Olivia didn’t take her eyes off her work. “Just your usual barroom brawl,” she said.
Clay looked reluctant to speak. He sighed, sounding tired. “Brock Jensen was at the keeper’s house with Lacey,” he said.
“What do you mean, he was with her?” Alec could not picture his daughter with Shorty’s tattooed wonder. “He didn’t rape her, did he?” Alec asked.
Clay looked away from him, avoiding the question. “He hit her,” he said. “When I found out, I went to Shorty’s and…” He looked up at Alec, a sheepish half grin on his face. “Doesn’t sound like me, does it?” he asked.
No, it sure didn’t. “Why did he hit Lacey? Did he force his way into the house or—”
“I’m sure she invited him, Dad,” Clay interrupted him. “She’s not terribly…discriminating.”
He didn’t want to hear that. He’d seen hints of Lacey’s promiscuity, things he’d ignored. Things he wished he could continue to ignore.
“You didn’t answer my question about rape,” he said.
Clay looked annoyed, but Alec had the feeling it was actually Lacey he was annoyed with. “As far as I know,” he said, “anything that happened between them was consensual.”
Olivia had finished bandaging Clay’s finger and was now examining the cut on his cheek.
“Do I need stitches?” Clay asked her.
She shook her head. “A butterfly will do,” she said, selecting one of the small bandages from the metal tray at her side.
“How bad is Brock beaten up?” Alec addressed the question to his wife.
“Broken nose, a fair share of contusions.” Olivia was using her flat, reasonable doctor’s voice. “And he’ll probably need some plastic surgery on his cheek.”
He had to stop himself from smiling. He couldn’t help it. He was a gentle man, the father of a gentle son. And yet he couldn’t help feeling a primitive sense of masculine pride that his son had defended his daughter and come out the winner.
Clay suddenly sat up straighter, his gaze falling somewhere behind Alec’s head, and Alec turned to see Gina stepping through the curtains. She was instantly at Clay’s side.
“Are you all right?” she asked, real concern in her voice. She touched his swollen lip in a way that told Alec the two of them had moved beyond friendship to something more.
Clay took her hand. “I’m fine,” he said. “Is Lacey with you?”
“She wouldn’t come,” she said. “I don’t think she wants anyone to see her face. Although it doesn’t look that bad,” she added quickly, as if wanting to allay Alec’s fears. “And the policewoman was still there with her.”
“I’m going over to see her.” Alec pulled his car keys from his jeans pocket.
“Don’t, Dad,” Clay said.
“Why not?”
“Just…give her some space. Talk to her on the phone.”
“And I’d like to talk to you, too,” Olivia said to Alec. She had pressed the butterfly bandage to Clay’s cheek and now stood up.
He rested his hand on her back. “As soon as you get home,” he said.
He and Olivia waited until Jack and Maggie were in bed that evening. They sat on the glider on the screened porch, listening to the rippling waves of the sound lap at the narrow beach behind their house. He held her hand on his thigh. Both of them had spoken to Lacey, who insisted she was fine, that they were making a big deal out of nothing and it was ridiculous that Clay and Brock had both needed some serious medical treatment because she’d received “one little smack.” He’d wanted to see her face for himself, but she was adamant that he not come to the keeper’s house. He would see her on Monday, anyway, when she came to work at the animal hospital.
“You wanted to talk about Lacey?” he asked Olivia.
“Yes, but first I want to talk about Gina.”
“What about her?”
“Have you decided what to do about the lens?”
“I haven’t given it much thought.”
“You told Clay you’d think about it, though.”
This was going to be one of those nagging talks, he knew. One of those “you’re doing everything wrong” talks. They were rare for Olivia. Very rare. For that reason, he’d learned to pay attention to what she said, no matter how irritating the conversation might be. She was usually right.
“And I will,” he said. “Think about it.”
“If it’s true that Gina is related to the Poors, then you really should help her raise the lens. It obviously has sentimental value to her. For whatever reason, the lighthouse seems to have become her link to her relatives. Clay said she has no family. That’s why she’s trying so hard to adopt that little girl in India. She wants to give her a family and create a family for herself.”
Alec stiffened. “If the lens has sentimental value to her, why didn’t she just say that in the first place? Why did she give us the song and dance about being a lighthouse historian?”
Olivia was quiet, and he figured she had no answer to that question. The gentle splashing of water against the sand filled the silence.
“Alec, honey.” She turned in the glider until she was facing him. “I need to say something to you and I’m afraid to say it.”
“Afraid?” He couldn’t imagine where this was going.
“Just…let me just talk for a minute, okay? Don’t say anything back. Let me just talk.”
He nodded.
She held both his hands in her lap. He wanted to wrap his arms around her. He hated that she felt fear in talking to him. He didn’t think she ever had before.
“Years ago,” she began, “you were desperate to save the lighthouse. And the reason you were so desperate was because it reminded you of Annie. It’s where the two of you met. It’s where you spent time together. You both loved it. It had so much meaning for you. I understand that.”
He nodded again.
“Now, though, you are equally as desperate to leave the lens where it is, at the bottom of the ocean, for the same reason.”
“What do you mean?”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh,” she said. “Let me finish. The lighthouse still reminds you of Annie, and no longer in a good way. Once you learned the truth about her, you wanted to bury everything that reminded you of her.”
She was right. He hated the lighthouse he had once held so warmly in his heart.
“Either way, sweetie,” Olivia continued, “whether you wanted to save the lighthouse, or want to let the lens stay in the sea, either way, your decisions are still based on your feelings for Annie. It’s a piece of glass, Alec.” She squeezed his hands hard. “You’re giving it so much power over you. A piece of glass.”
He opened his mouth to speak, although he wasn’t yet sure what he would say.
“I’m not through.” She interrupted him before he could utter a word, and he saw tears in her eyes as she locked her fingers in his. “I love you so much. These past ten years have been the best of my life, by far. But…please don’t get angry with me when I say this. I feel very strongly that you must tell Clay and Lacey the truth about Annie.”
He could no longer be silent. “Why should I?” he asked. “They have absolutely no need to know. Why should I ruin the image they have of their mother? Lacey knows Tom is her father. That’s all she needs to know.”
“You’re still protecting Annie’s memory,” she said. “It doesn’t deserve that protection. And it’s harmed your children.”
He was beginning to get angry. “This is a little self-serving of you, don’t you think?” he asked.
She started to cry. “I’m worried about Lacey,” she said, removing one of her hands from his to wipe her eyes. “It’s creepy, don’t you think? That she’d take someone like that guy with the tattoos home with her? And to the keeper’s house?”
He knew what she was thinking, because he shared the thought. Annie used to do that. Take men to the keeper’s house when Mary Poor lived there. Annie would sleep with anyone who came along.
She’d slept with Alec within minutes of meeting him. She was always hungry to give pleasure rather than receive it. Always taking care of other people. But Lacey didn’t know about that.
“I didn’t think promiscuity is inherited,” he said to Olivia.
“That’s what’s so spooky about it,” Olivia said. “But we have to face facts, Alec. Lacey’s always had a string of boyfriends. No one special. She’s…she’s Annie all over again. She looks identical to her. She didn’t go to college, just like Annie.”
“Annie went to college.”
“But never got a degree,” Olivia countered. “Lacey’s made stained glass her career, just like her mother did, even though she used to talk about being a veterinarian like you when she was younger. You and I both know she had real interest in animals, and she had the brains to do it if she wanted to. But she put that interest completely aside and lost herself in the stained-glass studio.”
He knew that Olivia understood the obsession to emulate Annie O’Neill better than he did. Long ago, struggling with envy and confusion, Olivia had suffered from that obsession herself.
“She’s the community do-gooder, just like Annie was,” Olivia said. She gripped both his hands again. “Alec, she needs to know,” she said. “And you need to let go of that attachment you have to the light, whether it’s positive or negative. Either way, Annie is still running your life.”
Alec was quiet for a long time. He knew Olivia was right, on all counts, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
“I’m just not ready to ruin Clay and Lacey’s image of their mother,” he said finally. “I’m sorry, Olivia, but I can’t do it. But you’re right about the lens. I’ll call Clay and tell him I’ll do anything I can to help raise it.”
CHAPTER 44
Monday, May 11, 1942
What have I done???? Was it the right thing to do? I am not certain I’ll ever have the answers to that question. All I know is that I feel terribly sick. I threw up all last night, and now I’m lying here in this strange bedroom in a strange house in a strange town, and I can hear Dennis and his sister, SueAnn, talking in the living room, although I don’t know what they’re saying. I’m sure they’re talking about me, though. SueAnn was shocked when I arrived, that I know, but she’s been kind to me, and she’s the one who brought the chicken rice soup that’s getting cold on the night table next to me. I can’t eat yet. I can’t imagine ever wanting to eat again, actually.
One thing I didn’t know about Dennis is how extremely Catholic he is. I mean, I knew he wore that scapular thing, and I knew he always went to the Catholic service up in Corolla, but I had no idea what a big part of his life religion is. SueAnn is the same way. She’s a nurse at a Catholic hospital. There are little statues of Jesus and Mary all over this house, and pictures of Jesus with his heart showing. I feel like I’m in a whole other country.
So much has happened, although it’s only been a little more than a day since I last wrote in this diary. Yesterday morning, after I woke up from the hideous dream about Sandy clubbing my parents to death, I went out to the beach to where Dennis was camping. I told him I wanted to take him up on his offer to go away with him to High Point. He looked surprised, to say the least. He asked me why I’d changed my mind, and when could he talk to my parents about it. I said I would only come on the condition he never talked to my parents about it and that we never came back to the Outer Banks. He said he couldn’t do that, couldn’t just take me away without letting them know. I started to cry, or maybe I already was crying. But I really started sobbing then, and he could tell that I was in a panic. He kept asking me, “What’s wrong? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
He probably thought I was pregnant, the way I was carrying on. (I just realized I’d better hide my diary here even better than I hid it at home.)
“I found out something about the war, something that puts me and my family in danger unless I go away,” I said.
He frowned at me. “What could you possibly have found out that would—”
I interrupted him. “It doesn’t matter. And I can’t tell you. Please don’t ever ask me again. Just let me go away with you.”
He stared at me a long time, then he finally nodded. “All right,” he said.
“And you promise me we won’t come back here? That you’ll find someplace else to camp out on the weekends?”
He nodded again. “I have a feeling if I came back here, I’d get arrested,” he said. He sounded like he was talking to himself. Then he asked me, “When can you go?”
“Tonight,” I said. “I’ll sneak out and meet you on the Pole Road. Okay?”
“All right,” he said.
I had something else to do before I could leave. I needed to somehow get the message to Mr. Hewitt that Sandy was the traitor he was looking for. I was so upset about this. How could I turn Sandy in? I kept remembering all the loving things he’d said to me over the past few weeks. I remembered that beautiful night in the boat. Was he really just using me? I couldn’t believe it. But the horrid way he’d treated me the night before made me know he was not the man I thought he was. And I couldn’t let them keep on thinking that Mr. Sato was the spy when it was really Sandy. Still, I couldn’t go over to the Coast Guard station to tell Mr. Hewitt. First of all, Sandy would see me and know what I was up to. Second of all, Mr. Hewitt would be angry that I tried to talk to him in front of the boys.
I also couldn’t leave him a note on the lens, because it was only Sunday, and he wouldn’t be checking for my next note until Tuesday night. That left three days for my parents to go up to the lens and find the note. So I did something that may work but may not work. I went up to the lantern room with the ruby necklace Sandy gave me. A ruby is one of the few things that can cut glass. For a moment, I wondered if maybe he’d given me a fake ruby. I was about to find out. Right where I usually stuck the note for Mr. Hewitt, I carved Sandy’s name. His real name, of course, which I have now cut from the early pages of this diary with a razor blade, in case anyone finds this book and learns who the traitor is and turns him in and gets me and my family in trouble with the Germans. I am so scared. I hope I’m thinking straight!
The truth is, I don’t know if Mr. Hewitt will see the carved name or not. Part of me hopes he never does. Part of me can’t believe Sandy could be evil. I did my halfhearted best to let Mr. Hewitt know. Whether that works or not is up to fate, I guess.
I left a note for Mama and Daddy. I told them I was going someplace where I could get a better education and someday go to college and become a teacher. They think I am running wild. I will let them think that this is part of it. So I didn’t even write that I loved them or that I would miss them, and both those things are very, very true. I did write that I would be safe, though. I just had to add that because I couldn’t stand the thought of them worrying about me.
I didn’t talk the whole drive to High Point. It took forever, and I felt sicker with every mile. Once we got to this house, where Dennis lives with SueAnn, I threw up the entire night. I was just so scared at what I had done. Leaving home, turning in Sandy, everything. I took only my diary, some clothes and the ruby necklace, which I now know is real. How could a man who gave me a real ruby necklace ever hurt me??? I just don’t understand.
Dennis and SueAnn both know how sick with worry I am, and they are not pressuring me to tell them anything. I’m grateful for that. SueAnn is the kindest person. She said to me, “You just let us take care of you, honey.” So that is what I’m going to do. I can’t think of any other choice I have, anyway.
CHAPTER 45
Gina had never seen Shorty’s parking lot so empty. Apparently, everyone invited to Henry’s eightieth birthday party had heeded the warning to leave their cars around the corner so that the guest of honor’s suspicions would not be aroused. She parked close to the side door, however. She’d had enough trouble with the twenty uncooperative balloons in her car already. She did not want to risk losing any of them on a long walk from the street
.
It was going to be a struggle to shift her mind from thoughts of Rani to this party. She had not heard back from Mrs. King, in spite of leaving the woman another message on her answering machine. But this afternoon, she’d received an e-mail from her friend Denise, in Hyderabad.
“The children are still here,” Denise had written in her e-mail. “But I know they may be moved to the state orphanage any day. Rani remembers you. She keeps asking where ‘Mommy’ is. One of the new ayahs speaks English, and so she translates for me. I’ve told her to explain to Rani that you are waiting for her, and that you think about her every single day.”
Every single minute. Gina had cried when she read the message, first, with relief that Rani had not been moved and that Denise was still there to keep an eye on her, and second, over Rani remembering her as her mommy. This was so unfair. So cruel to both child and mother.
She turned her focus to extracting the balloons from her car, and she was soon walking toward the side door of the restaurant, holding tight to the long ribbons. Once in the back room, she let them go, and a couple of the early guests began arranging them so that they were spaced evenly against the wooden ceiling.
It was six-thirty and the back room was already filling up with partyers. The room was closed to the public for the evening, but it hardly mattered because most of the back-room regulars had been invited—with the exception of a couple of pool players who had been good friends with Brock. A game of pool was already under way, and a couple of guys were throwing darts that she hoped would not puncture any of the balloons. Walter and Brian were engaged in a game of chess, which they promised to abandon as soon as Henry arrived. The table with the chessboard had been shoved to the far end of the room, and small square tables, complete with green linen cloths and simple floral centerpieces, had been brought in for the party. The tables were set as elegantly as was possible at Shorty’s, and the chef was making stuffed flounder and pasta primavera for a crowd.
“Gina!”
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