On Mystic Lake Part 15

Chapter 14.

Cigarette smoke swirled in a thick blue haze beneath a ceiling of stained acoustical tiles.

Nick stood in the open doorway of a long, narrow room in the windowless bas.e.m.e.nt of the Lutheran church. Two wood-grain Formica tables hugged the back wall, their surfaces covered with coffeemakers and Styrofoam cups and boxes stacked with packaged sugar and instant creamer. There was a crowd of people at the c.o.ke machine, and an even larger crowd at the coffeepot. The smell of burnt coffee mingled with the bitter stench of the cigarettes.

People sat in folding metal chairs, some comfortably stretched out, some perched nervously on the edge of their seats. Nearly all of them were smoking cigarettes.

He didn't know if he could go through with this, if he could stroll into this smoky room and throw his vulnerability on one of those cheap-a.s.s tables and let strangers dissect it. . . .

"It's harder than h.e.l.l the first time. All the tension of first s.e.x, with none of the fun."

Nick turned and saw Joe standing behind him.

The older man's shoe-leather-brown face was creased into a relieved smile. "I hoped you'd show up. It was sort of a shock to my system after all those years of hoping you'd never never show up." show up."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Joe," Nick said.

Joe laid a hand on Nick's shoulder and squeezed gently. "I'm proud proud of you, Nicholas. Not disappointed. Life's thrown a lot of curves your way-enough to crush a weaker man. I couldn't be prouder of you if you were my own son. If Louise were here, she'd say, 'Give that boy a hug, Joseph,' and I think I will." of you, Nicholas. Not disappointed. Life's thrown a lot of curves your way-enough to crush a weaker man. I couldn't be prouder of you if you were my own son. If Louise were here, she'd say, 'Give that boy a hug, Joseph,' and I think I will."

It was the first time Joe had ever hugged him, and Nick didn't quite know how to respond. For as long as he could remember, he'd thought there was something wrong with him, something essential missing at his core, and he'd spent a lifetime waiting to be unmasked. He'd shielded himself from the people he loved-Kathy, Izzy, Louise, and Joe-afraid that if they saw the real Nick, they'd turn away. But Joe had seen the truth, seen all of Nick's weaknesses and failures, and still he was here, claiming Nick as his son.

When Joe drew back, his black eyes were moist. "It's going to get tougher before it gets better. You've just jumped into the deep end, and you'll think you're drowning. But I'm here to keep your head above water."

"Thanks, Joe." He didn't say for everything, for everything, but he could see that Joe understood. but he could see that Joe understood.

"Come on," Joe said. "Let's sit down."

They headed into the room. Over the next few minutes, more people wandered in, some talking among themselves, others noticeably silent.

Nick shifted in his seat. His feet tapped nervously on the floor. The repet.i.tive sound only increased his anxiety.

"It's okay, Nick," Joe said quietly. "Why don't you get yourself some coffee."

"Right." He surged to his feet and cut across the room. Fishing a few quarters from his pocket, he got a Cla.s.sic c.o.ke and snapped the tab, drinking greedily.

Feeling a little better, he went back to his seat and the meeting got under way.

A man introduced himself: "Hi, I'm Jim. I'm an alcoholic." The crowd of people answered back like good Catholics on Sunday, "Hi, Jim."

Jim stood in the front of the room and started talking. First there was the "G.o.d grant me" prayer, then stuff about meetings and twelve steps and more on serenity.

A young woman stood up suddenly. She was tall and rail-thin, with bleached yellow-white hair and skin the color of candlewax. Obviously shaking, she stepped past the row of chairs and stood in front of everyone.

She looked as if she hadn't eaten in a year, and Nick had been a cop long enough to recognize the signs of long-term drug use. No doubt needle marks ran like train tracks up the insides of her pale arms. She took an endless drag off her cigarette and exhaled heavily. "I'm Rhonda," she said, nervously eyeing the crowd, "and I'm an alcoholic and an addict."

"Hi, Rhonda," said the crowd on cue.

She sucked in another lungful. "Today's my seventh sober day."

There was a round of applause; a bunch of people yelled "Way to go, Rhonda!"

Rhonda gave a wan smile and stubbed her cigarette out on the ashtray in front of her. "I've tried this before-lots of times. But this time'll be differ'nt. The judge said if I can stay clean for one year, I can see my son again." She paused and wiped her eyes, leaving a black tail of mascara down one white cheek. "I used to be a normal girl, going to junior college, working part-time as a waitress in a ritzy restaurant. Then I met this guy, Chet, and before I knew it, I was guzzling tequila and backing it with mountains of c.o.ke."

She sighed, stared dully at the open door. "I got pregnant, and kept drinking. My Sammy was born small and addicted, but he lived. I shoulda been there for him, but all I thought about was getting high and drunk. My son wasn't enough to make me quit drinking and snorting." Her lower lip started to shake, and she bit down on it. "Nooo, I had to drive drunk. I had to hurt someone." She sniffled hard and regained a measure of control. "So, here I am, and this time I mean it. I'm gonna do anything to see my son again. This time I'm gonna get clean and stay clean."

When Rhonda was finished, someone else started talking, then another and another. They all used different words, but the stories were the same, tales of loss and pain and anger. Hard-luck stories and bad-luck stories from people who'd been through h.e.l.l on earth.

Nick was one of them, he knew it by the close of the meeting, and there was a strange comfort in admitting that, in knowing he wasn't the only one in the world trying to wrestle with a bottle of booze.

Izzy couldn't sleep. She went to her window and stared outside. Everything was dark and scary-looking. The only light was tiny white flecks on the black lake. Annie said those were stars fallen from the sky.

She turned away from the window. All week long, ever since Annie had told her that her daddy wasn't coming home, she'd been scared. Yesterday, she'd stood at the window for a long time, waiting. So long that Annie had come up to her.

I don't know when he'll be coming home, Izzy. That's what Annie had said to her. You remember I told you that your You remember I told you that your daddy was sick? The doctors say he needs a little time- daddy was sick? The doctors say he needs a little time- But Izzy knew the truth about doctors. Her mommy had seen lots and lots of them, and none of them ever made her mommy feel better.

They wouldn't help her daddy, either.

Izzy hadn't been able to stop crying. I miss him I miss him was all she said to Annie, but there was a lot more she didn't say. She didn't say that she'd been missing him for a long, long time, and she didn't say that the man with the silver hair wasn't really her daddy-because her daddy never got sick and he laughed all the time. She didn't say that she thought her real daddy had died when her mommy died, and that he wouldn't ever be coming back. was all she said to Annie, but there was a lot more she didn't say. She didn't say that she'd been missing him for a long, long time, and she didn't say that the man with the silver hair wasn't really her daddy-because her daddy never got sick and he laughed all the time. She didn't say that she thought her real daddy had died when her mommy died, and that he wouldn't ever be coming back.

Izzy crept down the stairs and sneaked outside. It was raining gently, and a mist floated on the top of the gra.s.s, so thick that she couldn't see her feet.

"Mommy?" she whispered, hugging herself. She closed her eyes and concentrated really, really hard. When she opened her eyes, she saw her mommy, standing alongside the lake. The vision was shimmery and out of focus. Mommy stood with her shoulders rounded and her head c.o.c.ked at an odd angle, as if she were listening for footsteps, or the sound of a bird's call in the middle of the night. The rain turned all sorts of colors, red and yellow and pink and blue.

You should be sleeping, little girl.

"Daddy's sick again."

Her mom made a quiet sound, or maybe it was a breeze, kicking up along the water. He'll be okay. I promise. He'll be okay. I promise.

"I miss you, Mommy." Izzy reached for her. There was a whisper of something not quite solid against her fingertips, a brushing of heat. She closed her hand around . . . nothing.

The touching days are gone for me, pumpkin.

"Mommy, I love you, Mommy."

I'm sorry, Izzy-bear. G.o.d, I'm so sorry . . .

Izzy reached out, but it was too late. Her mom was gone.

An unusual wave of heat rolled across Jefferson County. Flowers unfurled and reached skyward for the precious sunlight. Baby birds squawked from nests in green-budded trees. It still rained each night, but by dawn, the world was a sparkling, gilded jewel.

Annie made sure that Izzy was busy all the time. They colored Easter eggs, baked cookies, and drew pictures for Nick-presents for the day he would return. They shopped on Main Street and bought Natalie hokey presents from the rain forest: pens with ferries in them, slug cookbooks, postcards of Lake Mystic. They doubled their reading efforts, until Annie was certain that Izzy was ready to go back to school. But when she mentioned this hope to Izzy, it scared her. I don't wanna go back. They'll make fun of I don't wanna go back. They'll make fun of me. me. Annie had let the issue rest there, knowing that it wasn't her decision anyway. She hoped that when Nick came home, they could convince Izzy to return to school. Annie had let the issue rest there, knowing that it wasn't her decision anyway. She hoped that when Nick came home, they could convince Izzy to return to school.

But for now, their routines were comforting. Izzy was talking regularly; it no longer seemed hard for her to remember the words. They were gaining strength from each other.

Annie had finally learned to sleep alone. She knew it didn't sound like much, but to her, it was momentous. Sometimes, when she left Izzy and crawled into her empty bed, she didn't even think about the man who used to sleep with her; sometimes she went for whole days without thinking about him. Oh, the ache was still there, and the loneliness, but day by day, she was learning that she could survive without him. She still didn't want to, but she knew now that she could.

Every Monday, like clockwork, she called London and heard about Natalie's week. In her daughter's voice, she heard a burgeoning maturity that filled Annie with pride. Natalie wasn't a child anymore, and when she learned of the divorce, she would be able to handle it.

And Annie finally understood that she could handle it, too. Last night, when Terri had called (after ten minutes of grilling Annie about who this Nick character Nick character was and why Annie was staying at his house), she had finally settled down and listened to Annie, and when the conversation was over, Terri had said quietly, was and why Annie was staying at his house), she had finally settled down and listened to Annie, and when the conversation was over, Terri had said quietly, Of course you can handle Of course you can handle it, Annie. You're the only one who thought you couldn't. it, Annie. You're the only one who thought you couldn't.

Easter Sunday arrived wrapped in clouds and drenched in rain, but Annie refused to let the uncooperative weather ruin her plans. She dressed Izzy warmly and drove her to Hank's, where the three of them had a huge brunch and a world-cla.s.s egg hunt. Then they went to church services in town. Afterward, Annie and Izzy drove back to the house, and Annie gave her a small, wrapped gift. "Happy Easter, Izzy."

Izzy tried to open the package with her two good fingers, and the failing effort pinched at Annie's heart. "Here, I'll do it, sweetheart. It's hard when your fingers are gone."

Annie unwrapped the shiny paper, then placed the box on the coffee table.

Biting back a grin, Izzy flipped open the box top. Inside, on a bed of white tissue paper, was a bronze medallion the size of a quarter, resting on a coil of thin silver chain. At Izzy's frown, Annie took the compa.s.s from the box and placed it in Izzy's hand.

"When I was a girl, I thought I was lost all the time. Then my dad gave me this compa.s.s, and he told me that if I wore it, I'd always know where I belonged." Annie sighed softly. She hadn't kept wearing the compa.s.s. Instead, she'd gone all the way to California and lost her sense of direction again. If only there were some internal mechanism that pointed unerringly to the true north of our selves. It was so d.a.m.ned easy in life to get lost. "So," she said at last, "do you want to learn how it works?"

Izzy nodded.

"I knew you'd say that. Okay, grab your boots and rain gear, and I'll show you."

With a quick smile, Izzy ran to the coat closet and grabbed her still-wet coat and hat. Within moments, they were both dressed in rain gear, with rubber boots and big floppy hats. Annie quickly explained to Izzy how the compa.s.s worked, and when she was convinced that Izzy understood, she slipped the compa.s.s around the girl's neck. "Let's go exploring."

Outside, the weather was horrible. Stuttering gusts of wind blew across the lake, sending silvery ripples onto the gravel sh.o.r.e. Diamond-drops quivered on the tips of the yellow daffodils and tulips that lined the walkway and grew in clumps in the window boxes.

They veered away from the lake, took their heading, and started down the wide, needle-carpeted trail that led into the rain forest. On either side, the immense wooded sentinels stood guard, catching most of the raindrops on their broad, leafy shoulders. A cool mist swirled along the forest floor, so thick in some places that Annie couldn't see her tennis shoes. At every bend in the trail, Izzy stopped and checked her compa.s.s.

By midafternoon, Izzy had a sense for true north, and the quiet confidence that came with knowledge.

They walked down one trail and then another and another. Suddenly, the trees opened up, and they found themselves in an overgrown clearing deep in the oldest part of the rain forest. Tucked in one corner was an old ranger station, obviously abandoned for years. Its shingled roof was furred with moss, and gray fungus peeked out from cracks in the log siding. Scratches from a black bear's claws marked the unhinged door.

Izzy blinked up at her. "Can we go in?"

Annie looked questioningly at the cabin. Unfortunately, there was a lot more mother in her soul than explorer. But when she saw the excitement in Izzy's eyes, she couldn't say no. "Okay, but go slow . . . and don't touch anything icky."

With a shriek, Izzy raced for the cabin. Annie hurried along behind her. Together, they eased through the broken door.

Inside, buried under a gauzy net of spiderwebs and dust, were two twin beds, complete with musty blankets; a flimsy, handmade wooden table and two chairs; and a long-forgotten black iron woodstove.

Annie felt like Daniel Boone. She wandered to the old stove and picked up a dusty coffee can, turning it over.

Izzy let out a squeal and pulled something out from under the bed. "Look!" She thrust her hand at Annie.

It was a silver coin, dated 1899.

"Oh, my," Annie said, touching the metal. "That's a treasure indeed. You'd best put that in a safe place."

Izzy frowned, then very solemnly looked up at Annie. Wordlessly, she shoved the coin toward her.

"It's yours, Izzy. Don't give it to me."

"Annie? You'll always be here, won'tcha, Annie? That makes you a safe place."

Annie knew she should force the coin gently back into Izzy's small hand. She should give the child the gift of honesty. I'm not safe, Izzy. Not really. This isn't my life at I'm not safe, Izzy. Not really. This isn't my life at all. . . . all. . . .

But then she looked into Izzy's liquid brown eyes and she was lost. "Always is a lot longer than you'll need me, Izzy, but I'll keep the coin until you're ready to give it to your daddy, okay?"

" 'Kay. Don't lose it." Izzy grinned and nodded and started to run for the door. Halfway there, she skidded to a stop and turned around. She was staring at her right hand.

"Izzy, what is it?"

Slowly, Izzy turned. Frowning, she stuck her right hand up in the air. "I can see all my fingers on this hand again."

"Oh, Izzy . . ." Annie went to Izzy and knelt beside her, pulling the child into her arms. But Izzy was stiff and awkward, and she couldn't seem to take her eyes away from her hand.

Izzy started to cry. "She said I couldn't follow her."

Annie stroked the child's soft, soft cheek and smiled. "Who said that?"

"Mommy. I . . ." She bit her quavering lower lip and looked away.

"Tell me, Izzy," Annie said softly. "I can keep a secret."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Izzy stared at Annie for a long, silent moment, then said quietly, "I . . . I see her sometimes . . . in the fog. I was disappearin' to be with her . . . but last time I saw her . . ." Huge tears welled in Izzy's eyes and spilled over, streaking down her pink cheeks. "Last time she said I couldn't follow her."

Annie's heart squeezed into a tight little fist. She took Izzy's hand and led her outdoors. Side by side they sat on the rickety, moss-haired porch of the cabin.

"You can't follow your mom, Izzy, and you know why?"

Izzy turned to her. "Why?"

"Because it would break your mommy's heart. She's up in heaven now, and she wants to watch you grow up. She wants you to have fun and make friends and go to school-to do all the things she did when she was a little girl. She wants to see you wear a pretty white dress on your wedding day and hold your own baby in your arms." Annie sighed. "She wants so much for you, Izzy."

"How do you know she's watchin' me?"

Annie smiled at her. "You know. In your heart. That's why you see her in the fog. You know she's watching over you, and when it rains . . . that's when she's missing you. The rain is her tears, and the sunshine is her smile." know. In your heart. That's why you see her in the fog. You know she's watching over you, and when it rains . . . that's when she's missing you. The rain is her tears, and the sunshine is her smile."

Izzy stared out at the trees a long, long time. "I miss her, too."

Annie curled an arm around Izzy's narrow shoulders and drew her close. "I know, baby."

They sat that way for a long time. The rain softened the world into the muted blues and greens of a Monet painting. Then, finally, Annie smiled brightly and tapped on Izzy's right hand. "Why, I do believe you're right, Miss Izzy. I can see those fingers just as clear as a bell. I say we drink a toast."

"I like my toast with jam."