On Mystic Lake Part 5

Annie couldn't help laughing. "I've been cast in G.I. G.I. Jane Jane, the sequel."

Hank's laugh started slowly, gathering strength. "It looks . . . good, honey."

"Good? I wanted to look younger, but I didn't want to look like an infant. infant."

Hank got to his feet and opened his arms. The magazine fell to the floor in a flutter of paper. "Come here, honey."

Annie walked into his embrace and let him hug her. When he drew back, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped piece of candy. b.u.t.terscotch. He'd always thought those candies would help Annie through the dark times. He'd given her one when her mom died. Here, honey, have a piece of candy. Here, honey, have a piece of candy. For years afterward, whenever she smelled b.u.t.terscotch, she looked around, expecting to see Hank. For years afterward, whenever she smelled b.u.t.terscotch, she looked around, expecting to see Hank.

Smiling, she took the candy and unwrapped it, popping it in her mouth. It rolled around on her tongue, tasting of sweetness and memories.

He touched her cheek. "Real beauty is on the inside."

"That's something women say to each other, Dad. Trust me, men don't believe it."

Hank gave her a crooked grin. "I believe it, and last time I looked, I'm a man. And I think your haircut is stunning. It'll just take a little getting used to."

"Well, I feel feel like a new woman, and that's what I wanted." like a new woman, and that's what I wanted."

"Of course it is." He patted her shoulder. "Now, how about a rousing game of Scrabble?"

Annie nodded and let him lead the way. He pulled the Scrabble box out from the armoire in the corner of the living room, where it had probably been sitting since the last time they'd played-twenty years ago. He dusted off the box and set out the board on the coffee table.

Annie stared at her seven smooth wooden squares, trying to come up with a word to start the game. "So, Dad, you didn't tell me about Kathy Johnson."

He didn't look up. "Didn't I? I thought I wrote you about it. Or maybe I told you when I was down for Christmas?"

"No."

He shrugged, and she could tell that he wasn't going to look up. "Oh, well. I guess you know now. That Lurlene's the mouth that roared in Mystic. Sorry you had to find out about it that way."

Annie could tell that Hank was uncomfortable. He kept pulling at his collar, though it wasn't even b.u.t.toned to his neck, and he was staring at his letters as if they were the original ten commandments. He was not the kind of man who liked to discuss death. Anyone's. But certainly not the untimely death of a woman he'd watched grow up.

Annie let the subject rest. Forcing a thin smile, she plucked up four letters and started the game. Anything she wanted to know about Kathy's death, or her life, would have to come from somewhere else.

Chapter 6.

Nick Delacroix stood in his front yard in the pouring rain, staring down at the limp, sagging, half-dead cherry tree he'd planted last year. Slowly, he fell to his knees in the muddy gra.s.s and bowed his head.

He hadn't cried at his wife's funeral, or yesterday when his daughter had been kicked out of school, but he had the strangest G.o.dd.a.m.n urge to cry now-and over this stupid little tree that wouldn't grow. He pushed to his feet and then turned away from the tree, walking tiredly back up to the house.

But when he was safely inside, with the door slammed shut behind him, he couldn't forget about that d.a.m.ned tree.

It was all because of yesterday; it had been a bad day- and in the past eight months he'd had enough of them to know.

His Izzy had been kicked out of school.

At the thought, the anger came crawling through him again. When the anger faded, all he had left was shame.

Yesterday, his Izzy had stood in the princ.i.p.al's office, her brown eyes flooded with tears, her full, little girl's lips quivering. Her pink dress was stained and torn, and he'd known with a sinking feeling that it had been like that when she'd put it on. Her long black hair-once her pride and joy-was a tangled bird's nest because no mother's hand had combed through it.

He'd wondered fleetingly, absurdly, what had happened to all those pretty ribbons she'd once had.

We can't have her in school anymore, Mr. Delacroix. Surely you see that? Surely you see that?

Izzy had stood there, motionless. She hadn't spoken- but then, she hadn't spoken in months. That was one of the reasons they'd expelled her . . . that and the disappearing. A few months ago, she'd started to believe she was disappearing, one tiny finger at a time. Now she wore a small black glove on her left hand-the hand she could no longer see or use. Recently she'd begun to use her right hand awkwardly, as if she believed some of those fingers were "gone" now, too.

She hadn't looked up, hadn't met Nick's eyes, but a single tear had streaked down her cheek. He'd watched the tear fall, hit her dress, and disappear in a tiny gray blotch.

He'd wanted to say something, but he had no idea how to comfort a child who'd lost her mother. Then, like always, his inability to help his daughter had made him angry. It had started him thinking that he needed a drink-just one to calm his nerves. And all the while, she had stood there, too quiet and still for a six-year-old, staring at him with a sad, grown-up disappointment.

He picked his way through the living room, stepping over containers from last night's takeout. A lonely housefly buzzed lazily above the sc.r.a.ps. It sounded like the roar of a lawn mower.

He glanced down at his watch, blinking until his vision cleared. Eight-thirty.

s.h.i.t. He was late to pick up Izzy. Again. He was late to pick up Izzy. Again.

The thought of facing her, letting her down again, seeing that tiny black glove . . .

Maybe if he had a little drink. Just a short one- The phone rang. He knew even before he answered that it was Lurlene, wondering where he was. "Heya, Lurl," he drawled, leaning tiredly against the wall. "I know, I know, I'm late. I was just leaving."

"No hurry, Nicky. Buddy's out with the boys tonight- and before you jump down my throat, Izzy's fine."

He released a sigh, unaware until this moment that he'd tensed up. "You don't care that I'm late, and Izzy is fine. So, what's up?"

Her voice fell to a stage whisper. "Actually, I was callin' with an interestin' bit o' gossip."

"Good G.o.d, Lurl. I don't give a s.h.i.t-"

"I met an old friend of yours today-you care about that that don'tcha? And I have to say, she ain't nuthin' like I expected her to be. Why, to hear you and Kath-oops! I didn't mean to mention her, sorry-anyway, she was just as sweet as cream b.u.t.ter. I wouldn't even have known she was rich. She was that everyday. Like Miss Sissy s.p.a.cek. I saw her on don'tcha? And I have to say, she ain't nuthin' like I expected her to be. Why, to hear you and Kath-oops! I didn't mean to mention her, sorry-anyway, she was just as sweet as cream b.u.t.ter. I wouldn't even have known she was rich. She was that everyday. Like Miss Sissy s.p.a.cek. I saw her on Oprah Oprah the other day and you woulda thought that lady was no differ'nt'n you or me." the other day and you woulda thought that lady was no differ'nt'n you or me."

Nick tried to keep up with the conversation, but it was spiraling beyond his control. "Sissy s.p.a.cek was in your salon today? Is that the point?"

Lurlene's musical laugh skipped up and down the scales. "You silly, of course course not. This is Mystic, not Aspen. I'm talkin' about Annie Bourne. She's back in town, visitin' her daddy." not. This is Mystic, not Aspen. I'm talkin' about Annie Bourne. She's back in town, visitin' her daddy."

Nick couldn't have heard right. "Annie Bourne is back in town?"

Lurlene babbled on about haircuts and cashmere sweaters and diamonds the size of grapes. Nick couldn't keep his focus. Annie Bourne. Annie Bourne.

He mumbled something-he had no idea what-and hung up.

Jesus, Annie Bourne. She hadn't been home in years; he knew that because Kathy had waited futilely for phone calls from her old best friend.

Picking his way through the debris in his living room, he went to the fireplace and grabbed a picture off of the mantel. It was one he'd seen daily but hadn't really looked at in years. A bit faded, the colors sucked away by time and sunlight, it was of the three of them, taken in the last rosy days of the summer before their senior year. Annie and Kathy and Nick. The gruesome threesome.

He was in the middle, with an arm around each girl. He looked young and carefree and happy-a different boy from the one who'd lived in a cramped, dirty car only a few months before. In that perfect summer, when he'd first tasted the rain-sweet elixir called normal life, he'd finally understood what it meant to have friends, to be be a friend. a friend.

And he had fallen in love.

The photograph had been taken in the late afternoon, when the sky was a deep and unbroken blue. They'd spent the day at the lake, shrieking and laughing as they dove off the cliffs into the water. It was the day he'd first understood it would have to come to an end, the day he realized that sooner or later, he'd have to choose between the two girls he loved.

There had never been any doubt about whom he would choose. Annie had already applied to Stanford, and with her grades and test scores, everyone knew she'd be accepted. She was on her way in the world. Not Kathy. Kathy was a quiet, small-town girl given to blue moods . . . a girl who needed desperately to be loved and cared for.

He still remembered what he'd told Annie that day. After the life he'd lived with his mother, he knew what he wanted: respect and stability. He wanted to make a difference in people's lives, to be part of a legal system that cared about the death of a lonely young woman who lived in her car.

He'd told Annie that he dreamed of becoming a policeman in Mystic.

Oh, no, Nicky, she had whispered, rolling over on the blanket to stare into his face. she had whispered, rolling over on the blanket to stare into his face. You can do better than that. If You can do better than that. If you like the law, think big . . . big . . . you could be a you like the law, think big . . . big . . . you could be a supreme court justice, maybe a senator. supreme court justice, maybe a senator.

It had hurt him, those words, the quiet, unintentional indictment of his dreams. I don't want to be a supreme I don't want to be a supreme court justice. court justice.

She'd laughed, that soft, trilling laugh that always made his heart ache with longing. You've got to think bigger, You've got to think bigger, Nicky-boy. You don't know what you want yet. Once you Nicky-boy. You don't know what you want yet. Once you start college- start college- No college for me, smart girl. I won't be getting a scholarship like you.

He'd seen it dawn in her eyes, slowly, the realization that he didn't want what she wanted, and that he wouldn't reach that far. He didn't have the courage to dream big dreams. All he wanted was to help people and to be needed. It was all he'd ever known, all he was good at.

But Annie hadn't understood. How could she? She didn't know the gutters he'd crawled through in his life.

Oh, was all she'd said, but there'd been a wealth of newfound awareness in the word, a tiny unsteadiness in her voice that he'd never heard before. After that, they had lain side by side on the scratchy green blanket, staring up at the clouds, their bodies an infinitesimal distance apart. was all she'd said, but there'd been a wealth of newfound awareness in the word, a tiny unsteadiness in her voice that he'd never heard before. After that, they had lain side by side on the scratchy green blanket, staring up at the clouds, their bodies an infinitesimal distance apart.

It was so simple to him back then. He loved Annie . . . but Kathy needed him, and her need was a powerful draw.

He'd asked Kathy to marry him just a few months before graduation, but it didn't matter by then, because Annie had known he would. They tried, after the engagement, to keep their friendship together, but inevitably they'd begun to drift apart. It had become Nick-and-Kathy, with Annie a bystander. By the time Annie left for college, amid a shower of promises to keep in touch, Nick had known there would be no lifelong friendship, no gruesome threesome anymore.

By the time he got back from Lurlene's, it was almost nine-thirty. Well past a six-year-old's bedtime, but Nick didn't have the heart to put her right to bed.

Izzy sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the cold, black fireplace. It had always been her favorite spot in this house; at least, it had been in the old days when there was always a fire crackling behind her, always a wave of gentle heat caressing her back. She was holding her rag doll, Miss Jemmie, in one arm-the best she could do since she'd begun "disappearing." The silence in the room was overwhelming, as pervasive as the dust that clung to the furniture.

It shredded Nick into helpless pieces. He kept trying to start a conversation with his daughter, but all his efforts fell into the black well of Izzy's silent world.

"I'm sorry about what happened at school, Izzy-bear," he said awkwardly.

She looked up, her brown eyes painfully dry and too big for the milky pallor of her tiny face.

The words were wrong; he knew that instantly. He wasn't just sorry about what had happened at school. He was sorry about all of it. The death, the life, and all the years of distance and disappointment that had led them to this pitiful place in their lives. Mostly, he was sorry that he was such a failure, that he had no idea where to go from here.

He got up slowly and went to the window. A glimmer of moonlight skated across the black surface of Mystic Lake, and a dim bulb on the porch cast a yellow net across the twin rocking chairs that hadn't been used in months. Rain fell in silver streaks from the roofline, clattering on the wooden steps.

He knew that Izzy was watching him warily, waiting and worrying about what he would do next. Sadly, he knew how that felt, to wait with bated breath to see what a parent would do next. He knew how it twisted your insides into a knot and left you with barely enough oxygen to draw a decent breath.

He closed his eyes. The memory came to him softly, unintentionally, encoded in the percussive symphony of the rain, the plunking sound of water hitting wood. It reminded him of a day long ago, when a similar rain had hammered the rusty hood of his mother's old Impala . . .

He was fifteen years old, a tall, quiet boy with too many secrets, standing on the street corner, waiting for his mother to pick him up from school. The kids moved past him in a laughing, talking centipede of blue jeans and backpacks and psychedelic T-shirts. He watched enviously as they boarded the yellow buses that waited along the curb.

At last, the buses drove away, chugging smoke, changing gears, heading for neighborhoods Nick had never seen, and the school yard fell silent. The gray sky wept. Cars rushed down the street in a screeching, rain-smeared blur. None of the drivers noticed a thin, black-haired boy in ragged, holey jeans and a white T-shirt.

He had been so d.a.m.ned cold; he remembered that most of all. There was no money for a winter coat, and so his flesh was puckered and his hands were shaking.

Come on, Mom. That was the prayer he'd offered again and again, but without any real hope. That was the prayer he'd offered again and again, but without any real hope.

He hated to wait for his mother. As he stood there, alone, his chin tucked into his chest for warmth, he was consumed by doubt. How drunk would she be? Would it be a kind, gentle day when she remembered that she loved him? Or a dark, nasty day when the booze turned her into a shrieking, stumbling madwoman who hated her only child with a vengeance? Dark days were the norm now; all his mother could think about was how much she'd lost. She wailed that welfare checks didn't cover gin and bemoaned the fact that they'd been reduced to living in their car-a swallow away from homelessness.

He could always read her mood immediately. A pale, dirty face that never smiled and watery, unfocused eyes meant that she'd found her way to a full bottle. Even though he went through the car every day, searching for booze like other kids searched for Easter eggs, he knew he couldn't stop her from drinking.

He rocked from foot to foot, trying to manufacture some body heat, but the rain hammered him, slid in icy, squiggly streaks down his back. Come on, Mom. Come on, Mom.

She never came that day. Or the next. He'd wandered around the dark, dangerous parts of Seattle all night, and finally, he'd fallen asleep in the garbage-strewn doorway of a tumbledown Chinese restaurant. In the morning, he'd rinsed out his mouth and grabbed a discarded bag of fortune cookies from a Dumpster, then made his way to school.

The police had come for him at noon, two unsmiling men in blue uniforms who told him that his mother had been stabbed. They didn't say what she'd been doing at the time of the crime, but Nick knew. She'd been trying to sell her thin, unwashed body for the price of a fifth of gin. The policemen told Nick that there were no suspects, and he hadn't been surprised. No one except Nick had cared about her when she was alive; no one was going to care that another scrawny, homeless drunk, turned old before her time by booze and betrayal, had been murdered.

Nick buried the memory in the black, soggy ground of his disappointments. He wished he could forget it, but of course, the past was close now. It had been breathing down his neck ever since Kathy's death.

With a tired sigh, he turned and faced his utterly silent child. "Time for bed," he said softly, trying to forget, too, that in the old days-not so long ago-she would have mounted a formal protest at the thought of going to bed without any "family time."

But now, she got to her feet, held her doll in the two "visible" fingers on her right hand, and walked away from him. Without a single backward glance, she began the long, slow climb to the second floor. Several of the steps creaked beneath her feather weight, and every sound hit Nick like a blow. What in the h.e.l.l was he going to do now that Izzy was out of school? She had nowhere to go and no one to take care of her. He couldn't stay home from work with her, and Lurlene had her own life.

What in the h.e.l.l was he going to do?

Twice during the night, Annie awoke from her solitary bed and paced the room. Kathy's death had reminded her how precious time was, how fleeting. How sometimes life snipped the edges off your good intentions and left you with no second chance to say what really mattered.

She didn't want to think about her husband-I love her, Annie Annie-but the thoughts were always there, gathered in the air around her, crackling like heat lightning in the darkness of her room. She stared at her face in the mirror, studying the haircut, trying to figure out who she was and where she belonged. She stared at herself so long, the image changed and twisted and turned gray, and she was lost in the blurry reflection of a woman she'd never known.

Without Blake, she had no one who'd witnessed the past twenty years of her life. No one but Hank who could remember what she'd been like at twenty-five or thirty, no one with whom to share her lost dreams.

Stop it.

She glanced at the clock beside the bed. It was six o'clock in the morning. She sat down on the edge of the bed, grabbed the phone, and dialed Natalie's number, but her daughter was already gone for the day. Then she took a chance on Terri.

Terri answered on the fifth ring. "This better be important," she growled.

Annie laughed. "Sorry, it's just me. Is it too early?"

"No, no. I love getting up before G.o.d. Is everything okay?"

Annie didn't know if things would ever be okay again, but that answer was getting stale. "I'm getting by."

"Judging by the hour, I'd say you weren't sleeping well."

"Not much."

"Yeah, I pretty much paced and cried for the first three months after Rom-the-s.h.i.t-heel left me. You need to find something to do."

"I'm in Mystic; the choices are a bit limited. I suppose I could try my hand at beer-can art. That's a big seller up here. Or maybe I can learn to hunt with a bow and arrow and then stuff my own kills."