I don't know what to do. Liz won't stop crying. I tried to make her stop, but she doesn 't want to eat. She keeps screaming and Mom '& really pissed now and banging on the door. But that only makes Liz cry harder. Vm so tired, too. Feels like I haven't slept in weeks. And I think Liz knows that I don't know what's wrong. She looks at me and I think she's wishing she had a real mom. One who knows stuff.
But Vm all she's got I just want to run away.
Jack felt like a lowlife.
"You down far enough yet?" Sean asked, sitting in the chair opposite his brother. "Or would you like me to kick you a little just for the hell of it?"
Jack shot him a look. "You'd have to crawl down pretty far to reach me."
"Might be worth the effort."
The living room at the rectory, the priests' house, was cozy. The furniture was worn just enough to be friendly and even the air in the place seemed ... peaceful. Which was why he'd ended up here, he supposed. He needed a little peace and he sure as hell wasn't getting any at the apartment
Not with Carol just across the hall.
Only steps away from him, and she might as well have been on the moon. As good as her word, she'd been so polite the last few days he practically had frostbite. She smiled, and nodded if she passed him in the hallway and pretty much treated him like the inconvenient tenant he was.
And everything in him ached to go back.
To turn back the clock so he could reclaim what he'd found and appreciated too late.
Jack fell back into the burgundy leather chair and the squeak of the leather was the only sound for a long minute. Finally, he shifted his gaze to his brother's patient stare. "I screwed it all up."
"Big surprise."
"Thanks for the support."
"Hey," Sean said, lifting his beer to take a drink. "I'm Father Supportive. But I've been your brother a lot longer
than I've been your priest. And I'm here to tell you, Jack. You really made a hell of a mess of things."
His fingers curled around the cold bottle of beer in his hand and his thumb idly traced the damp label. Brain racing, heart pounding, he admitted, "I miss her."
"I know."
"She's like the air, Sean. I can't draw a breath without missing her."
"Jack—"
*1 thought I could be with her—" He broke off, pushed himself out of the chair, and stalked across the room to the fireplace. Leaning his forearm on the oak mantel, he stared down into the cold, empty hearth and studied the remnants of ashes from long-ago fires as if looking for evidence. "Care for her—and not lose myself."
"You didn't lose yourself, Jack," Sean said with a grunt of disgust.
"Didn't I?" He half-turned to shoot another look at his brother, sitting on the worn, tapestry-covered sofa. "Am I the man I was when I first came home?"
"No." Sean smiled and shook his head. Standing up, he walked across the room and stood beside the brother he'd always looked up to. Admired. Loved. And for the first time in two years, he saw the man he'd always known. The man he'd been waiting impatiently to see again. "No, you're not that man anymore. You're the man you used to be, Jack." He reached out and clinked his beer against his brother's in a quiet toast. "And can I just say... it's about time"
Jack swayed as if the words had had physical impact as well as an emotional one. Simple words that struck such a note of truth inside him that he was staggered by it. That was it, he thought, his brain racing to catch up to his heart. The last few days, he'd wondered why the pain
that had been such a constant companion for the last two years had suddenly shifted, taking on a new and more disturbing ache.
But the simple truth was, he wasn't in mourning for the past anymore. Now he was mourning the future he might have had. And a chance at life that had been handed to him like a gift he'd been too stupid, too wrapped up in his own misery, to appreciate.
Shadows inside him drifted to the side, parting like the Red Sea in front of Moses. And the Promised Land stretched out in front of him, if he had the strength and the will to risk it.
two elderly women were her latest visitors and they hadn't stopped cheerfully arguing since they'd stepped into the shop.
Her gaze warmed as she realized that these women and all the others like them had given her a gift. They'd made her realize something very important.
All her life, Carol'd wanted a family. She'd ached for the normalcy of a husband and children of her own. A place where she would be loved and needed. Then when Liz and Jack came along, she'd built a perfect little fantasy world only to have it crumble beneath her feet.
And though the pain had been staggering, in the last few days she'd discovered something along with the misery. She was needed. And she belonged to this place, this town.
She had a family.
The people here had opened their arms and welcomed her inside and now they were doing all they could to help her through a rough time. What else was that but family?
"Carol?" Edna called out. 'This big red cinnamon candle? How much?"
"For you Edna, five dollars."
"Five dollars? For a candle?" Edna's pale blue eyes went wide behind her bifocals.
"For heaven's sake, woman," Mavis said with a shake of her permed, steel-gray head. "Where've you been living? Can't buy anything for less than that anymore." Shooting Carol a quick glance, Mavis assured her with a wink, "If she doesn't buy it, I will."
"Didn't say I wasn't going to buy it, you old bat," Edna countered, tightening her grip on the fat pillar candle. "Carol, don't you listen to a word my sister tells you, hear?"
"Yes, ma'am." Carol grinned and it felt good to smile again. Felt good to see the natural pattern of her days fall back into place. This summer had been a dip in an otherwise straight road. A wonderful detour—but now she was back on the highway.
She would survive.
It wouldn't be easy, but nothing in her life had been easy and she'd made it this far, hadn't she?
Quinn pushed himself to his feet and whined as he came around the counter, then stopped, staring toward the door. She stared at the dog, swallowed, then held her breath and slowly swiveled her head to follow his gaze.
Her stomach pitched, her heart lurched, and a swirl of sensations stuttered through her system.
Jack, his features carved in stone, stepped into the foyer and paused long enough to look through the glass door of the shop, directly at her.
Even from a distance, his eyes held the power to slam into her with a fierceness that weakened her knees and shattered her defenses. Her brain knew that it was over between them, but it seemed her body—and her heart— hadn't gotten the message. Gazes locked, it was as if the world had slipped away, leaving just the two of them, separated by far more than a shining pane of glass.
Quinn surged forward. The trance holding Carol in place snapped. She curled her fingers around the big dog's collar and held on when he would have rushed across the shop to either greet—or eat —Jack.
At that same moment, Jack nodded at her, then turned and headed for the stairs and the apartments above. He didn't glance her way again.
The dog whined and strained forward, tugging at Carol.
"No, Quinn," she murmured, "you go lay down."
Reluctantly, he turned around and took up his spot behind the counter again.
Carol drew in a long, shaky breath and held it, hoping to steady the fluttering in her heart. It didn't help. She stared at the empty foyer and told herself for the hundredth time in the last few days that she would be all right.
She'd begun to see light cresting from behind the dark cloud that had settled over her so many days ago. And she wouldn't go back into that darkness.
She still ached for Liz—and probably always would. That kind of soul-deep agony just didn't disappear. It would fold itself into the corners of her heart and throb occasionally, just to remind her she was human. And she could live with that. Especially because she knew she'd still be able to see the child. To watch
Liz grow up in the town that had become home.
Jack, though, was a different story. Gaze still locked on the spot where Jack had stood only moments before. She felt the residual sizzle in her blood and the regret pooling in the pit of her stomach.
Once Jack left, it would be over and the dream would go with him. She wouldn't see him again, and though it killed her to admit it, she thought that was probably best. Seeing Liz would ease her heart. Seeing Jack and not being able to be with him would tear it apart.
Hours later, Lacey paced the length of her room, then turned around and made the same trip back again. If she'd been walking in a straight line, she thought, she might have already walked to Mexico or something.
She stopped by the window and stared out at the night beyond the glass. Lamplight shone from the windows of
the other houses on the street. That idiot dog down the street was still barking at nothing and the wind slipping in under the window sash was cold and damp, sliding in right off the ocean.
Lacey shivered, but didn't close the window. That small connection to the outside was all she had to remind her that she wasn't completely alone.
She felt like a prisoner, trapped in a cage of her own design.
In her arms, Liz wailed with an ear-splitting shriek that seemed to drive into Lacey's head like little spikes. Her head pounded, her temper popped, and her heart jumped and raced nervously.
"What's wrongV Lacey cried and didn't even notice that her voice was hitting the same notes as Liz's screams. She bounced the baby in herky-jerky motions, frustration bubbling through her bloodstream. "I don't know what you want'' She stared down into the baby's features, dark red with fury and twisted in pain. "How'm I supposed to know! Why won't you stop crying? Please, please, please stop." She jiggled the baby desperately, the jerking motion soothing to neither one of them. Her arms tightened around the tiny girl and Liz squirmed, as if trying to escape.
Her little cheeks burned a bright red and her eyes looked shiny. Her forehead felt hot and she wouldn't drink her bottle. Was it from all the crying? Was she sick? Was she dying! "What is it, Liz?" Lacey said on a tight, desperate moan, her voice breaking along with her heart. "Why won't you stop crying? Why can't you tell me what's wrong? Why am I asking youT
She walked again, with a hurried stride that fed off the frustration and desperation churning inside her. Ten quick steps to the wall, turn around, ten steps back to
stop in front of the dresser. In the mirror above the dresser, Lacey caught her reflection and hardly recognized the girl in the glass.
Her blond hair was dirty, tucked behind her ears. Her eyes were swollen from crying and her lips were thinned into one grim line across her face. She reached up and rubbed her eyes while still jiggling Liz, hoping for a miracle.
But miracles didn't happen when you most needed them.
She blew out a breath and stared around her. The walls were closing in. She was pretty sure the room was shrinking because she suddenly felt like she couldn't breathe.
Liz jerked and squirmed in her grasp again, as if the infant was doing all she could to jump out of Lacey's arms and run away. Lacey knew just how the kid felt.
She wanted nothing more than to run screaming out of the house, hit the street, and keep right on running. If she ran fast enough and far enough, she might be able to forget that Liz was here—that Liz needed her. That she was all the baby had.
That she'd asked for this.
Oh, God. How had everything gotten so screwed up? How had she lost so much? How had she ever thought she'd be able to take care of a baby?
Tears stung Lacey's eyes and she blinked them back as the baby's face blurred and went out of focus. All Lacey wanted to do was crawl into her own mother's lap and be held. To be told that everything would be all right. That she'd done the right thing and that they'd get through this mess together.
A harsh jolt of laughter scraped her throat. That wasn't going to happen. Deb Reynolds hadn't been the
cuddling kind of mother in way too long. And she'd already made it clear that Lacey and the baby were on their own.
On their own.
On her own.
Tears she couldn't stop and didn't bother to hide overflowed her eyes and rolled along her cheeks, dropping onto Liz's face like warm rain.
"I can't do this," Lacey murmured, hearing the shake and quiver in her own voice as it strained to be heard above the baby's incessant wails. "I wanted to. I really did. But I can't. I just can't. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Shaking her head, she turned around, laid the baby down in the middle of her bed, then backed away, like a war-weary soldier keeping a cautious eye on a ticking bomb.
"I can't do it. I suck at the mom thing. You won't stop crying. You won't be quiet. God, just be quiet" Her own helpless scream lifted into a horrifying harmony with the baby's. Cringing at her own blind panic, Lacey whispered, "Please. Please stop crying." She hiccuped and gasped in a fast breath when the baby's screams only intensified. "I can't do this, Liz. I just can't. I don't know what you want. I don't know what to do. I don't have anybody to ask."
She shook her head and her dirty hair slapped at her cheeks. "I thought I could do it." She backed up another step, then another. "I really tried." One more step. Her calves bumped into her desk chair and she automatically stepped around it, never taking her gaze from the screaming baby. "I did try. I wanted to. I can't."
The baby's screams got louder. As if Liz knew she
were being abandoned again and was determined not to be forgotten so easily.
Lacey clapped both hands to her ears as hot tears of misery streaked her face. "Stop. Just stop crying! Stopit-stopitstopitstopit.. "
Liz flailed her arms and legs, tossed her little head back and forth, and screeched like a tiny demon.
Lacey gasped for air to draw into her heaving lungs, then hit the doorway, turned around, and ran. Liz's screams followed her. Chasing her down the hall, through the living room and kitchen and right out the back door. Like a howling ghost, those cries swirled around her in the darkness, grabbing at her, no matter how far she ran.
In the middle of the yard, Lacey stood barefoot on the grass, feeling the dew, cool on her feet while the cold ocean wind slapped at her, as if trying to push her back into the house. To deal with the mess she'd created. To take care of the child she'd claimed to want so desperately.
"I can't go back," she whispered brokenly, staring up into the night sky. Her gaze fixed on just one of the thousands of twinkling lights and she talked directly to it, as though it were a hole in Heaven's floor and her voice was headed directly to God.
"I can't. I know I should. I know she's mine. But I can't." She shook her head, pushed her hair back from her face, and let the tears fall. "I feel like I'm all twisted up inside. Like I can't breathe. If I stay, I might get mad at her. And I can't get mad at her, she's just a baby. Oh, please ... tell me what to do. Help me"
But Heaven must have been closed for the night, because no thunderous voice echoed out of the sky.
There was no band of angels flying to the rescue. There was only the wind. And the baby's screaming. And her own pounding heart.
The baby's cries echoed on and on around her, drifting through the house and out the open door to lie like a smothering blanket atop her. Lacey dropped to her knees as the tears raged and fought inside her.
Misery, anger, frustration, pooled together, whipping through her system until she shook with the force of the emotions. Her head pounded in time with the racing beat of her heart and Lacey felt as though her brain was about to dribble out her ears.
Covering her face with her hands, she listened to the wind rustle the leaves of the trees. She listened to the distant sound of a train traveling along the coast. She listened to the throbbing punch of her own heartbeat.
And she listened to the baby scream.
On and on and on.
She wanted to run.
She wanted to get away.
She was a terrible pe
rson.
A worse mother.
God.
She had to get out.
Carol propped her feet up on the coffee table, picked up the bowl of popcorn, and settled back into the sofa cushions. Quinn lay on the floor right in front of her, his head tipped up, resting on her leg.
"Don't worry," she said, catching the big-eyed look her dog was sending her way. "There's enough popcorn for you, too."
He woofed his thanks, then snapped the kernels she tossed him out of the air.
"Okay, tonight it's a Stargate marathon, so no talking, right?" Carol reached over, rubbed Quinn's head, and told herself she was glad to have everything back to normal. She'd taken the crib down an hour ago and had only paused a time or two to cry a little at the sad emptiness of it. Tomorrow, she'd return it to Maggie and move on, as she'd moved on so often in her life.
Quinn nudged her knee again, looking for more popcorn, and she obliged him, filling her palm. Delicately, he nibbled at them, brushing her hand with his warm breath.
Without the crib to remind him of what he'd lost, Quinn had begun to act like his old self. And so, Carol thought, was she. Picking up the remote, she punched in the right channel and focused on fiction rather than reality.
The knock at her door had her grumbling even as she tripped over Quinn on the way around the sofa. "Do you have thumbs?" she asked. "Can you open the door? No, I don't think so. So why not let me go first?"
He waited by the door, a friendly sentinel, ready to welcome or defend.
Carol turned the knob, pulled the door open, and met Lacey's tear-filled gaze.
"Oh, God, Carol, the baby won't stop crying. Maybe she's sick or something."
Carol's stomach pitched, and when Jack's door opened across the hall, she didn't even glance at him. All she could see was the tear-streaked face of the girl in front of her and Lizardbaby, lying in the crook of her arm. Everything inside Carol leaped up in joy and she tried hard to
get a rein on her heart's instinctive reaction. But how could she when the child she loved so much was there, within reach again?
As if demanding the attention that was her due, little Liz screwed up her tiny features and let loose with a howl that snapped everyone into action.
Some Kind of Wonderful Page 25
