“Nine years,” Maeve said. “Three weeks, six days …”
“But if we could just talk—”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Clara said. “Why don’t you leave now, Edward?”
“I’m staying at the Hawthorne Inn,” he said. “For the next three days. I live near Boston now, but I have business in the area … in case you change your mind, Maeve.”
“Thank you for dropping Mara’s things off,” Clara said as coolly as she—the warmest person in the world—was able. Just then a noise clanked—the hot-water heater under the cottage, trying to restart itself. Odd, Maeve thought—she hadn’t been running the hot water.
“What’s that sound?” Edward asked.
“None of your concern,” she said.
“Better get it looked at,” he said, but Maeve ignored him. She looked away until she heard Edward’s car start up. Then she did look—it was a big black Mercedes with low-number Massachusetts plates. She watched him put on dark aviator glasses, check his face in the mirror. He backed out into the dead-end turnaround, drove away.
“He still looks at himself in the mirror every chance he gets,” Clara said. “I remember you saying you didn’t trust him, the very first time Mara brought him home, because he couldn’t take his eyes off himself.”
“She loved him.”
“And you accepted that. Why wouldn’t you take the bag from him?”
Maeve wiped tears from her eyes. “Because I was afraid that if he knew how badly I wanted it, he’d change his mind.”
“But he’d brought it all this way—to give you.”
“You don’t know Edward the way I do,” Maeve said. “No one does.”
“He’s always seemed so charming,” Clara confessed. “And vulnerable. Even today … In spite of what we know about him.”
Maeve nodded. Her stomach flipped. Edward’s charm and friendly manner had gotten him far in this world. He still fooled people like Clara. Only Patrick Murphy had really seen through him. Even with a murder accusation hanging over his head, Edward had been able to get clients. People had short memories, especially when dealing with charmers like Edward.
“Let’s go inside,” Maeve said. She heard that clanking again—the hot-water heater making noise. She’d have to remember to call the plumber to come look at it. “I can hardly stand to wait another second. Clara, hold my hand.”
“Are you okay?”
“I just have to see what’s in that bag,” Maeve said, feeling as if she might faint, her eyes glittering with tears as she realized she was about to see and touch items that had once belonged to Mara.
Chapter 17
Liam had driven home to Cape Hawk, to give the commander his car back, check the mail, make a few changes to a program he had running along the beaches east of Halifax—where the great white attack had been last month—and pick up clothes and other things for Lily.
He stopped at the inn to see Anne, who had been to Lily’s house. She took the laundry bag of old clothes from Liam, handed him back a bag of clean ones. They stood by the front desk, and Anne wanted to know everything. There was a Ceili band playing that night, and their Celtic music filled the lobby.
“Rose has been doing better and better, every day,” he said. “She’ll be moving to Boston tomorrow. The doctors say she’s ready.”
“Thank God,” Anne said. “How is Lily holding up?”
“She’s fine,” Liam said, holding the truth inside. His eyes must have told more than his words, because Anne came around the counter to give him a hug.
“You give her this from me,” she said, holding him hard.
He nodded, thinking that would be the day. He’d have to get through about six inches of body armor as well as a Kevlar force field before that happened. The hide of a bull shark was less rugged than Lily’s. But he told Anne he would deliver her good wishes. Just then he happened to notice the display set up at the front desk.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the placard saying “Help Our Rose Grow.” There were pictures of Rose—in her school class, at her birthday party, and standing with Lily.
“Oh!” Anne said. “I almost forgot. Rose’s best friend, Jessica Taylor, came up with it three days ago, and the Nanouks immediately got on board. We’re selling these pine pillows, raising money for Rose. You know—pine is such a Nova Scotia thing, the visitors love it. The girls have been staying up all night to make them.”
Liam picked one up—it had a picture of Nanny embroidered in green thread, with the words “Bring Rose Home” underneath. It smelled unmistakably of pine. Anne showed him the cash box, with twenty dollars inside. “We’ve sold four already. People checking out of the hotel have been snapping them up.”
“I’ll take one,” he said.
“We’ll give it to you,” she said. “You’re doing plenty for the cause.”
“Let me pay,” he said. “I want to.”
Almost reluctantly, she took his money. She handed him change, along with a small bag. Looking inside, he saw jewelry made of tiny pinecones spray-painted gold. Several pairs of earrings, a couple of necklaces, and a ring.
“Jessica made them for the nurses,” Anne said. “She wanted to be sure they treat Rose right.”
“She’s a good best friend,” Liam said, feeling proud of Rose for instilling that sort of love and loyalty. He wasn’t surprised. She’d been special since the day she’d been born.
Just then Camille came around the corner. She had had a small stroke last year, and she walked with a cane. But her expression was just as dour, and her white hair was tinted just as blue as ever. Liam knew that she hadn’t had a happy life—ever since her husband had drowned in Ireland.
“Liam, dear,” she said, coming over to kiss him. “Where have you been?”
“In Melbourne,” he said.
“Melbourne? Courting someone new in town?” she smiled.
“No,” he said, and gestured at the poster emblazoned with Rose’s picture. “I’m down there with Lily and Rose.”
Camille’s smile dissolved. “You know, I’ve never felt the front desk is quite the place to raise money. Our guests pay quite enough to stay here, without guilting them into giving to our local charities.”
“It’s Rose,” Liam said, staring her down. “Not a local charity.”
She laughed nervously. He was very tall, and he had just used his shark researcher voice on his own aunt, but she was so imposing on her own, he didn’t feel bad.
“Dear. You’d almost think she was your daughter, the way you act. If I didn’t know for sure that her mother was pregnant on arrival, I might have my suspicions.”
“Pregnant on arrival,” Anne said dryly. “POA.”
“She’s not my daughter,” Liam said quietly.
“But you care about her. It’s touching, it really is. Only you know—I’m going out on a limb to say this, and I’m sure I’ll get my head bitten off—as the standin for your dear parents, and the last of their generation alive, I have to state the facts as I see them. It just seems to me that this attention you pay to the Malones has kept you from meeting women of your station. Intelligent, educated women who would be just dying to marry such a fine young man!”
“Women of my station?” he asked, feeling—as he often did when talking to his aunt—as if he had wandered into a Victorian novel. He also knew, complicated woman that she was, that she had contributed money to the trust he had established for Rose years ago, once her problems had become obvious.
“Yes. I’m sure you know what I mean. You have a doctorate.”
“Look,” Liam said, shaking his head, “I’ve got to head back to Melbourne. Thank Jessica for trying to raise money.”
Anne’s eyes twinkled. “We all know who takes care of Rose.”
“Sssh,” Liam said.
“The pine pillows can stay,” Camille interjected. “They’re charming, in a rustic way. No one will say that Camille Neill is so hard-hearted as to banish th
e pine pillows!”
“Thank you, Camille,” Anne said, winking behind her back at Liam. “Ever the humanitarian.”
“She’s right, Aunt Camille,” he said, giving her a hug.
“Let’s not get carried away,” Camille said, resting her head against his shoulder before limping off.
“‘Women of your station,’ ” Anne said, smiling. “Sounds like the strangest combination between Jane Austen and Debbie Does Dallas.”
Liam chuckled, trying to gather everything together with his good arm. Anne helped load him up, but suddenly she stopped, reaching up to pat his cheek.
“You’re a really good man, Liam Neill. Right up there with your cousin Jude.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“My friend Lily is a hard case, but don’t give up on her.”
“It’s not like that between us,” Liam said. “I just care about Rose.”
“Uh-huh,” Anne said. “Just remember what I say—don’t give up. She needs you, Liam. She always has.”
Liam shook his head, trying to hide how her words made him feel. He was very good at that—shoving his emotions out of sight—so he scowled and hoisted the bag over his shoulder.
“She has,” Anne said, giving him one last pat on the cheek. “Ever since she arrived in town POA. Give her my love, will you?”
“Sure,” Liam said, somehow unable to laugh, even though the twinkle in Anne’s eye was asking him to. He started to stick the pine pillow in the bag.
Anne glanced down, pointed at the embroidered image. “You know, no one has seen Nanny since Rose’s birthday,” she said. “Jude says the whale boats are all watching for her, but she’s just not there.”
“Really? Once she comes for the summer, she usually stays till the snow falls.”
“I know. Jude says it’s strange.”
They said goodbye, and Liam left. He walked out of the inn, through the parking lot to his truck, having dropped his friend’s car off at the Coast Guard dock and hitched a ride from the lighthouse keeper. Climbing in, heading south on the rocky road, he looked out at the bay. He saw the black backs of several fin whales, on their way to the feeding grounds. Glossy black cresting the surface, disappearing underneath.
He had his laptop beside him, and he pulled over to the roadside to tap in data. The screen began blinking with dots of green and purple. Lots of sharks in the Halifax area—more than usual. The purple dots, indicating great whites, were especially thick down there. Liam typed in “MM122,” waiting for Nanny’s green dot to start blinking on the LED, but it didn’t.
Liam typed it in again—still no sign. Could her transmitter have failed? The battery pack was a few months old; he had been planning to replace it, if Jude could get him close enough this summer. His stomach fell, thinking of predators. Sharks were everywhere in this bay—he didn’t even need the purple dots to tell him that. Suddenly he remembered how avidly Gerard Lafarge had watched Nanny with binoculars the day of Rose’s party. Predators came in all species. He felt sick to think of it.
He dialed Jude’s cell number.
“Hey, where the hell have you been?” Jude asked, answering instantly upon seeing Liam’s number on caller ID.
“At the hospital.”
“How are they?”
“Strong as ever. Listen—Anne tells me none of the boats have seen Nanny.”
“That’s right,” he said. “She’s disappeared.”
“You know what? I saw Lafarge watching her. He hates me, and he knows how I feel about belugas, her in particular.”
“More like he knows how you feel about Rose, and he saw Rose and her friends going crazy for Nanny that day of her party. That scum of the earth.”
“Do you think …”
“Fuck. I wouldn’t put anything past him. I’ll ask around. Some of his crew hang out at the inn bar. Maybe I can get something out of them.”
Liam thanked his cousin and hung up. He had to get on the road, get down to Melbourne. He kept his laptop on, and he keyed “MM122” to beep if it showed up. Every mile seemed longer and longer as the computer stayed silent.
Losing Nanny—he couldn’t even think of it. Thoughts of Connor filled his head, but even more so, of Rose. How could he tell Rose, if something had happened to Nanny?
He couldn’t. That was one thing even the rough, tough shark researcher wasn’t brave enough to do.
Lily sat beside Rose as she slept. Sunlight streamed through the window. She hadn’t been outside all day; it was easy to forget what summer was like. She had pulled out her needlework—she always stitched in the hospital; it was one of the reasons she finished so many things—and was finding comfort in pulling and pushing the needle in and out of the canvas, just repeating the motion over and over, just like breathing, or the beating of a heart. After a few minutes, she closed her eyes, and the images that filled her mind were from summers long ago—those of her childhood.
A garden full of red roses, orange day lilies, honeysuckle, their sweet fragrance mingled with the tang of salt air … So different from the salt air of rocky Cape Hawk, the scent of her childhood sea mist mingled with the tide lines of a sandy beach and the sweet decay of marsh flats. Not that there weren’t rocks … there were. Long granite ledges sloping down to the water, in front of the cottage, the place she had called home for as long as she could remember. And the woman who loved her, had raised her—
Lily opened her eyes. Don’t think of that, she told herself. It was too hard, too painful. Staring at Rose, all hooked up with wires and machines, she knew that if she started remembering that other time of her life, she would not be able to get through this next part. She would cave in. Her hands began to move, soothing her as she started stitching again.
She had made the decisions she had out of love. People’s lives had been at stake: it was nothing less than that. Lily had grown up reading Nancy Drew mysteries. She had heard stories about people who disappeared, assumed other identities. There was so much loss—the sacrifice of family, relationships, endless love between the generations. But look at what was saved—people’s actual lives. There was evil in the world, and Lily had encountered it. No one would have believed her, because his mask was so effective. He was so good at hiding who he really was.
She thought of Scott Peterson, the case that had so recently dominated the news, of how even Laci’s family had supported him at first. Lily believed that even Laci didn’t know she was going to be murdered until she looked up and saw her husband with his hands around her neck. How could Lily make everyone understand that she would have done anything, anything, to protect herself and Rose from becoming like Laci and her baby, Conner?
Shaking those feelings away, she gazed down at her half-finished canvas and thought of Liam, wondered where he was, why he hadn’t gotten back yet. He was picking up all the stuff she’d need for Boston—she couldn’t leave without it. She told herself that’s all it was; she wasn’t missing him, didn’t need his or anyone’s support. The Nanouk Girls were there for her, and Liam had certainly pitched in more than his share. But other than that, it was just Lily and Rose, the way it had always been.
With Rose fast asleep, Lily put her needlework down and reached over to touch her chest. Light fingertips, wanting to feel the heartbeat. She remembered when Rose was just a few days old. The birth had gone so smoothly; Lily had had her at home. All had been fine. She was overjoyed, relieved that they were safe, but so sad to know her grandmother couldn’t meet the baby, not yet, and she didn’t know when she would.
Rose’s first bath …
Lily had filled the sink, tested the water with her elbow, just as her grandmother had told her in the early months of her pregnancy, when everything was a lesson, when the idea of having a baby was so incredible and new. It was as if her grandmother were right there with her, telling her she was doing a good job.
Holding Rose, regarding her with total love, she had touched her tiny chest. What was that feeling beneath her fingertips? Not just
the reassuring thump, thump of the heart, but more like a trembling, like the purring of a cat. But the timing felt different; while cats purr along with their breath, this sensation seemed to follow each heartbeat. Rose gazed up at Lily, immersed in the warm water, seeming to love her first bath, so Lily tried to dismiss it. But it bothered her, and she kept checking.
Rose’s first blue spell didn’t occur till a few days later.
Liam had come back—as he had every day since Rose’s birth. Lily had felt shy with him, knowing what he’d seen and heard that night, but she secretly welcomed his visits.
The days were long, so it was still light when he arrived after his day’s work on the research vessel. He was administering shark studies down on the surfing beaches east of Halifax, but he’d rush back to Cape Hawk to check on Rose and Lily.
The sun was setting behind the pines, and the cottage was filled with long shadows and golden light. Lily was too content to turn on a lamp; she rocked Rose, breastfeeding her in the dim light. When Liam’s truck rattled down the stony drive, she wrapped Rose in a blanket and waited for his footsteps on the porch.
Liam came in, bearing groceries. Lily felt uncomfortable—he refused to take money for them, and she really wasn’t sure what he wanted from her. After she had moved out of the inn, they had met in town—when he saw her, a pregnant stranger, he’d realized instantly she was the woman he’d heard crying in the inn room. He told her that she had left some of her books there, and asked if he could bring them to her new place. It had been a complete accident that he’d stopped by to drop them off the night Rose was born—and discovered her in labor.
He never really left after that. He came by every day. He told Lily she could have the lease on the store beside his office, for any kind of shop she wanted. And he brought food and diapers—told her she could start paying him after she got her feet on the ground.
While Lily was putting away the groceries, she handed Rose to Liam to hold. It seemed like the least she could do—he cared about this baby he’d helped bring into the world. But when she glanced over, saw him holding her against his chest with his one arm, her eyes had filled with tears. That kind of tenderness should be reserved for a baby’s father—but Rose’s father would never know her, never see her, never even learn of her existence if Lily had anything to do with it.
Luanne Rice Page 17