As the Light Fades (ARC)

by Catherine West

  “When have you even . . .” Matt swallowed the question. This was the weirdest conversation he’d had with a complete stranger in a stretch. “Anyway.”

  “Does she live here, with you?” Miss Carlisle was looking skeptical, and Matt shot Mia a silent warning. Mess this up, and you’re grounded for life.

  “Yes, Mia lives with me.”

  “Only because I have to.” Mia scowled. “My mother got herself arrested and thrown in jail. My grandparents won’t have anything to do with me, so I get the joy of living with Uncle Matt.”

  Way to go, Mia. Just lay it all out on the table. Matt tamped the urge to swat her one and somehow managed a thin smile.

  “I’m sure he gets just as much joy out of the arrangement.” Elizabeth Carlisle didn’t miss a beat. “How old are you, Mia?”

  “Almost sixteen. How olda you?”

  Matt stifled a grin. Mia had only lived in Boston a short time, but she could put on a wicked good accent when she wanted to. But now wasn’t exactly an appropriate moment. Which of course, was precisely her point.

  “Okay, what say we move on?” Matt headed for the kitchen door and held it open. Miss Carlisle nodded, but didn’t look convinced that being here was such a good idea.

  They walked the few feet across the graveled courtyard until they reached the small cottage. The back lawn stretched to the left, running down to the wall at the edge of the cliff. Hydrangea bushes sported the last blue blooms of the season, and the flower bed running along the wood fence put on an acceptable show. The climbing rose did its own thing, still thick with pink in places. He’d been bored before school started, knew his way around the gardening shed from his years coming to the island as a kid, and he’d managed to bring the garden back to life.

  The fresh coat of robin’s egg blue he’d applied to the shingles last weekend and the two potted palms he’d purchased on a whim provided curb appeal, and the red front door made just the statement he wanted it to.

  Elizabeth Carlisle smiled. Just a tiny smile that inched her lips upward ever so slightly, but it was enough to indicate appreciation.

  “Sorry about Mia, she’s kinda blunt.” He needed to say something at least. “You, uh, didn’t seem as shocked as she probably hoped you’d be.”

  She shrugged and tipped her head, inching her sunglasses downward. “I’m a lawyer, and I used to live in New York. Not much shocks me, I’m afraid. I’m sorry about her mother.”

  Matt suddenly felt a little lost as he looked into her eyes.

  And he just wanted to tell her everything.

  Get a grip, dude.

  “Yeah. It’s been rough. She’s served almost nine months now. Mia’s been through the wringer. But she’s not really any trouble.” That wasn’t exactly a lie, was it? He fumbled with the handle on the front door.

  “No loud music? You understand I’m looking for a place that’s rather quiet. My house is in an uproar at the moment, and I’m afraid my nerves are completely shot.”

  “Join the club.” Did he just say that? Matt exhaled and stepped into the small living room. She followed behind, pushed the front door all the way open, and left it that way.

  “Oh.” She nodded and took a stroll around, giving him a wide berth. She ran a finger across the mantel, inspected the spotless fireplace, tried windows and opened doors. “It’s very clean. And bright. Quite cheery, actually.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” It sounded as though it might be. Matt rocked on the backs of his shoes and studied her.

  “No, not at all. I’m just surprised. I have three brothers, and they’re about as far from neat and tidy as you can get. David said you’re single, so I expected . . .” She stopped, pressed her lips together, and flushed. She seemed confident enough, but he sensed a wariness about her that gave off warning signals.

  He hooked his thumbs through the belt holes of his faded Nantucket reds. “I’m pretty regimented about certain things. I like to keep a clean house.” With Mia around it was no easy feat.

  “Well.” She stepped back a bit. “So far so good.” She marched toward the bedroom, and he waited while she looked around. He heard her flicking light switches and turning taps on and off. When she was done there, she found the kitchen. He’d worked on that this month. Replaced the counters, painted the cupboards, and shelled out for new stainless steel appliances.

  “Is there a security system?” She was at the front door again, jiggling the handle and trying the deadbolt.

  “Uh . . .” Matt wondered at the intent look on her face. “No security system.” He’d never actually thought about it. His grandparents hadn’t bothered with such things, and he figured the island was quiet enough. Most people around here didn’t need to steal anything.

  “Would you be opposed to my having one installed?” She shifted the black leather purse slung over her shoulder. “I could ask the contractor helping us at Wyldewood.”

  “Uh, sure.” He almost grinned at the coincidence. “Actually, I start work with a security company next week. I could probably arrange for the installation.”

  “Really?” She looked confused. “David said you were a teacher.”

  “I am. I teach art at Nantucket High. But the salary isn’t quite . . . anyway.” He shut his mouth and folded his arms. “What do you think of the place?”

  “It’s lovely.” She gave a wistful sigh. “The rent is fair, but I’m currently unemployed. I’m not sure what comes next for me, to be honest.” A pained look crossed her face. “I’m not used to being without a job. And things here are expensive.”

  “Yeah, I hear that.” Matt strode across the room to straighten a painting on the wall. “That’s why I’m working two jobs. Except I have to work some nights and two weekends a month with the security company.” Okay, why exactly was he telling her his business? A wild thought came out of left field. He shoved it off but it came back. Perhaps this could work in both their favors. He met her curious gaze and went for it. “This is pretty crazy, but . . . I could lower the rent some if you’d agree to keep an eye on my niece when I’m working nights.”

  Her blue eyes rounded and pink lips parted a little, but no words came. She tried again, then clamped her mouth again and shook her head. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Stone.”

  Elizabeth Carlisle headed for the door, taking his hope for extra income right along with her.

  “Wait! I mean . . . can we at least discuss it?” Yes, he sounded desperate. Well, he was.

  “Mr. Stone.” She sighed. “I’m not a nanny. I don’t do kids. Little or big. Besides, your niece said she was almost sixteen. Surely she doesn’t need looking after?”

  She didn’t know Mia.

  Matt squared his shoulders and gave a nod. “I get it. It was a stupid idea. I just thought, well, I know your family, and you seemed to like the place . . . but, no worries. I’m sure you’ll find something else.”

  She hesitated, her eyes clouding over. “I suspect you already know yours is one of the least expensive rentals on the island. You should be asking twice what you’re offering me.”

  Matt groaned inwardly and stared at his shoes. David hadn’t said much, but from what he’d surmised from their conversation, it sounded as though Elizabeth Carlisle could use a break.

  “I like to be reasonable. There are enough folks out there happy to rip people off, I don’t need to be one of them.”

  “How admirable.” She sniffed and fiddled with a ring on her right hand. “You don’t have any pets?”

  “Not even a goldfish.”

  “What would you be expecting me to do, exactly, with your niece?”

  “Do?” Matt frowned and she looked at him like he’d grown another head.

  “Supervise her homework? Cook for her? Play Snap?”

  “Uh, no. She can cook. I think. Basically, just that you’d be available if the need arose. Just so she, you know, knows there’s an adult around.”

  “I don’t know. It seems a lot to ask.”

  It did.
Matt knew that and wasn’t sure now why he’d done it. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” He crossed his fingers behind his back. “I just need to know somebody’s here when I’m not. To have someone to call if she needed anything.” Like after she woke screaming from one of her frequent nightmares.

  “I’ll need to give it some thought. May I call you in a couple of days?”

  “Sure.” Matt walked her out and led her around the main house to where she’d parked the car. “Wow. I didn’t think these old things still ran.” The beige and faux-wood paneled Ford station wagon had certainly seen better days, but it wasn’t unusual to see old cars here on the island.

  “Runs better than you’d expect.” She had her sunglasses back on and stuck out a slender hand. “Well, thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Stone.”

  The moment Matt clasped his hand around hers, a definite sizzle of attraction shook him to his senses.

  Letting a woman like Elizabeth Carlisle live on his property was possibly the worst idea ever. Maybe she’d say she wasn’t interested anyway. But he needed the money. “Thanks for coming, Miss Carlisle. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” Matt stepped back and watched her drive off. Half of him hoped he’d see her again. The other half, the more sensible, cautious side, said it’d probably be a darn good thing if he didn’t.

  three

  DRAKE

  This room they say is mine is barely big enough to swing a cat in. The bed is comfortable, but I don’t use it much. Sleep seems hard to come by these days. There’s a desk with paper and pens I’m pulled toward at times. But all I do is doodle dizzy lines and circles and sometimes a shell. Although, I feel I was once capable of so much more.

  The smell here is not familiar. Not home. I don’t hear the ocean the way I did where I used to live. The windows won’t open all the way, and it’s hard to catch the breeze. I was never one for air-conditioning. I miss hearing the waves crashing against the rocks, whoosh! Miss sitting on the porch in my rocker. I think there were dogs, and a black cat that invariably found me the moment I sat and dug its claws in deep, purring with the satisfaction of its cruelty. I hate cats.

  Soup for lunch. Hot and barely palatable; they’re not much for salt around here. The rolls are on the stale side, rock hard, and I prove the point by throwing one across the room. They don’t like that. I’m scolded like a child. It’s rather amusing, truth be told, and I’m tempted to do it again. And then they bring out the pills.

  Later, after I’ve pretended to nap and promised better behavior, I’m allowed to rejoin civilization, such as it is. The big nurse brings me to the large, bright room, where I see them waving at me. The man with the two tow-headed kids and the pretty wife. I wave back like I know them.

  “Go visit with your family, Mr. Carlisle,” Teresa says. Could be Teresa. Might be Sophia.

  We go outside and sit on a weathered bench. A perfectly kept lawn leads down to a high wall. The sea stretches beyond it, but you have to strain to get a glimpse unless you’re up on the porch. One day I’ll ask if we can leave this place. Walk the beach perhaps. I’d like that.

  The children fascinate me. Maybe two or three years old, and they seem to enjoy coming here, God knows why. Easy to please at that age. They chase each other across the lawn, chubby legs flying. Delightful squeals fill the air around us, but the man next to me shushes them, and the woman rushes after them to keep them safe. They can’t escape the garden. I’ve tried.

  I pat his knee to tell him it’s okay, because I can’t find the right words.

  I wish I could remember their names. My leaky mind lets me down again. But their antics make me smile, and I’m glad they bring them. And the man . . . he said his name when they got here. What was it?

  David.

  “I don’t want them being a nuisance.” He offers me chocolate. No idea why, because I can’t stand the stuff. But they all bring it. And I eat it anyway.

  “Jefferson Starship.” What in blazes does that mean? Sometimes the most ridiculous things come out of my mouth.

  “Cool band.” David grins, and I recognize the sparkle in his eyes. Reminds me of . . . her, I think. I see her long blond hair, so wavy and soft. I could run my fingers through it for hours. Darling. No, that wasn’t her name. That was what she called me. And everyone she loved.

  “Diana.” I nod and smile as the little girl runs circles around the boy. Soon they tire of the game and race to where we sit. He gives them boxes with straws, and they scramble to find space on the bench. The girl makes herself at home on my lap, snuggles close, and presses a finger against my cheek.

  “Hi, Pop-Pop.”

  “Diana.” I smile back at her, knowing I’m wrong.

  “That’s Bethie, Dad. And this is Brandon.” The man tousles the boy’s hair. He also stares at me with big blue eyes that could have belonged to her.

  “Bethie.” It’s a nice name I suppose. “Elizabeth.” I remember now. She comes here too. All bluster and take-charge. I somehow know she got that from me.

  “She’s coming tomorrow. Tomorrow is Sunday.” He rubs his nose with the tip of his finger. “She’s not very happy with me at the moment. I had to tell her she has to move out. The renovations are ahead of schedule. We’re gutting the second floor sooner than expected.”

  Renovations. Vague memories reveal plans and people coming and going and lots of arguing about it all until finally the decision was made. It’s why I’m here, I recall. The noise and the mess. Safer for me, they said. Easier for them, no doubt.

  “That’s unfortunate.” I’ve learned to play the game. “She’ll be fine.” Somehow I do know this.

  He nods like he knows it too. “Hey, I talked to Lynnie last night. Remember, she’s in Africa?”

  “Yes.” Of course I don’t remember. I do know Africa is a faraway place with jungles and elephants and very hot sun. I was there once. Perhaps twice. My father’s work took him there, although I don’t know why. I think my parents lived in a big city in that country for a year or more. I visited from London, where they had me packed away in boarding school.

  The noisy, foreign city streets were full of dust and dirt, and cars jammed the road, bicycles pushing past while people maneuvered around each other on the sidewalks. Whenever we ventured from our safe sprawling home outside the city limits, my mother was terrified I’d get lost. Being a cocky fifteen-year-old, I didn’t share her fears. But now they have come true.

  I am quite lost at times.

  “Lynnie should come home.” It seems to make sense. She might get lost too. And then what chance will I have of figuring out who she is?

  “Well.” He nods and wipes snot off his son’s freckled nose. I’m assuming the child is his. The eyes, you see. “Soon. Lynnie will probably come home the end of October.”

  “Halloween.” The word seems to fit with the last one.

  “Yeah. Around there.” He smiles too brightly, and I know I’ve done it again. Said the right thing without having a clue. It’s quite a remarkable talent I seem to have acquired without even trying. “Maybe Ryan will come home too, I don’t know.”

  “Ryan?” So many names. So much I can’t remember. The pretty wife brings out the photo album. Again with the pictures. She’s under the impression that somehow this will jog my memory. And in a way, it does. So I sit silent while she shows me the family they claim is mine.

  David is the eldest, and she is Josslyn, his wife. Elizabeth comes next, the one who looks like her mother. Something in her eyes troubles me, a niggling I’m not sure about. There’s Ryan, who is more like me, I think. Me and David. He’s got a wide-open smile and sparkling eyes and holds a little black boy in his arms. I remember somehow he belongs to us too.

  The one they call Gray grins up at me in living color and draws a chuckle. “That boy.” I point and shake my head, and this makes them laugh. And then they show me Lynnie, who is the youngest, and for some reason my eyes smart. Is it possible to miss someone you don’t really remember?

  The small
ones are off and running again, and the sun inches lower behind the clouds. They’ll leave me soon, and I will be alone.

  “This isn’t home.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” David rests an arm around my shoulders and sighs deep. He is always kind and soft-spoken. I feel we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, although I don’t know why. I remember being a father, the age he must be now, kids running around the place, but I don’t remember enjoying it all that much. Not always. I preferred to be off on my own, up in my studio, away from the ruckus. Perhaps even in those early days I was creating my own trap-door to escape the happiness I knew I didn’t deserve.

  Worn wood floors, banging shutters, easels, and the strong scent of turpentine trip across my memory. I grasp for more details, but they fade too fast and a foul word flies out of my mouth.

  David clears his throat, and Josslyn gets up to gather their things. And I know I’ve done something wrong.

  “I get angry sometimes.” I hate to admit it, but it’s true. I’ve always had a temper. It was one of the things Diana loathed about me. “Don’t yell at me, Drake Carlisle or I promise you I’ll pack my bags faster than you can stumble across the room!”

  “It’s okay, Dad.” David helps me up. “Almost dinner time. Wonder what it’ll be tonight, huh?”

  Oh, who cares.

  Because it’s not okay. Nothing about my being here is remotely okay.

  I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life.

  Perhaps this place, this place where I am apparently destined to live out my final days or years—whichever God sees fit to grant, so far removed from everything I know and love, unable to think or speak or act appropriately anymore—perhaps this is all I deserve.

  ___________

  Liz drove to the nursing home on Sunday morning. The family had gone to church—had been going since Josslyn and the twins moved over—but Liz never went. Didn’t see the point. Maybe one day she’d surprise them and go along. But not today.

  Her father sat in a rocker facing the window. His graying hair was too long again, curling below his neck. White wicker creaked as he rocked back and forth, humming an old tune Liz recognized from days gone by.