On Mystic Lake Part 26

"I love you, Nick." She smiled sadly. "I'm crazy in love with you. Over the moon in love with you. But it doesn't matter. We both know that."

"You're wrong, Annie. Love matters. Maybe it's the only thing that does."

Without waiting for her to answer, he leaned down and gave her one last tender kiss-a kiss that tasted of tears and regret, a last kiss that said good-bye.

As Annie walked through the house, it occurred to her that she should have left something behind, a sweater hanging in the closet or a pair of shoes tucked under the bed. There was nothing of her here now, no token that recalled the times she'd laughed in this room or the nights she'd slept in Nick's arms.

Biting down on her lower lip, she went to Izzy's room and found the little girl sitting on the end of her bed, her feet swinging just above the floor. She was wearing Annie's white sweater, the cashmere cardigan with the pearl b.u.t.tons. A pretty lacquered box lay open on her lap.

"Hey, Izzy-bear," Annie said softly, "can I come in?"

Izzy looked up. She tried to smile, but already her brown eyes held a sheen of tears. "You wanna look through my collection again?"

Annie went to the bed and sat down beside Izzy. She pointed to a pretty purple ring. "That one is awfully pretty."

"It was my grandma Myrtle's . . . and these b.u.t.tons were my mommy's." Izzy picked out a big cream-colored one with four holes in the middle. She handed it to Annie. "Smell it."

Annie took the b.u.t.ton and lifted it to her nose.

"That one smells like my mommy's bedroom."

Slowly, Annie put the b.u.t.ton down. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded-up handkerchief. It was a pretty pink thing with a big red AVC AVC sewn across the bottom. "Why don't you put this in your collection?" sewn across the bottom. "Why don't you put this in your collection?"

Izzy pressed it to her nose. "It smells like you."

Annie was afraid she was going to cry. "Does it?"

Izzy pulled a faded pink ribbon from her box. "Here. This is one o' my hair ribbons. You can have it."

Annie took the satin ribbon. "Thanks, pumpkin."

Izzy closed her box and clambered into Annie's lap. Annie held her tightly, savoring the feel of her, the smell of her hair.

Finally, Izzy drew back, and her brown eyes were huge in her pale face. Annie could tell that she was doing her best not to cry. "Today's the day, isn't it? You're leavin' us."

"Yes, Izzy, today's the day."

Izzy swallowed hard. "But, Annie, who's gonna braid my hair now? Who's gonna paint my toenails and make me look pretty?"

Annie couldn't meet Izzy's earnest, overbright eyes. Forcing a wan smile, she took the child's hand. "Come with me." She led Izzy outside. They walked through the soggy gra.s.s, and Annie eased open the new white gate to the garden. They picked their way down the stone path toward the park bench that sat in the midst of the flowers.

They stared in silence at the blooming flowers, and Annie knew that, like her, Izzy was remembering the day they'd planted them. Afterward, when the first flower had bloomed, she and Izzy and Nick had sat in the garden in a darkening night and shared their memories of Kathy. They'd laughed and cried and talked. And since then, Izzy said that every new blossom reminded her of her mommy.

Izzy scooted closer. Annie tried to sh.o.r.e up her courage for what was to come. With a sigh, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the antique coin. Closing her damp fingers around the slim metal disk, she stared blindly at the colorful wash of blooming flowers. "I'm going to miss you something fierce, Izzy."

"I know, but you gotta go be with your daughter now."

It was a heartbeat before Annie could find her voice. "Yes."

"I wish . . . I wish I was your daughter."

"Oh, Izzy . . . your mommy loved you very, very much. And your daddy loves you with all his heart and soul."

Izzy turned to her. "Natalie could come here, couldn't she? I'd let her have my room. And when the baby comes, he could sleep with me. I'd . . . I'd share Miss Jemmie with him. Honest, I would. I'll be a good girl, I promise. I'll brush my teeth and make my bed and eat my vegetables."

"You already are a good girl, Izzy." She touched the child's small, tear-streaked face. "Natalie and I have a home in California. And the baby has a daddy who misses me."

Izzy sighed. "I know. By Disneyland."

"Um-hmm." She squeezed Izzy's tiny hand. "But it doesn't mean I don't love you, Izzy. I'll be thinking about you, and I'll call you lots and lots. . . ." Her voice cracked, and for a minute the pain was so intense, Annie was afraid she was going to spoil everything by bursting into tears. "I'll always love you, Izzy-bear."

"Yeah." It was a quiet sigh, barely audible.

She twisted around to face Izzy. "I need you to do something for me while I'm gone."

"What's that?"

"You have to take care of your daddy for me. He's big and strong, but he's going to need you sometimes."

"He's gonna be sad."

The words stung. "Yes." She handed Izzy the coin they'd found at the abandoned ranger's station, the one Izzy had asked Annie to protect. "You'd better give this to your daddy. He's a safe place now, Izzy. You can trust him with everything."

Izzy stared at the coin in Annie's hand; then, slowly, she looked up. Tears magnified her brown eyes. "You keep it."

"I can't."

Izzy's tears started to fall. "You keep it, Annie. Then I know you'll be back."

The next thing she knew, Annie was crying. She pulled Izzy into her lap and hugged her. It started to rain softly; droplets slid down the white pickets and hit the marshy gra.s.s, their fall as quiet as the sound of a woman's tears or of a soul breaking softly in two.

"I love you, Izzy," she whispered, stroking the child's hair. Then, very softly, she said, "Good-bye."

Nick left Izzy with Lurlene and followed Annie out of town, keeping the squad car a safe distance behind. He felt like one of those crazy stalkers, but he couldn't help himself. He followed her all the way to the Hood Ca.n.a.l Bridge.

There, he pulled over and got out, watching her red Mustang speed across the bridge, becoming smaller and smaller and smaller.

And finally, just as suddenly as she'd come into his life, she was gone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bank of beautiful delicate yellow flowers along the edge of the road.

Look, Annie, the glacier lilies are blooming. The thought came out of nowhere, cutting deep. He could no longer turn to her and say whatever came to mind. Besides, she was going to a place where flowers bloomed all year. The thought came out of nowhere, cutting deep. He could no longer turn to her and say whatever came to mind. Besides, she was going to a place where flowers bloomed all year.

The urge for a drink came on him, hard and fast.

He closed his eyes. Please, G.o.d, help me hold on . . . Please, G.o.d, help me hold on . . .

But the prayer was useless. He felt himself starting to fall, and there was no one to catch him. He lurched for his car and jumped in. The car spun away from the bridge turnout, fishtailing back onto the highway, speeding back toward Mystic.

At Zoe's, he found his favorite chair empty, waiting for him in the darkened corner. It was middle-of-the-day quiet, with just the occasional clinking of a heavy gla.s.s on the bar and the low buzz of a television.

It looked like it always had, and for no good reason, that surprised him. The same oak bar, flanked by empty stools. The same cheap fans, circling tiredly overhead, barely disturbing the smoky air. There weren't more than a handful of people in the place, the old faithfuls who'd staked out their usual spots and sat, gla.s.sy-eyed and smoking, clutching drinks.

"Jesus, Nick, where yah been?"

Nick looked up and saw Zoe standing by him. She plunked a drink down in front of him. Then, with a slow nod, she turned and headed back to her place at the bar.

Nick took the gla.s.s in his hand. It felt cool and smooth and comforting. He swirled it around, watching the booze shimmer in the dull light from an overhead fixture.

He brought the drink to his lips, inhaling the sweet, familiar fragrance of the scotch. Drink . . . drink, Drink . . . drink, said a tiny voice deep inside. said a tiny voice deep inside. You know it will take the pain away. . . . You know it will take the pain away. . . .

It was seductive, that voice, luring him into the fragrance of the scotch, promising a solution to the pain in his heart, a blurring filter through which to remember Annie.

He wanted to guzzle this drink and then order another and another and another, until he could barely remember that he'd loved her in the first place.

But then he thought of Izzy.

Can I come home, Izzy? When he'd said those words to her, he'd wanted her trust more than anything else in the world. And he wanted it still. When he'd said those words to her, he'd wanted her trust more than anything else in the world. And he wanted it still.

The booze wouldn't help; the rational part of his brain knew that. He'd get drunk-be a drunk again-and then what? Annie wouldn't be any closer to coming back to him, and he would have failed his little girl again.

He slammed the drink down, threw a ten-dollar bill onto the table, and lurched to his feet, backing away. At the bar, he waved at Zoe. "I'm outta here."

She grabbed a wet towel from underneath the bar and wiped the wood down, eyeing him. "You okay, Nick?"

He tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage it. "Good as always, Zoe."

He raced out of the bar. His hands were shaking and his throat felt uncomfortably dry, but he was glad to be out of there.

He ran until his side ached and his breathing was ragged, until the need for a drink didn't consume him. Then he sat for two hours on a park bench, watching the sun slowly set on Main Street. Breath by breath, the panic and fear pa.s.sed. The pain was still there, throbbing on his heart like an open wound, and he recognized that it would be there for a long, long time, but Annie had changed him, helped him to see himself in a different and kinder light. That's what he had to focus on now. He had a life that mattered, a daughter who loved and needed him. Falling apart was a luxury he couldn't afford.

By the time the AA meeting started, Nick had pushed the need for a drink to a small, dark corner of his soul. He filed into the smoke-filled room behind a string of friends.

Joe was right behind him. He felt Joe's hand on his shoulder, heard his rough, sandpapery voice, "How are you doing, Nicholas?"

Nick was able to smile. "I'm doing okay, Joe. Thanks." He took a seat on a folding metal chair, and Joe sat down beside him.

Joe eyed him. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Nick knew he must look pale and tired. "I'm okay, Joe," he said, settling onto the hard plastic seat.

Joe grinned and clapped him gently on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Nicholas."

Nick closed his eyes and leaned back, sighing deeply. At first, he didn't notice the tap on his back. When he did, he snapped upright. His heart pounded with antic.i.p.ation. Annie had changed her mind, she had turned around and come back. He spun around in his metal chair- And saw Gina Piccolo standing behind him. Her unmade-up eyes looked tired against the chalky pallor of her face. He noticed that the nose ring was gone, as was the black lipstick. She looked as young and innocent as when he'd first seen her, riding her bike to the World-of-Wonders putt-putt golf course all those years ago.

He got slowly to his feet. "Gina," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Drew died this week. O.D." Her voice was quiet and shaky. Tears washed her eyes, slid slowly down her gaunt cheeks. "You said if I ever needed help . . . I mean . . . I couldn't think of anybody else . . . at the station they told me you might be here. . . ."

"It's okay, Gina. . . ."

"I don't want to die, Mr. Delacroix."

Before this spring, Nick would have been afraid of this moment; he would have seen another tragedy in the making, another failure nipping at his heels. But now, he felt Annie beside him, as strong and warm as sunlight. He heard her voice whispering inside him: Would you give it all up, Would you give it all up, Nick . . . the caring . . . would you give it all up because at Nick . . . the caring . . . would you give it all up because at the end there is pain? the end there is pain?

Maybe he would fail-probably he would fail-but he wouldn't let that stop him now. It was in the trying that he could save himself, and possibly this one desperate girl beside him.

He took her hand. "You've come to the right place, Gina. It's scary and hard to give up the crutches, but I'll be here for you. I won't give up on you if you won't."

A smile broke across her face, making her look impossibly innocent and hopeful. "I'll just get a c.o.ke, and then I'll sit with you."

"Okay." He watched her walk through the crowded room, and then he sat down.

"So, Nicholas," said Joe. "What's that all about?"

Nick turned to his mentor, smiling broadly. "I guess it's just another cop trying to save another kid from ruin."

Joe grinned. "Welcome back, Nicholas. We missed you."

The words settled through Nick, sifting gently, finding a comfortable perch. "I missed me, too," he said quietly. "I guess you can put me back on the schedule. Say, Monday morning?"

"Ah, Nicholas. I never took you off."

Smiling, Nick leaned back in his seat. In a moment, Gina sat in the chair beside him.

The meeting got under way. Nick listened to the stories, and with each one, each tale that was so like his own, he felt himself grow stronger. When at last the meeting was coming to a close, he motioned to the chairman. "I'd like to speak," he said quietly.

There was a flutter of surprise around the room. Chairs squeaked as people turned in their seats to look at Nick.

"My name is Nick," he said into the quiet. The next part stuck in his throat, so he tried again. "My name is Nick, and I'm an alcoholic."

"Hi, Nick," they answered in unison, smiling proudly at him.

He saw the understanding in their eyes, in the way they nodded or looked at him or leaned forward. It's okay, It's okay, they said wordlessly, they said wordlessly, we know. we know. "I think I was an alcoholic long before I took my first drink. But everything started getting out of control about a year ago, when my wife died. . . ." "I think I was an alcoholic long before I took my first drink. But everything started getting out of control about a year ago, when my wife died. . . ."

Word by tender word, he relived it all, picked through the rubble of his life and exposed all his vulnerabilities and failures and triumphs and heartbreaks. He gave everything inside him to the nodding, understanding faces in this cheap, smoke-filled room, knowing that they would hold his pain in careful hands and transform it into something else, a new awareness that would get him through the long, lonely nights without Annie. As he spoke, he felt the weight of the past year begin to lift. It wasn't until he spoke of Izzy, sweet Izzy, and the memory of the day she'd said, I I love you, Daddy, love you, Daddy, that he finally broke down. that he finally broke down.

Part Three

G.o.d gave us memories so that we might have roses in December.-JAMES M. BARRIE