Lacey knew that Jessica had worked in an office doing something with computers, but she’d never understood precisely what.
After quite a long drive, Amelia turned into the parking lot of a large complex of cute and well-maintained Spanish-style condominiums. “You can stay with me just as long as you need to,” she said, swinging the car wide to pull into a marked parking space.
“I’m expecting to be here three or four days,” Lacey said. “Are you sure that’s not too much of an imposition?”
“Actually, I don’t think three or four days will be long enough,” Amelia said.
“No?”
“You might be underestimating the time it’s going to take to get Mackenzie ready for the trip back with you.”
They got out of the car, and Lacey pulled her suitcase from the trunk.
“How is she doing?” she asked as they walked toward the building.
“Terrible,” Amelia said. “You can imagine what it’s been like for her. She only had her mother. She’s lost her world.”
Lacey thought back to her own mother’s death. “Is she able to sleep?” she asked. “Is she having nightmares?”
“I don’t know.” Without asking, Amelia took the suitcase from Lacey and began lugging it up the stairs to the second story of condominiums. Lacey didn’t protest. It was too damn hot. “She’s staying with Mary,” Amelia said, “another friend of Jessica’s who has a daughter Mackenzie’s age. Mary could tell you how she’s doing. All I’ve heard is that she’s gotten very quiet and has lost about five pounds in the past two days.”
Lacey could barely picture Mackenzie. She’d been a skinny kid the last time she saw her. If she’d lost five pounds back then, she would have been skeletal.
Amelia stopped at one of the second-story doors. She slipped her key into the lock and pushed the door open, and Lacey felt the welcome rush of cool air hit her face.
The condominium was small and neat and tastefully decorated with furniture and accessories that looked as though they’d come from Pier One.
“Your place is so cute,” Lacey said, touching the arm of the squat gold sofa. “And it’s so nice of you to put me up.”
Amelia rolled the suitcase into the guest bedroom, which was filled with white wicker furniture. “Not a problem,” she said. “Why don’t you get unpacked and then come into the kitchen and have a glass of iced tea or something.”
“Okay.” What Lacey really wanted was a shower. She felt grimy from the flight and the heat.
“Mary—the woman Mackenzie’s staying with—and another friend are coming over in a little while,” Amelia said. “We’re going to try to plan the memorial service tonight. I hope that’s okay with you. We thought you’d probably want to be in on the planning.”
“Sure.” Lacey nodded, although she had not even thought of that. “Will Nola be here, too?”
Amelia opened the closet door and pulled some empty hangers from among the items of clothing. “I don’t think Nola’s up to it,” she said, her back to Lacey. She turned, handed her the empty hangers, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “The truth is, Nola’s really upset about you being named guardian,” she said. “And we’re all…well, we’re a little confused about it. Not that you wouldn’t be the right person to do it,” she added quickly. “It’s just that…” She looked at the wall instead of Lacey. “Well, we didn’t think you’ve had any special connection to Mackenzie.”
“Who is ‘we’?” Lacey hoisted the suitcase onto the bed and started to unzip it.
“All Jessie’s friends,” Amelia said. “And, of course, Nola. Nola has seen Mackenzie at least once a year, and well, I don’t have kids, but Jessica has lots of friends who do and who would take Mackenzie in a heartbeat. And who are married, so Mackenzie would have two parents raising her.” Amelia lifted her hands in a helpless gesture, then dropped them to her lap. She had tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know this is coming out all wrong. I don’t seem to have the energy right now to make it come out right.”
“Are you one of the friends who would be a better choice?” Lacey asked, and Amelia’s eyes widened.
“No!” she said. “I’m only twenty-three, I’m not married, and I don’t have any kids of my own.”
“Well.” Lacey tried to smile. “Except for the twenty-three part, you just described me.” She pushed the suitcase toward the center of the bed so that she could sit down, herself. “I’m just as confused about this as you are, so you don’t need to feel awkward about it,” she said. “But Jessica’s attorney told me that she was very firm about wanting me to take Mackenzie. She obviously had her reasons, and I want to do what she wanted. I think it would be horrible to put a lot of thought and care into making a huge decision like that, and then have the people left behind not follow through on my wishes.”
Amelia nodded. “I know Jessica really cared about you,” she said. “Some of her friends don’t remember her talking about you, but I do. I was probably closest to her. She said that, even though you didn’t see each other much, she still considered you her best friend. Or maybe she didn’t say best,but she said that when you saw each other, you could just pick up where you left off without any problem.”
“That’s true.” It seemed like a slim reason to leave her child to her, though, Lacey thought. She pulled her thick hair up and held it against the back of her head to let the air-conditioning reach her neck. “I had a lot of time to think on the plane,” she added. “I came up with a few reasons she might have wanted me to take care of Mackenzie.”
“What are they?” Amelia asked.
“Maybe she wants Mackenzie to be raised in the place she was raised,” Lacey said, dropping her hair to her shoulders again. “In the Outer Banks.”
“That’s possible,” Amelia said. “She always talked about how she loved it there and she complained about how dry it was here. But she stayed here, didn’t she? I mean, she could have gone back. And if that was the reason, she could have left Mackenzie to her mother.”
“True. But I think Jessica really liked my family. She felt comfortable with us. Maybe she wanted Mackenzie to be part of that.”
Amelia nodded. “Well, maybe. Was she very close to your family? Is it big? I know she was always sad she had no brothers or sisters.”
“Well, she was close to us when we were kids, though not since she moved out here,” Lacey said. “I have a brother and a niece and a father and stepmother and half siblings. And my mother also died—”
“Yes, I remember Jessica saying something about that,” Amelia interrupted her. “Do you think that could be her reason? That she knew you would understand how Mackenzie felt, losing her mother?”
“I thought of that,” Lacey agreed. She’d also thought of another reason: Nola’s wanting Jessica to have an abortion and Lacey’s dissuading her from that decision, but she didn’t want to mention that to Amelia with Nola in town. “And there’s one other possibility I can think of,” Lacey added.
“What’s that?”
“I was always after Jessica to let Mackenzie’s father know that he had a daughter. To let the two of them at least know about each other’s existence, if not actually be in each other’s lives. Maybe she really wants that for Mackenzie and thinks I’ll do it.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Amelia shook her head, almost violently. “She never talked about him. What was his name? Bobby?”
Lacey nodded.
“The only thing she ever said about him was that he was no good—her very words—and that she didn’t want Mackenzie to have any part of him.”
“But she knows—” she caught herself “—she knew that I didn’t feel that way.” Lacey pleaded her case. “I don’t care what a person is like, unless he’s an abuser or something. Children still have a right to know who their parents are. Jessica knew that was the way I feel and she still chose to leave Mackenzie to me.”
Tears of frustration filled Amelia’s eyes. “God, I wish we could talk t
o her and find out what she was really thinking!” she said.
“Me, too.” Lacey stood up, suddenly anxious to have her hostess out of the room so that she could cry herself. She reached for her suitcase. “I’ll unpack and be out in a minute.”
Two other women arrived at the condominium shortly after she and Amelia had eaten chicken salad sandwiches for dinner. At least, they’d tried to eat the sandwiches. Neither of them had much of an appetite.
The women, Mary and Veronica, were the mothers of Mackenzie’s closest friends. It was Mary’s family with whom Mackenzie was staying. The women were in their middle to late thirties, blond, well dressed and with an air of casual sophistication that accompanied them into the condo. Lacey felt them appraising her shorts and T-shirt, her unruly red hair and her youth, and finding her lacking. She felt instantly on edge. She had not expected to come to Arizona and face such scrutiny. Or maybe she was reading too much into the cool greetings the women gave her.
Amelia, clearly nervous and out of her league with the two older women, ushered them into the little living room. She poured them iced tea and set a plate of Pepperidge Farm cookies on the glass-and-wrought-iron coffee table, next to a stack of books Mary had carried with her into the room.
“When can I see Mackenzie?” Lacey asked Mary, as she reached for a cookie she had no interest in eating.
“We haven’t told her about you, yet,” Mary said. “She’s been through so much. We thought we’d wait to tell her until after the memorial service. I guess we were hoping that it was a mistake and didn’t want to tell her until we were absolutely sure she’d be going with you.” Mary didn’t even attempt to spare Lacey’s feelings as she spoke. “But the lawyer said it’s valid, so…” She shrugged her shoulders. “I just hope Jessica wasn’t out of her mind when she drew up those papers.”
“Me, too.” Lacey tried to smile, to join in the subtle attacks against her competence with good humor, but the attempt fell flat and all three women simply stared at her, expressionless. “So,” she said awkwardly, “I guess I won’t see Mackenzie until the funeral, then?”
“It’s a memorial service,” Veronica said. “Not a funeral.”
“I have it mostly worked out.” Mary pulled a small notebook from her purse and opened it on her lap. “I’ll do a reading, and Amelia, you wanted to say something, right?”
Amelia nodded.
“And Jessica’s boss will speak,” Mary continued. “And how about you, Lacey? Would you like to do a reading?”
“I…” It had never occurred to her to participate in the funeral. The memorial service. “I wouldn’t know what to read,” she said.
“We can find something for you,” Veronica said in a voice meant to reassure, although Lacey did not feel reassured in the least.
Mary studied her notes. “Oh,” she said suddenly, her gaze returning to Lacey, “to answer your question, I don’t think you’ll be seeing Mackenzie until after the service, back at my house. She refuses to go to the service itself.”
“Oh, she has to go!” Veronica said. “She’ll regret it for the rest of her life if she doesn’t.”
“She shouldn’t go if she doesn’t want to,” Lacey said. The words surprised her as much as they did the women. All of a sudden, she was the one who knew what was best for Mackenzie, at least in this regard, and the feeling was alien to her. “My mother died when I was thirteen,” she explained, “and I didn’t go to her funeral. I just couldn’t. I wish I could have, but I don’t regret it. I know I wasn’t capable of handling it at the time. Don’t make her go.”
“Oh!” Veronica said. “You lost your mother, too.” She turned to Mary. “Maybe that’s why Jessica decided Mackenzie should go to Lacey.”
Mary shrugged again. “Who knows,” she said. Picking up one of the books from the coffee table, she leaned forward to hand it to Lacey.
“I know Jessica liked this book,” she said. “It’s about living simply and that sort of the thing. I haven’t read it myself, but maybe you can find something in it to read.”
Lacey took the book from her, wondering how she would ever be able to get up in front of a group of people she didn’t know, all of whom loved Jessica and most of whom would forever wonder why this childless, unmarried woman was taking Mackenzie away from them, and read the words of an author who meant nothing to her.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll look through it tonight.”
CHAPTER 13
Lacey found nothing in the book she wanted to read at the service. She leafed through the pages, studying a phrase here and there, unable to truly absorb what she was reading. Then she lay awake much of the night, putting her own words together. She was no speaker and had never spoken in public, unless you counted the occasional stained glass class, and she was afraid she would freeze at the last minute. But she was not going to read an essay that had no meaning for her.
It wasn’t until she awakened from a fitful sleep the morning of the memorial service that she remembered the date: July third. Her birthday. So she was twenty-six. She would be without her friends and family today, but she would have more birthdays. Jessica would have none. She vowed to tell no one the significance of the date.
She’d had so little sleep in the past few days that by the time she and Amelia arrived at the small, crowded chapel, she was in a strange, dreamlike state. It felt as if she were moving through someone else’s life rather than her own. She followed Amelia to the front pew of the church where the participants were all seated. And there was Nola. The woman’s eyes were red, her mouth a tight, down-turned arc, and although her face was unlined thanks to way too much plastic surgery, she looked very old. Lacey separated from Amelia and walked over to Nola, knowing she had to do this. She could not allow the tension to exist between them any longer.
“Nola,” she said, sitting next to her on the pew. She reached for her hand and was forced to hold on to just the bony tops of her fingers, since Nola would not turn her hand or lift it toward Lacey’s.
“I’m heartbroken, Nola,” Lacey said. “And I know it must be so much worse for you. I’m so sorry.”
Nola turned her head away from her, staring in the direction of the chapel’s stained glass windows. Lacey lightly squeezed the lifeless hand, then stood up, and as she walked back to her seat next to Amelia, she was mortified to see all eyes on her. Everyone in the front pews had surely witnessed the rebuff.
She’d met with the attorney the day before and signed the necessary paperwork to take Mackenzie back to Kiss River with her. The placement would be temporary, the lawyer explained, because “several people” had come forward, concerned that Lacey’s guardianship would not be “in the best interest of the child.” They would have to make their case to have her removed from Lacey’s custody, he said. For now, though, Jessica’s wish would be granted.
Lacey floated through the service in a daze, her brain not truly in sync with her body. A woman with a stunning voice sang a couple of Sarah McLachlin songs—Angel and I Will Remember You—and although Lacey could hear sniffling all around her, she felt cried out. People stepped up to the podium to speak or to read, and when it was her turn, she welcomed the foggy state she was in because it dulled her nerves.
She walked up to the podium and turned around, stunned for a moment at the sight of so many people crammed into the tiny chapel. They filled all the pews and lined the walls.
“I’m Lacey O’Neill.” She spoke into a microphone for the first time in her life and jumped a little as she heard her voice echo in the air of the church. “I was Jessica’s best friend when we were children, up until the time she moved to Arizona. Some of you might think you know her better than I do because you knew her as an adult, but I knew all those things you get to know about a person when they’re young. Those things people learn to hide from other people when they get older. I knew her secrets and her longings and her dreams. And I knew what she wanted to be when she grew up: a cowgirl.”
People chuckled at that
. Lacey clearly remembered the conversation with Jessica. They’d been eight or nine years old, lying on the beach and finding shapes in the clouds, and Jessica thought one looked like a bull. “I want to do what those cowboys get to do,” she’d said. “You know, ride wild horses and throw ropes around the cows or calves or whatever they are. I want to be a cowgirl.” From time to time over the years, Jessica had mentioned that aspiration and it had become a running joke between them.
“It’s true,” Lacey said. “There are only two things she ever told me she wanted to be—a cowgirl and a mom.” The crowd was beginning to blur in front of her and she blinked hard. “She got to be the most important one of those two,” she continued, “and I’m really, really glad she did.”
It seemed an awkward place to stop speaking, but she stepped down from the podium before she could say more. She wanted to talk about how today was her birthday, and how Jessica had told her to embrace every minute of her life, and how she planned to do that, always, in Jessica’s name. But she knew if she tried to say another word, she was going to simply fall apart.
After the funeral, many of the people from the chapel drove to Mary’s house. The one-story house, with its spacious rooms and vaulted ceilings, was like Mary herself—elegant, sparely decorated, with every corner and window ledge filled with prickly cacti.
In the backyard, children played in a huge, meandering pool, and Lacey guessed Mackenzie was among them. Mary poked her head out the sliding glass doors to tell the children she was home from the church, but she did not invite them in. Several women, probably caterers, placed platters of hors d’oeuvres on the massive dining room table, and the guests filled their plates. Lacey stayed close to Amelia’s side, the one place she felt safe. Funny how one of the youngest women in the room was also the warmest, as though age had sapped the warmth right out of the older women.
Two nights before, after Mary and Veronica had left the condominium and before she and Amelia had gone to bed, Amelia had apologized for them. “They were rude to you,” she said. “They’re not always like that.”
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