He considered going to North Carolina to find her, claim her, but he didn’t want her on those terms. He became obsessed with thoughts of harming himself. He could no longer drive at night without being tempted to slip his car across the white line into oncoming traffic, and he’d sometimes sit for hours in his kitchen, staring at the blade of a steak knife, imagining how it would feel to draw it through the vein in his arm.

He quit the play and moved home for the rest of the summer, where his sisters clucked over him and his parents tried to force him to eat. They treated him like the sick, withdrawing addict that he was. Still, he could not stand it when his sisters called Annie a two-faced bitch.

He returned to Boston College a walking dead man. He tried out for the junior play, but Harry Saunders said he was “lifeless,” and cast someone else in the part Paul knew Harry had intended for him. He lost interest in acting altogether and switched his major to journalism. In November, one of Annie’s friends told him that Annie had married Alec O’Neill in North Carolina. O’Neill. He supposed an Irishman was preferable to an Italian in her parents’ eyes.

And in hers as well.



CHAPTER NINETEEN


Alec was calling Olivia in the evenings. The first time he had an excuse. He remembered her saying that she’d appeared on talk shows after the publication of The Wreck of the Eastern Spirit. He could picture her on TV, poised and attractive and persuasive. Only in his fantasy, it was the lighthouse she was talking about.

“Would you ever consider taking on one of the speaking engagements?” he asked her that first night he called. The kids were out and he was sitting alone in the living room, watching the sun melt into the sound. “We get a lot of requests, and after the brochure is put together we’ll be inundated. There are too many for me to handle alone right now.”

“But I don’t know a thing about the lighthouse,” she said.

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

She hesitated, and he wondered if he was asking too much of her. “Why is the lighthouse so important to you, Alec?”

Alec looked across the room at the ten small, oval-shaped stained glass windows built into the side wall of the house. Their designs were barely visible in the dusky evening light. “That’s where I met Annie,” he said. “I worked there the summer after I graduated from college. Annie was traveling down the coast and we just happened to be at the lighthouse at the same time one evening. It became sort of symbolic to me, I guess.”

“Well, I’ll do it, Alec. As long as the time doesn’t conflict with my hours in the ER.”

“That’s great.” He ran his hand over the arm of the chair. “By the way, I bumped into Paul in the grocery store yesterday.”

“You did?” She sounded alarmed. “What did you tell him?”

“Oh, I just asked him a few questions about his fantasy life.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I hope you’re kidding.”

“Of course I’m kidding.” He frowned. “This really isn’t a joking matter with you, is it?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We just talked about the lighthouse.”

He didn’t bother with an excuse when he called Olivia the following night. Or the night after that. On the fourth night, he got home late after driving Clay to Duke for a five-day orientation. It was ten-thirty, too late to call her, and he felt as though something was missing from his day when he got into bed. The emptiness of the bed overwhelmed him in a way it had not for several weeks, and he picked up the phone and dialed Olivia’s number. He knew it by heart.

She sounded sleepy when she answered.

“I woke you,” he said.

“No. Well, yes, but that’s okay.”

There was a silence, and an odd feeling passed through him that he was talking to her from his bed, and she from hers. He could picture her there. Silky-straight hair. Fair skin. Green eyes.

“I took Clay to Duke for an orientation today,” he said. “It seems strange not having him around the house.”

“Maybe this is a good time for you and Lacey to do something together.”

“Ha. Fat chance.” He felt a sense of dread about the next four days without Clay’s presence to ease the tension between Lacey and himself.

It took Olivia three nights of phone calls to persuade him. He stopped by Lacey’s room before breakfast that Wednesday morning. She was dressed for school in yellow shorts that were too short and a T-shirt from the sporting goods store where Clay worked. She was hunting on the floor of her closet for her other sandal.

He sat down on the corner of her bed. “Let’s do something tonight, Lacey,” he said. “Just you and me.”

She looked up at him. “Why?”

“Like we used to. Remember? We used to spend a lot of time together.”

“I’m going out with Jessica tonight.”

“You see Jessica every night. Come on. Give your old Dad some of your time.”

She leaned back against the wall next to her closet, the sandal in her hand. “What would we do?”

He shrugged. “Anything you want. You used to like to bowl.”

She rolled her eyes.

“We could see a movie.”

“I’ve seen every movie that’s playing around here. They never change.”

“Night fishing?” he offered. “You used to like that.”

“Yeah. When I was about eight.”

He sighed. “Help me out, Lacey. What can we do tonight?”

“I know.” She suddenly looked excited, and he leaned forward. “I could, like, go out with Jessica and you could stay home with your lighthouse pictures.”

He stared at her, hurt, and she sighed and set her sandal on the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said, defeat in her voice. “We can do whatever you want.”

He stood up. “Fishing then. I’ll make the reservations.”

She wore her radio headset in the car on the drive to the inlet. She slouched in the front seat of the Bronco, her feet against the dashboard tapping time to music he couldn’t hear.

They arrived at the inlet and Lacey got out of the car, fastening the radio to the waistband of her shorts. She walked ahead of him, and his fantasy of spending a quiet evening in the company of his daughter fell apart.

“Lacey?”

She continued walking. Whether she was ignoring him or truly couldn’t hear him with the headset on, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. She was cutting him out one way or the other.

He caught up to her, stopping her with his hand on her arm. “Please don’t take the radio on the boat,” he said. “Leave it in the car, Lace. Please.”

She muttered something under her breath, but returned to the car with him and left the radio on the front seat.

She was the only female on the boat. There were a dozen men from their early twenties on up, and they stared openly at Lacey when she boarded, forcing Alec to look at her with a more objective eye. Her clothes looked suddenly provocative. Her shorts were insanely short, her legs long and slender and remarkably tanned, given her delicate skin. She’d changed out of her T-shirt into some sort of tank top—a flimsy piece of white cloth with a scooped neck and a hacked-off length so that it didn’t quite reach the waistband of her shorts. The nipples of her small breasts were visible beneath the thin white fabric. She was carrying a blue windbreaker that he wanted to wrap around her.

One of the younger men smacked his lips and grinned at her as she hopped from the pier to the boat.

“I’m her father,” Alec said to the gawking young man. “Watch it.”

“Dad,” Lacey said. “See why I don’t want to go out with you? You’re so embarrassing.”

He found a spot for them at the side of the boat, near the cabin and away from the other fishermen, who occasionally turned from their posts for a beer or fresh bait and stared in Lacey’s direction. Was this what happened every time she went out on the street? If these guys were as blatant about it here, when she was with her father, what would they be like if he were not around?

Lacey baited her hook with a chunk of mackerel, effortlessly, as if she did it every day of her life.

“You were always better than Clay at this,” Alec said. “He could never bring himself to touch the bait.”

“Clay’s a wimp sometimes.” She sat down and leaned against the back of her chair.

Alec sat next to her and breathed in the scent of salt and seaweed as the coastline faded into the distance.

“Remember the one that got away, Lace?”

“Huh?”

“The blue you caught that jumped off the deck.”

She nearly smiled, turning her face away from him so he wouldn’t see. “A long time ago,” she said.

“It was huge. I helped you reel it in and you were so excited, but once we got the damn thing off the hook, back it went.”

“No one believed me,” she said quietly, but with a certain indignation. “And you said you’d gotten a picture of it and…”

“And the film got wet and didn’t turn out.”

She laughed, but caught herself quickly. “Well, I don’t think Mom ever believed it.”

“Yes, she did. She just liked teasing you about it.”

They were quiet for a few minutes. “I hate bluefish,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I hate fish.”

It grew dark quickly, and with the darkness came a sudden blustery wind. The sea began to kick up a little, the boat bouncing and rocking more than Alec would have liked. He and Lacey put on their windbreakers.

Lacey suddenly stood up. “I’ve got something, Dad.” Her pole was bending, the reel clicking rapidly as the fish carried the bait out to sea.

“Just hold on, Lace. Let it run. That’s it.”

She hung on to the pole, the tip of her tongue caught between her lips in concentration. “It stopped!” she said.