Annie drove her, and it took them a very long time to get there. Days, perhaps. Mary wasn’t sure. She slept most of the way, while Annie sang along with the radio. Mary would catch bits and pieces of her songs, amused by the energy she put into them, as though she were on stage. It made Mary chuckle to herself. Then she’d feel a little guilty at the comfort she took in being with Annie, while her own daughter had died a stranger to her.
Annie took care of her on that trip, and for once Mary needed Annie’s care more than Annie needed hers. Away from Kiss River for the first time in many years, Mary suddenly felt every bit her age—eighty-seven and one half years old. Almost as devastating as seeing the unfamiliar, lifeless body of her daughter was the sudden awareness of her frailty. She was confused, uncertain of the hour or the day. Sometimes uncertain of the year. In the restaurants, she stared at the silverware, trying to remember how to hold a fork, how to cut her meat. During the night in the hotel, she woke Annie half a dozen times to ask her why there were no bursts of light coming through the window.
The strangers she met at the funeral treated her like a very old woman, sometimes talking past her as if she were not there. Annie became her eyes and her ears and her memory. Mary would catch her dear young friend looking at her with a worry in her face she had never noticed before. Annie wept at Elizabeth’s funeral, and Mary knew it was not Elizabeth she cried for, but her. She wanted to assure Annie that she was all right, that Annie did not have to fret about her. But the truth was, away from Kiss River she was a very old woman.
She was relieved to be back at Kiss River after that long and taxing journey. She stepped stiffly out of Annie’s car and felt immediately rejuvenated by the cool, salt-filled air. She wanted to climb to the top of the lighthouse, but Annie dissuaded her. Annie made dinner for her before going home to her own family, fussing over her as if she were a helpless child.
Mary had only been back at Kiss River a day and a half when she fell. Looking back later, she wished she could say there’d been an obstacle in her path that night, but the truth was she was simply walking across the kitchen floor when she lost her balance and went down. Pain shot through her hip and arm, and her cheek smacked hard against the tile. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t lift herself a fraction of an inch from the floor.
For two days and two nights she did without food or drink. She messed herself. The floor grew as cold as the ground outside, while the fire in the living room turned to ashes and a cold front swept across Kiss River. Mary slipped in and out of consciousness, struggling to keep her mind working by remembering the names of the dozens of men who had worked at the lifesaving station over the years.
On the third night, Annie arrived. Mary heard her key in the front door. She heard her step into the living room, and she tried to call out to her, but her throat was too dry. Annie called her name as she moved from room to room, and Mary heard her gasp when she finally entered the kitchen.
“Oh, my God,” Annie said, dropping next to her, the soft fabric of her skirt brushing over Mary’s face. Did she have someone with her that night? Yes, of course. Mary remembered Annie speaking to the stranger who hung back in the shadows of the cold living room, telling him to call an ambulance. Then she lifted Mary’s head into her lap and rocked her, as she must have rocked her children when they were younger.
“Oh, Mary,” she whispered, her hair like a red veil in front of Mary’s eyes. “You’ve gone and done it this time, precious. They’ll move you out now for sure.”
Mary hoped she would die right then. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to force her soul from her body, but her effort only resulted in a deep and painless sleep. And when she woke up to the smell of antiseptic and sterile air, she knew she had left Kiss River forever.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
HREE
Paul knew he should have backed out of tonight’s meeting. He’d been sitting in his car on the tree-lined street in front of Alec’s house for several minutes now, his windows rolled up and the air conditioner blowing in his face as he summoned up the courage to go inside. The first few meetings at the Sea Tern had been uncomfortable enough. He didn’t know why Alec had suddenly suggested the committee meet here.
On the outside, the house was utterly Annie—yellow, with white trim, and surrounded by trees hung heavy with Spanish moss. It was a decade old—he knew that she and Alec had it built when Alec’s practice was finally solvent. A couple of brightly colored sailboards were propped against the side wall, and he could see a fish-shaped windsock flying from the pier around back. The house was on the sound, on a little cul-de-sac of water, just as Annie had described it to him.
The sunsets, Paul. The colors. They would make you want to write. They’d make you want to cry.
Paul started at a sudden rapping on his car window, and he turned to see Nola Dillard standing inches away from his face. He rolled the window down.
“Coming in, hon?” she asked. She was on foot. She must live close by.
He opened his door and joined her in the street, where her perfume masked the scent of the sound, and the setting sun played on the false gold of her hair. “I wasn’t sure I had the right house,” he lied.
“This is it, all right. You can tell by the sailboards if nothing else.”
They were greeted at the door by a German shepherd on three legs.
“This is Tripod,” Nola said.
Paul patted the dog’s head. A dog and two cats, Annie had told him. Not much for a vet.
The personality the house exuded on the outside spilled over into the living room. Annie’s touch was everywhere. The furniture was not the usual sturdy beach variety of the Outer Banks, but rather an overstuffed and eclectic collection of chairs and sofas upholstered in bold floral prints. The floor was nearly covered by patterned rugs, haphazardly layered on top of one another to form a comforting patchwork. Paul felt as if he’d walked into Annie’s arms.
“Don’t they have a wonderful view?” Nola was still at his elbow, pointing toward the huge window that looked out over the sound. The sunset was beginning to paint the sky, but Paul’s attention was drawn to the adjacent wall where ten small, oval windows were scattered from floor to ceiling, each filled with an intricately detailed scene of a woman in a flowing dress. One held a parasol, another walked a greyhound, a third held a bloodred rose to her nose.
“Oh, my God,” he said. He had not known, she had never told him, that these windows existed. “These are extraordinary.”
“Mmm,” Nola agreed. “She was a very talented lady.”
He could have spent the rest of the evening in front of those ovals of glass, but Nola took his arm and steered him toward the kitchen.
“Let’s say hello to Alec,” she said.
The kitchen was again pure Annie. The floor and cabinets and countertops were white, but the walls were nearly entirely made up of windows, and the windows were filled with stained glass, so that even in the muted evening light, the room was awash in soft pastels.
Alec leaned against the counter by the sink, uncorking a bottle of wine. He smiled when he saw them. “Hi, Nola, Paul.” He rested his hand briefly on Paul’s shoulder.
“The bluefish was divine,” Nola said. She kissed Alec on the cheek, touching his chest lightly with her hand in a way that gave Paul gooseflesh. Was there something between them? How could Alec have lost Annie such a short time ago and even let another woman near him? Nola, though, was looking at Alec with clear adoration that Alec seemed not to notice. Paul supposed he was the type of man some women would find attractive, with his piercing blue eyes and dark hair, and the smile that came as a surprise just when you thought he was incapable of any levity whatsoever.
He’s so sexy,
Annie had said during the first interview. Paul had taken her words as a warning, an indication that he didn’t stand a chance with her this time around. He wondered later if she had only been trying to warn herself.
Alec arranged some wineglasses on a tray and handed the bottle to Paul. “Want to pour for me?”
“Sure.” Paul tried to get the same level of energy into his voice that Alec had in his, but failed. He took the bottle from Alec’s hand and began to pour, but his eyes were drawn to the decorative white shelves between the counter top and the cabinets. There, directly in front of him, was the small blue cloisonné horse he had bought Annie in New Hope. He spilled some of the wine on the tray and set the bottle down until he could pour it without his hand shaking.
Baby Blue.
She had kept it all these years.
“Can you bring the tray out?” Alec asked, as he and Nola carried corn chips and salsa into the living room.
“Sure,” Paul said again. He separated the glasses on the tray so they wouldn’t rattle against each other when he lifted them.
He took a seat facing the wall of oval windows, but the light outside was quickly fading and from this distance he could not make out the scenes. Besides, he had to pay attention to what the others were saying. He had suddenly become the topic of their conversation.
Alec took a swallow of wine and lifted the file of material Paul had put together on the history of the lighthouse.
“Great work, Paul,” he said. “You’ve more than earned your keep on this committee.”
The others agreed, Brian Cass adding that they just needed a bit more information on Mary Poor to make it complete.
“I have a few things I need to get done for the
Gazette,
” Paul said. “But I’m hoping to get over to Manteo one day in the next week or so.”
“No rush,” Alec said. He took a deep breath and set down his glass. “Well, maybe I’d better wait till you’ve all had a bit more to drink before I move on to the next topic.” He picked up another file. “I’m afraid this is it, folks. The Park Service has made their final decision.”
“Oh, God,” said Sondra. “They’re going to move it.”
Alec nodded, and Walter Liscott groaned and buried his head in his hands.
“Read it, Alec,” Nola said.
Alec opened the file. A track would be built, he read, the work to begin in late August and completed next spring. The lighthouse would be lifted up and onto the track and moved a quarter mile inland. Paul could not picture it. He could not imagine the spit of land at Kiss River in unrelenting darkness.
Walter stood up. “It’s insanity!” he said. “It’s a godawful jackass scheme!”
“It does sound impossible,” Sondra said.
Brian Cass shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, the historical significance of the lighthouse is down the tubes if they move it.”
“What about the sea wall?” Walter gestured wildly. “Why the hell…”
“Walter.” Alec’s voice was calm, reasonable. “That argument’s moot. This is what we have to live with.”
Walter stared at Alec for a moment. “I’m sorry, Alec. I’m going to have to take myself off this committee. I can’t be a party to that lunatic idea.”
He started toward the door, but Nola stood up and grabbed his arm. “The engineers have been working on this for years, now, Walter. You know that. You know they wouldn’t recommend moving it if they had the slightest doubt it would…”
“A bunch of little boys with a great big erector set,” Walter said. “They’re just playing. They’re experimenting with something they have no right to tamper with.” He turned to leave.
“Walter,” Alec said. “We don’t want to lose you. If you have a change of heart, please don’t let pride get in the way of coming back.”
Walter muttered something to himself and walked out the door.
The room was suddenly very still. An outboard motor started up somewhere on the sound, and the three-legged shepherd yawned and rolled over at Alec’s feet.
“Well,” Alec said finally. “Anybody else want to leave?”
Sondra Carter folded her arms across her chest. “I want to, but I won’t.”
Alec continued the meeting, talking about a few speaking engagements he had lined up. Then the committee went over a couple of fund-raising ideas, but energy lagged as the reality of the Park Service report settled over them like a lead blanket.
The meeting ended abruptly at nine, and Paul found himself reluctant to leave. He hung back from the rest of the group, cleaning up a salsa spill from the coffee table, carrying the wineglasses into the kitchen. He set them carefully in the sink, his eyes fastened on the blue horse, as he listened to Alec bidding good-night to his other guests. Paul walked back into the living room, getting as close as he could to the oval windows, but it was too dark outside. It was nearly impossible to make out the designs.
“Annie finished them even before the house was built.”
Paul turned to see Alec in the doorway. “It must have taken her forever,” he said.
“Not really. Once she got a design down, she was pretty fast. Come outside. You can see them much better from there this time of night.”
Paul followed Alec out the front door and around to the side of the house. They stood next to each other in the sand, Paul shaking his head in spellbound wonder. The windows were breathtaking.
“The thing that strikes me about her work is the realism,” he said. “You’d swear these women were real, that their dresses would feel soft and silky if you touched them.”
“That was her specialty,” Alec said. “I don’t think that even Tom, the guy she worked with, ever mastered the technique she used.”
Paul looked over at Alec, whose cheeks were splashed violet and gold from the window closest to his face. “Does it bother you to talk about her?” he asked.
“Not at all. She’s one of my favorite topics.”
Paul ran his fingertips over one of the windows, watching the color bleed onto his skin. “The night Olivia came home and told me Annie O’Neill was dead…I just couldn’t believe it. She was so alive. She was wonderful to interview.” He thought of the tapes he could not bring himself to listen to.
“It was unbelievable all right,” Alec said.