crack,” said Lacey, and the boy threw his hands in the air and stood up. He swung around to glare at Lacey.

Olivia leaned over to squeeze Lacey’s hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll let you know how he’s doing. In the meantime, please give the receptionist his phone number and the name of his parents.”

Olivia returned to the treatment room. The boy was hooked up to the monitor. He had settled down, his eyes closed. His heartbeat was rapid, but rhythmic, and there was little they could do except observe him for now. Within a half hour, Olivia felt certain he was out of danger and she returned to the waiting room to tell his friends.

The two girls were still close together on the sofa, while the boy leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

“He’s going to be all right,” Olivia said. The three of them looked at her stonily, no emotion showing in their faces. “Lacey, I’d like to see you for a moment in my office.”

Lacey looked at the boy before she got to her feet and followed Olivia through the waiting room door. She said nothing as they walked down the hall and into Olivia’s office.

“Have a seat,” Olivia gestured to a chair in front of her desk. She sat down herself, a little overwhelmed by the odor of alcohol and tobacco that had accompanied Lacey into the room.

Lacey gave Olivia a narrow-eyed glare across the desk. The loss of the long red curls had transformed her into a tougher, more arrogant-looking young girl. “How did you remember me?” she asked.

“I remember you very well,” Olivia said. “It was a terrible night, and it really stayed in my mind.” What she knew now that she had not known then was that Lacey had been with her mother when she was shot. “It must be very difficult for you to be here in the ER, Lacey. It must bring back some terrible memories for you.”

Lacey shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

“Your friend could have really gotten himself into trouble,” Olivia said. “Not just with his health, but with the police as well. Maybe you’re getting in with the wrong crowd of people. It could have been you in there.”

“The hell it could. I wouldn’t touch that stuff. None of us would. And I’ve never even met him before. He’s a friend of Bobby’s from Richmond. He brought the crack down with him, but he’s the only one who used it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Olivia said. The blue folder Alec had brought her was in front of her on the desk, and she touched it lightly with her fingertips before she spoke again. “How did you get to the ER?”

“Bobby.”

“Well, I think Bobby’s had a bit too much to drink to drive you home. Why don’t I call your father to come get you?”

“No.”
Lacey suddenly lost her tough-kid facade. Her eyes filled. “Please don’t.”

Olivia looked down at the folder. The idea of calling Alec was appealing, but he would not be pleased to find Lacey in this situation, and Lacey was clearly terrified of having him know what had occurred here tonight.

“How about your brother?” Olivia asked.

Lacey shook her head, dropping her eyes to her lap.

“Well, let’s go talk to your friends and see if we can come up with a way to get you home safely.”

Olivia stood up, and Lacey took off out the office door, obviously relieved to be dismissed. Olivia stared after her for a moment before she followed, wondering if there was anything in the world quite as fragile as a fourteen-year-old girl.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
S
EVEN

Paul had forgotten the feel of a Washington summer. It was only seven o’clock in the morning, and already his T-shirt stuck in wet patches to his back and chest as he walked through Rock Creek Park. He had walked this same route with Olivia several times a week, and he could still feel her presence on the path. There was the expansive, thicktrunked oak tree she had claimed as her own, never failing to admire it no matter how many times she passed beneath its branches. There was the spot where she’d found a perfect robin’s egg nestled in the grass at the side of the path. She’d picked it up in a tissue and made Paul climb the tree to put it back in the nest. It was not possible to walk along this path without thinking of Olivia.

The branches of the trees hung low to the ground from the weight of their leaves, and everything around him, as far as he could see, was green. The color soothed him, despite the heat. This is what he missed in the Outer Banks. Greenness. Lushness. Sand and water and blue sky were not enough.

The work he had to do up here this week was unbearably boring, not his type of material at all. He had already made up his mind to refuse the next assignment like it, although he didn’t have much choice on a little paper like the
Gazette.
He missed the
Post.
He missed just about everything he didn’t have right now.

He reached the end of the path and crossed the street to the deli he and Olivia had frequented. He stepped inside, breathing in the scent of onions and garlic and cinnamon. So strong, so utterly comforting.