He frowned at her. “Why are you bringing that up?”

“It’s one of my favorite memories, walking with you through Rock Creek Park, holding hands. Buying bagels with cream cheese and scallions at Joe’s little deli and…”

“And your beeper going off half the time.”

She leaned back against the wall, defeated. “Did it seem like that often?”

“At least.”

“I’m sorry. If I’d known what it would cost me, I would have done something about it.” She had thought he’d admired her for her diligence. A workaholic, he used to call her, although he had always made it sound like a term of endearment rather than a complaint. Certainly he understood the forces that had made her that way. He understood them better than anyone. Even in high school and college, she’d intentionally lost herself in work, leaving herself no time for a social life. Work had kept her safe from the flirting she had never been able to master, the casual sex that was entirely out of the question. By the time she met Paul and discovered she felt safe with him, her work pattern was firmly in place and there seemed to be no reason to change it. Now she could see her mistake. She’d taken him for granted. She had given Paul so little of herself that he needed to turn to a fantasy to feel whole, and he’d found the fantasy superior to his marriage.

“It’s my fault.” She rested her head on her arms. “It’s my fault everything fell apart. I miss you so much, Paul. I would do anything if you’d come back. I’d quit my job. I’d work as a waitress. I’d shell shrimp. Shuck oysters. Just weekdays. No evenings or weekends.”

She heard him laugh and when she looked up he had taken off his glasses. His eyes were still rimmed with red, but there was a smile on his face.

“Liv,” he said, a tenderness in his voice she had not heard in many months. “I’m the one who’s screwed up here, not you.”

“Nine years,” she said. “You seemed happy. You seemed content.”

He nodded. “I was very content. It was good. It was nearly perfect. I’ve changed, Liv, and I’m sorry.”

She thought of the crib, of the heartbeat that had filled the examining room in her doctor’s office. “We could see a counselor,” she said. “There must be a way we can work it out.”

He shook his head and stood up, holding out his hand to help her up from the floor. He let go as soon as she’d reached her feet, and he started walking in the direction of the door, obviously telling her she had stayed long enough.

“Thank you for the cookies,” he said, opening the door.

She felt a wave of desperation as she stepped out onto the deck. She turned back to look at him. “I meant what I said, Paul. About changing. About quitting my job if that’s what it takes. Maybe I…”

He stopped her with another shake of his head. “You should have your own lawyer, Olivia,” he said, and then he closed the door softly between them.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN


July 1991

“Where did you get that?” Clay looked across the breakfast table at his sister. Alec glanced up from the newspaper to see what he was talking about. Lacey wore a headset attached to a small red transistor radio which rested next to her plate. It was the first time he’d seen it.

“Jessica gave it to me for my birthday,” Lacey said, her voice flat. She picked up the radio from the table and attached it to the waistband of her shorts as she stood up, leaving half of her frozen waffle on the plate.

Alec frowned. “For your birthday? Which birthday?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Lacey grabbed her book bag from the counter. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Lacey, wait a second.” Alec stood up as Lacey slipped out the screen door. He heard the slap of her tennis shoes on the driveway as she ran out to the street to wait for the bus. It was her first day of summer school.

He looked at Clay, who stared back at him, his fork poised in the air. “We missed her birthday,” Clay said.

“We couldn’t have. It’s the first, right?”

“Right. And today’s the second.”

Alec felt as though someone had socked him in the gut. “Damn.” He sat down again, closing his eyes, pressing his fingers to his suddenly aching temples as he thought back to the day before. Lacey had been quiet at breakfast, and he’d been absorbed in a report on the erosion at Kiss River. He’d barely taken his eyes off it during the entire meal. She’d been up in her room when he got home last night. She said she wasn’t hungry, so he and Clay ordered a pizza and ate it by themselves in the kitchen. Lacey didn’t come out of her room the entire evening. He’d been surprised by that. She spent a lot of time in her room these days, but it was odd for her to completely disappear for the night.

“Dad?”

Alec opened his eyes at the sound of his son’s new, adult-sounding voice. He sat back in his chair with a sigh. “I don’t believe I did that,” he said. “Did I miss yours too?”

Clay smiled. “No, Dad, I’m October, remember?”

Alec ran his hand over his chin. He needed a shave. “We’ll have to celebrate it today,” he said. “I’ll pick up a gift for her. Will you have time to get her something, too?”

Clay nodded.

“What can I get?” He looked helplessly at his son. “What does she want these days?”

“Mom always got her an antique doll.”

“Yeah, but she’s fourteen now.” He had no idea where he could find one, anyway. Annie usually picked up the dolls sometime during the year and tucked them away for Lacey’s birthday. Besides, they were Annie’s special gifts. Annie died when Lacey was thirteen, so Lacey should have thirteen dolls.

After Clay left, he stopped by Lacey’s room. It was not nearly as messy as it had been before her whirlwind cleaning spree on the day of Clay’s graduation, but the clothes and papers were starting to mount up again. This room had become her refuge.

She’d come home late the other night, rushing past him to get to her room. But the glimpse he got of her was enough to tell him something was wrong: her blouse was misbuttoned, her face tear-streaked. He stood outside her door for several minutes, listening to her crying, before he knocked and went in. The room was very dark and he had to feel his way to her bed. He sat down on the edge and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that she was on her side, facing the wall. She was sniffling as quietly as she could, trying to hide her tears from him.

“What’s wrong, Lace?” he asked.

“Nothing.” He had to lean close to hear her.

“Has someone hurt you?”

She made a sound of disgust. “God, you are so warped.”

Alec pressed his hands together in his lap. “Maybe it would help if you saw a counselor, Lace,” he said. “Would you like that? You’d be able to talk about whatever’s on your mind.”

She didn’t answer.

“Would you like to see a counselor, Lace?” he repeated.

“No.”

“Could you tell me what’s bothering you then?”

“I already told you, nothing.”

“Sweetheart.” He touched her arm and she snapped her shoulder away from him, a wounded sound escaping her lips.

“Would you please go away?” she asked.

He stood up and walked to the door. “I love you, Lace,” he said, before closing the door on her silence. He waited in the hall outside her room, and sure enough, her tears started again, worse this time, as though he had somehow increased her pain.

Now as he stood in the doorway of her room, he wondered how he could make everything up to her. The dolls stared back at him reproachfully, and the leather-clad, bare-chested young men on the walls leered. Well, he’d really given her something to cry about now.

He bought her a cake, chocolate with white frosting. He had the woman in the supermarket bakery write Happy Birthday Lacey, in blue letters amidst the sugar flowers on the top. He looked in the clothing store she used to shop in with Annie. The racks of shorts and T-shirts, skirts and dresses, overwhelmed him. He did not know her size. He no longer knew her taste. He finally settled on a gift certificate from the record store—he didn’t even know what kind of music she liked anymore—and feeling reasonably satisfied with himself, drove home to make her favorite chicken enchiladas for dinner.

The notecard in Annie’s recipe box offered him little guidance. Annie had obviously made up most of the enchilada recipe as she went along, and the little that was there was in her scratchy handwriting. He’d become good at deciphering it over the years, but just about all he could make out on this particular card was down in the lower right hand corner. Lacey’s fave! she’d written.

He called Nola. “Would you believe I forgot Lacey’s birthday?”

“I know, hon. Jessica told me.”

“I should have written it on the calendar. My memory’s not the greatest these days.”

“Don’t beat up on yourself, Alec. She’ll get over it.”

“I wanted to make those enchiladas Annie used to make. Lacey loves them, but Annie’s recipe is illegible. Do you have it?”

“Sure do. Let me come on over and help you.”

“Well, no, please. Don’t do that. Could you just read it to me?” Nola lived on the other side of the cul-de-sac and it would take her only a minute to come over, but that was the last thing he wanted. He wondered if she was aware of how carefully he avoided being alone with her.

There were more steps than he’d anticipated in making the enchiladas. He burned his fingers shredding the chicken, and destroyed four of the tortillas before he managed to get a system going for dipping them in the sauce and folding them quickly around the filling.

Lacey came in the back door at five-thirty and he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close to him before she had a chance to object. She felt thin and stiff. The headset she wore was cool against his cheek and he could hear the faint rocking beat of the music. “I’m so sorry, Lacey,” he said. “The days just got away from me.”