Keeper of the Light

by Diane Chamberlain

  Love, Alec

  She was not going to cry again. Absolutely not. Still, she needed a minute to herself. She hit the lock on her office door and turned to lean her back against it, eyes closed, arms folded across her chest, and she stood that way until the distant sound of the ambulance siren brought her back to life.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  A young girl was standing on the sidewalk in front of the retirement home. Mary had just finished the crossword puzzle when she looked up from the rocker to see the girl shading her eyes and looking, Mary thought, directly at her. The girl started up the walk, and Mary dropped the folded newspaper to the floor.

  “Are you Mrs. Poor?” the girl asked when she reached the porch. She had very odd hair. Bizarre. Red on top and black at the ends. Mary knew who she was. She recognized the vibrant red the girl had tried to cover up. She knew that fair, freckled skin, and those wide blue eyes and deep dimples.

  “Yes, young lady,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  The girl pointed to the rocker next to Mary. “Is it okay if I sit here?”

  “Well, now, I wish you would.”

  “My name is Lacey,” she said, sitting down. “I’m Annie O’Neill’s daughter… Do you remember her?”

  Mary chuckled. “As well as I remember my name,” she said. “You look like your mama, don’t you?”

  Lacey nodded, then touched her hair. “Except for this,” she said. She glanced out at the waterfront and then returned her eyes to Mary, leaning sideways in the chair. “This is going to sound pretty weird, I guess, but I know my mother used to talk to you when she had a problem, so I was wondering… Well, I just thought I could, like, try it, too.”

  “What kind of problem can a young girl like you have?”

  “It’s really complicated.” Lacey looked at her uncertainly, thinking, no doubt, that Mary was older than she’d expected her to be, too old to help a young girl out of a predicament.

  “You don’t happen to have a cigarette, now, do you?” Mary asked.

  “What?” Lacey looked stunned. Then she stood up and pulled a crushed pack of Marlboros from the pocket of her shorts. “I don’t really think I should give you one,” she said, holding the pack away from Mary. “Aren’t you, like… I mean… Isn’t it bad for your health?”

  “No worse than for yours.” Mary held out her hand, and Lacey rested the beautiful tube of tobacco on her fingers. Mary lifted the cigarette to her lips, inhaling deeply as Lacey lit it for her. She began to cough—hack, actually—until tears ran down her cheeks, and Lacey patted her worriedly on the back.

  “I’m all right, child,” Mary was finally able to say. “Oh, that’s lovely, thanks.” She gestured toward the rocker next to her. “Now sit down again and tell me your problem.”

  Lacey slipped the cigarettes back in her pocket and sat down. “Well.” She looked at the arm of the chair, as though what she had to say was written there. “My father got really depressed after my mother died,” she said. “He’d just sit around the house and stare at pictures of the Kiss River Lighthouse all day long, because they reminded him of Mom, and he didn’t go to work and he looked awful.”

  Mary remembered the year following Caleb’s death. Lacey could have been describing her back then.

  “Then my Dad started being friends with a woman named Olivia, who was also the doctor who tried to save my mother’s life in the emergency room the night she was shot…”

  “She was?” Mary remembered the young woman who’d dropped magazines off at the home. She’d had no idea Olivia was a doctor, much less the doctor who’d tried to help Annie. And married to Paul Macelli, wasn’t she? Good Lord, what a mess. She drew again on the cigarette, cautiously this time.

  “Yes.” Lacey had taken off her sandals and raised her feet to the seat of the chair, hugging her arms around her legs. It was a position Annie might have squirmed her way into. “Anyway,” she continued, “she’s married to Paul Macelli, the guy who’s been talking to you about the lighthouse. But she’s really in love with my father.”

  Mary narrowed her eyes. “Is she now?”

  “Oh, definitely. I can tell by the way she talks about him and stuff. And the thing is, he really likes her too, but he says he won’t see her anymore, partly because she’s married, even though she’s actually separated, but mostly because he thinks it’s too soon since my mother died for him to feel that way.” Lacey stopped to catch her breath. “She’s not much like my mother,” she said, “and that bothers him, I guess. I really loved my mother, but everybody talks about her like she was a goddess or something.”

  Lacey looked up as Trudy and Jane walked out onto the porch. Their eyes bugged out when they caught sight of Mary’s cigarette. Mary nodded to them, and they seemed to understand she wanted time alone with her young visitor. They walked down to the end of the porch and sat in the rockers there.

  “Well, anyway,” Lacey said, “so now my Dad’s gone back into this little cocoon he was in before he got to be friends with Olivia. He looks bad, and he thinks about the lighthouse all the time, and I can’t stand being around him. He gets so weird. And Paul. I don’t understand why Olivia would like him more than my father. He’s so dorky.”

  Mary smiled. She was not sure what dorky meant, but she was certain the girl’s assessment was accurate.

  “Excuse me for saying that. I guess he’s, like, a friend of yours since you’ve been talking to him about the lighthouse and all.”

  “You can say whatever’s on your mind, child.”

  Lacey lowered her feet to the porch and sat back in the chair, her head turned toward Mary. “Did I explain this well enough? Can you see what the problem is?”

  Mary nodded slowly. “I can see the problem far better than you can,” she said.

  Lacey gave her a puzzled stare. “Well,” she said, “my mother always said you were a very wise woman. So if she came to you with a problem like this, how would you help her?”

  Mary took in a long breath of clean air and let it out in a sigh. “If I had truly been a wise woman, I would never have helped your mother at all,” she said. But then she leaned over to take the girl’s hand. “You go home, now, child, and don’t worry yourself over this. It’s a matter for grown-ups, and I promise you I’ll attend to it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Mary had a plan. Some might say it was cruel, but she could think of no other way to change the destructive legacy Annie had left behind her. Three people’s lives were in turmoil. Four, actually, if she counted Annie’s daughter. She would have to play the old, eccentric fool—a role she was not fond of, but which she knew how to employ when necessary. It would be necessary tomorrow, when she took the members of the committee on their tour of the keeper’s house. And it would be necessary now, when she called Alec O’Neill to make her demand.

  She steeled herself for the phone call, using the private phone in Jane’s room so that no one would hear her and wonder what the hell was going on with old Mary. It rang three times before Alec answered it.

  “Hello, Mary,” he said. “We’re all set for nine o’clock tomorrow. Is that still a good time for you?”

  “Perfect,” Mary said. “Perfect. Now who did you say is coming along?”

  “Myself, and Paul Macelli, and one of the women on the committee, Nola Dillard.”

  “Ah, well, I won’t be able to do it then.”

  “I…what?”

  “I’ll take you and Mr. Macelli and his wife. The doctor.”

  “Olivia?”

  “Yes. Olivia. The young lady who brought magazines here a few weeks ago. Just the three of you.”

  “Uh, Mrs. Poor, I don’t understand. Olivia really has no need to be there, and I believe she has to work tomorrow. Nola, on the other hand, has been a very active member of the committee from…”

  “No,” Mary said. “Nola is not invited. I’ll take you and Mr. Macelli and his wife and that’s it. Otherwise there’s no tour.”

  “But if s
he’s working…”

  “Then we’ll pick a day for the tour when she’s not working.”

  Alec was quiet for a moment. “Well,” he said, “all right. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

  Alec hung up the phone, frowning. That was weird. Mary Poor must finally be losing it. He sat at his office desk for a few minutes, debating his options. Then he picked up the phone again and called Olivia.

  “This puts you in an awkward position, I know, but could you do it, please? One last favor?”

  “Paul’s going to be there?”

  “He needs to be there. You, on the other hand… I guess you made an impression on the old woman.”

  “Well,” she said, “I suppose it’s good in a way. It’ll force me to see Paul. I’ll finally have to tell him about the baby.”

  “You still haven’t done that?”

  “I haven’t talked to him at all. He’s left messages for me to call him, but I’ve been avoiding the situation.”

  “Olivia.” He wished she would get this over with. “What are you waiting for?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “It’s none of my business, right?” he said. “Well, would you please call Paul to let him know the change in plans? I have to call Nola and uninvite her.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  “There is no earthly reason for you to go on that tour, Olivia,” Paul said.

  She held the receiver between her chin and shoulder as she opened a can of cat food for Sylvie. “I’m aware of that,” she said, “but apparently Mary Poor refuses to do it if I don’t go.”

  Paul groaned. “Christ. She’s so damn…controlling. How does she even know you exist?”

  Olivia tensed. “I met her one time when I dropped Tom’s old magazines off at the retirement home.”

  Paul was quiet for a moment. “Was that something else Annie used to do?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She didn’t offer him any more information than that. She didn’t like him just then.

  “Why haven’t you returned my phone calls?” he asked.

  “I haven’t wanted to talk to you.”

  “That’s not what your good friend Alec told me. He said there’s something important you need to talk to me about.”

  Olivia set Sylvie’s bowl on the floor. “Well, actually, I do have a lot to tell you—to straighten out with you. Could we go out for an early lunch somewhere after the tour tomorrow?”

  “All right,” he said. “You’re not going to show up for the tour with your hair dyed red or anything, are you?”

  She gritted her teeth. “You can be very cruel.”

  He hesitated again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just feel as though you’ve become a stranger all of a sudden. You’ve been living a life I know nothing about.”

  “You’re the one who wanted it that way.”

  “I know.” He drew in a weary-sounding breath. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Olivia pulled into the small parking lot near the keeper’s house at nine the following morning. Paul and Alec were already there, leaning against Alec’s Bronco. She felt their eyes on her as she parked next to Paul’s car, and she took a deep, steadying breath. Could there be a more awkward group than the three of them? She smoothed her blue jersey over her new white drawstring pants and got out of the car.

  Seeing Paul and Alec side by side was unnerving. Two very attractive men. As she walked toward them, she felt a little of the sleaziness Alec had spoken of the other night. She had slept with both of them.

  Alec looked a little tired. He smiled his greeting at her, holding her eyes a moment too long. There was a camera around his neck, a camera case over his shoulder, and he wore jeans and a blue short-sleeved shirt, the dark hair on his chest clearly visible at the open collar. She quickly moved her eyes to the relative safety of her husband.

  “Good morning, Paul,” she said.

  He nodded stiffly. She didn’t think she had ever seen him look quite so uncomfortable.

  She was relieved when the van from the retirement home pulled into the parking lot. Alec helped Mary down from the passenger seat, his hand on the old woman’s elbow. Mary was wearing a white-and-blue-striped dress and white sneakers.

  A young blond woman jumped out of the driver’s seat, a paperback book in her hand. “I asked Mary if I could do the tour with y’all, but she said no way.” She grinned. “When Mary says no, you don’t argue. So I’ll be out on the beach.”

  Mary watched her young driver strike out for the beach before turning to her uneasy guests. “Good morning, Mr. Macelli. Mrs. Macelli,” she said.

  “Hello, Mrs. Poor,” Olivia said, and Paul grunted a barely audible greeting.

  Mary turned her gaze to the house. “It’s been a good long time since I’ve set eyes on this place,” she said. “I thought for sure I’d never see it again.” She looked toward one of the bulldozers near the edge of the dune and shook her head. “Well, let’s take a look inside.”

  They followed Mary slowly to the front door of the house. She walked with the aid of a cane. She was taller than Olivia had expected her to be, and she looked very old, much older than she’d seemed at the home.

  Alec walked next to Mary, with Olivia a few steps behind them, and Paul behind her. Olivia glanced back at her husband once, encouraging him to keep pace with her, but he looked straight through her. He seemed very unhappy about this entire outing, and she figured that her presence was the cause of his dismay.

  They walked into the spacious, airy living room of the house. There was a large brick fireplace, faced by two wicker rockers and a wing chair. Paul clicked on his tape recorder, while Mary turned around in a circle in the middle of the room.

  “Needs a paint job in here,” she said, lifting her cane toward one of the dingy walls. “I never would have let it get this gray.”

  Alec took a few pictures while Paul stood rigidly in the center of the room, holding the recorder in his outstretched palm.

  “Well, let’s see. What can I tell you about this room?” Mary asked herself. “It was, of course, the hub of the household. When Elizabeth was young, she and Caleb and I would play games in here at night, and I remember a few nights when this room would be filled with survivors of one wreck or another. We’d keep them for a few nights or so, till they could get back to the mainland.” She looked down at the wicker rocker. “I did many a crosswords in that chair, I can tell you that,” she said.

  It was, if anything, slightly cool in the living room, yet Olivia could see that Paul was perspiring. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. She couldn’t imagine that her presence alone was enough to have drained all color from his face. She wanted to ask him if he was ill, but it was too quiet in the room. He wouldn’t want the attention drawn to himself.

  They walked into the kitchen. “The damn room I fell and broke my hip in.” Mary touched Alec’s arm. “If it weren’t for that wife of yours, I’d still be lying there on that floor.”

  Alec smiled at her.

  Mary told them about the hand pump that used to stand in one corner of the kitchen, and the cisterns that collected rainwater to be used in the house. She showed them the pantry and the large downstairs bedroom, along with the tiny bathroom that had been added on in the sixties.

  “Upstairs now,” the old woman said, lifting her cane toward the narrow stairway.

  Alec and Paul practically carried Mary up the stairs, each of them taking an elbow and nearly lifting her off her feet as they climbed to the second story. They stopped at the first room on the right, a large bedroom with rustic furniture and a quilt on the bed.

  “Caleb’s mother made that,” Mary said, pointing her cane at the quilt. She began talking about the room. It had been the bedroom of her daughter Elizabeth, she said, whose boyfriend had set a ladder against her south window one night, and carried her away with him to escape the isolation of Kiss River.

  Pa
ul was not well. He closed his eyes as Mary spoke, and his breathing was fast and shallow. Olivia could actually see the staccato beating of his heart in the collar of his shirt. She leaned toward him. “Are you ill?” she whispered.

  He shook his head without looking at her, and she took a step away from him. Mary spoke about Elizabeth’s bedroom a few minutes longer, and Alec took some pictures before they moved on to the next room, another bedroom, this one much smaller than the first. Olivia saw the white spire of the lighthouse through the window.

  “And this one was Annie’s room,” Mary said. They stood in the hallway, peering inside.

  “Annie’s room,” Alec said. “You mean…my Annie?”

  “Yes indeed,” Mary said. “The room where Annie brought her young men.”

  “Where she…?” Alec frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Mary turned to look squarely at Paul. “You know what I mean, don’t you, Mr. Macelli?”

  The Adam’s apple bobbed in Paul’s throat. His face had gone gray, and his fingers shook as he turned off the recorder and hung it on his belt. “I have no idea,” he said.

  “Oh, I think you have a very good idea,” the old woman said. “An excellent idea. She loved the way you looked when you’d come over in your costume. You know, from the Lost Colony play.”

  Alec turned to face Paul. “What is she talking about?”

  Paul shook his head. “God only knows.” He looked at Mary and spoke loudly. “You have me confused with someone else,” he said.

  Olivia could barely breathe. She wished she could do something to break the tension crackling in this hallway. She wished she could stop Mary Poor from saying another word, but the old woman was already opening her mouth, already pointing her cane toward the double bed.

  “How many afternoons did the two of you spend in that bed?” she asked Paul.

  “I’ve had enough.” Paul turned toward the stairs, but Alec caught his arm.