I tried calling Marcus, but he was out, so I had to drive myself to Jacksonville. I’d had an accident the week before. I’d been parked in front of the grocery store, and when I backed out of the space, I somehow smashed into a light post. I got out of the car to check for damage and tripped over my own feet, cutting my cheek on the side mirror. A few people rushed to help me, but I scrambled back into my car, waving them away with a smile as though my cheek didn’t hurt a bit and the parking lot wasn’t spinning around me. I didn’t want them close enough to know I was three sheets to the wind. When I got home, I discovered the long, deep crease in the fender of my car and hoped Jamie would never notice it.
As I drove to the hospital in Jacksonville, though, I wasn’t drunk. Still, I’d had enough to drink that I knew I had no business being on the road. I drove slowly, my eyes wide open and fixed to the white line. There were few other cars on the road that late, but I worried about running into a ditch or smashing into a deer. I wasn’t worried about Jamie, though. I was quite sure what was wrong with him.
Sure enough, the E.R. doctors could find no problem with Jamie’s heart, but they kept him overnight for observation. I sat by his bedside, woodenly holding his hand. In his eyes, I saw that he, too, knew what was wrong, something he wouldn’t try to explain to the doctors: Sara and Steve’s pale little baby had triggered Jamie’s empathy gene. His gift. His curse.
Jamie and Maggie moved back into The Sea Tender while Sara’s mother stayed with the Westons for a week. The first night, Maggie had trouble going to sleep in the crib she hadn’t slept in for nearly a year, and I listened to Jamie getting up with her from his bed in our guest room. I was relieved he hadn’t expected to sleep with me.
I felt awkward with him in the house, especially the second evening when Marcus stopped by to greet his brother and niece. Marcus and I had made love only that once. In a sober, remorseful moment the following day, we’d made a pact never to let it happen again and we’d stuck to it in the month since that night. But we were close, emotionally bonded in a way I no longer was with Jamie, and I felt shaky and awkward when both brothers were around.
“Listen, bro,” Marcus said as he played with Maggie on the floor. “I’d like to help out with the…you know, the property management. The maintenance you talked about a while back.”
I caught Jamie’s look of surprise. His smile. He probably thought Marcus was finally growing up or that his bout of chest pains had scared him. I knew the reason behind Marcus’s offer though: good, old-fashioned guilt. In my sober moments, I had plenty of it myself. Whatever the reason, the sudden ease between the brothers helped settle my nerves.
The plan was for Jamie to stay home from work the first couple of days to help Maggie adapt to being back at The Sea Tender, but on the second day, he got a call from the fire department and had to leave. He’d just put Maggie down for her nap, so we were both hopeful he’d return before she woke up. With Jamie out of the house, my first thought was to get one of the wine coolers from the refrigerator, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop at one. I wanted to be alert in case Maggie woke up. Instead, I took a nap to keep myself from drinking, leaving my door open so I’d hear her if she needed me.
I woke up to the sound of a distant chant coming from the nursery.
“Dad-dy. Dad-dy. Dad-dy.”
I got up and walked into the nursery to see her standing in her crib, holding onto the railing, midchant.
“Dad—”
She saw me and her eyes widened.
“Hi, sweetie!” I worked at sounding cheerful.
Maggie let out a scream, flopping facefirst onto her mattress. “Dad-dy!” she wailed. “Dad-dy!” “Daddy had to go to the fire station, but he’ll be home soon.” I rubbed her back, but she twitched away from me with another wail.
My hands shook as I reached into the crib and lifted her out. She writhed in my arms, pushing me away, and I set her down on the floor.
“Daddy!” She ran out of the room, diaper drooping, clearly on the hunt for Jamie. I watched her helplessly, following her from room to room to be sure she didn’t hurt herself. I held the front door shut as she reached up to jiggle the knob.
“Come on, sweetie,” I said, “I need to change your diaper.”
“Nooooo!” She flopped onto the living room floor as she had on her mattress and let out one scream after another, punctuated occasionally by the word daddy. I stared down at her, uncertain what to do.
Finally, I sat next to her on the floor. I didn’t touch her, but spoke quietly to her, telling her Daddy would be home soon. I doubt she even heard me. I tried singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider,” but the screaming didn’t cease. Was this the terrible twos? She was only twenty-three months old. I got up and moved to the toy box, where I took out the toys one by one, talking about each of them. “I love this puzzle,” I said. “I wish Maggie would help me put it together.”
She ignored me. I read from one of her books, while she continued screaming.
She hates me, I thought. She truly hates me.
I took a wine cooler from the refrigerator and drank the entire bottle in one long, sweet pull.
From the bookshelf in the living room, I pulled down the book on one-year-olds that I’d studied so long and hard during my pregnancy. “Tantrums wear themselves out,” it said. I turned on One Life to Live and watched it through my tears. My daughter hated me, and who could blame her? I was an atrocious mother.
The tantrum lasted forty-five minutes. I heard her voice dribble off into nothing as she finally fell asleep on the floor. I got up, lifted her into my arms and carried her back to the sofa. She smelled of poop and urine, but I didn’t want to risk changing her and waking her up again. Having her sleep now would probably wreck Jamie’s schedule for her, but she was so quiet and limp in my arms. I rocked her gently, her hair soft against my cheek.
“I love you,” I whispered, although the feeling behind the words still escaped me. “I’m sorry,” I said. That, I knew, was the truth.
She awakened and the cycle started again. I had another wine cooler; I had to. Maggie was still screaming for Jamie when he came home. I heard his car door slam and cringed, certain he could hear her screams from the driveway.
As soon as he opened the door, she ran to him and he scooped her up. “What’s the matter, Mags?” He looked at me where I stood leaning against the side of the couch, knotting my hands together. “How long’s this been going on?” he asked.
I hesitated, humiliated by the truth. “She was upset when she first woke up. Then she settled down for a while, but I didn’t want to change her because…”
“She’s soaked. You’re soaked, Maggie-doodle.” He walked past me into the nursery. I heard her protest a bit when he changed her; I never would have managed. I brushed my teeth and rinsed with mouthwash as he tended to her.
“Why didn’t you change her?” he asked as he walked back into the living room, Maggie toddling at his side, sniffling, holding his index finger with her little hand.
“She was screaming for you,” I said. “Jamie, she doesn’t like me.”
“Shh,” he chided. “She understands more than you think. Of course she likes you. We just upset her routine, that’s all.”
Over the course of the week, things between Maggie and me improved a bit. I threw out the remaining wine coolers—except for three, which I stashed in the bedroom closet just in case. I lasted through two full days without one, proving to myself that I was not an alcoholic. I made an effort to play with Maggie. I’d read to her any time she’d let me, which grew more frequent. She never really warmed up to me, though, as if she could see behind my mask, and I might have been babysitting for a friend’s child, for all the warmth I felt toward her in spite of my longing to fall in love with her. Yet, I pretended. I’d gotten very good at pretending.
Marcus’s work on the Lockwood properties lasted exactly three days. The first day, he power washed decks. The second, he repaired a roof. Jamie was so pleased t
hat the third day, he asked Marcus to replace a couple of windows in one of the Surf City cottages. Marcus removed the old windows and enlarged the openings for the new ones, but he made them too big and too crooked because he was, quite simply, too drunk.
He came to The Sea Tender that evening to admit his mistake.
Jamie handed Maggie to me and told me to take her into the bedroom. I did so gladly, not wanting to witness the fireworks. I sat on the bed with Maggie in my arms. The fireworks, though, pierced the thin bedroom door.
“Did you measure?” Jamie shouted.
“Of course I measured!”
“Daddy!” Maggie scrambled out of my arms toward the edge of the bed. I held on to the back of her shirt to stop her progress.
“Well, then how did this happen?”
“I don’t know!” Marcus said. “It just did. It’s not like it’s the end of the world, Jamie.”
“Daddy!”
I closed my eyes. Please stop. I couldn’t take the yelling.
“Sloppy work, Marcus,” Jamie shouted. “It’s going to cost an arm and a leg to fix.”
“We can get bigger windows.”
“We’re not doing anything! I’m not letting you near those windows again!”
“You’ve just been waiting for me to screw up!”
Maggie sprang free of my grasp.
“That’s the last thing I wanted,” Jamie said. “I was hoping you’d finally gotten your act together. It’s about time. You’re twenty-two years old! You’re a damn drunk, Marcus. You need help. And you’re fired.”
I reached for Maggie, but she toppled headfirst off the bed. I picked her up and saw that she was fine, but her face was quietly twisting into that I’m-getting-ready-to-let-out-a-bloodcurdling-scream expression.
“No, sweetie.” I bounced her on my lap. “Shh.”
Marcus was laughing. “Fired from what?” he shouted. “It’s not like I’m getting paid. And I don’t need the hassle, man. It’s all yours.”
The front door slammed, and Maggie let out the scream I’d known was coming.
I walked out of the bedroom and held her toward Jamie, who was staring red faced at the front door, hands on his hips.
“I need a nap,” I said, handing Maggie over to him before he could protest. Back in the bedroom, I locked the door, took the third and last wine cooler from the bedroom closet, and drank it warm.
The following night—the night before Jamie and Maggie were to return to the Weston’s—Jamie got another call from the fire station. Maggie was already asleep, thank goodness, and by the time Jamie returned, I was in bed. He knocked on the door.
“Can we talk for a minute?” he asked, opening the door a crack.
I wasn’t yet asleep. “Uh-huh,” I said. I sat up against the headboard, tucking the covers across my chest because I had nothing on.
Jamie’s anger at Marcus had blown over sometime during the day—or at least he’d known better than to dump it on me. Now, he sat on the edge of the bed, the light from the hallway pooling on his cheeks, catching in his eyes. I’d so loved those big brown eyes! I wished I could feel love for them—for him—again. And for my daughter, who deserved so much better than I was giving her.
“It’s been good being here with you this week,” he said.
I nodded, although I was anxious for them to leave. I wanted my easy sleeping-and-drinking life back. “At least Maggie doesn’t scream when you leave her with me now,” I said.
He didn’t smile. “You made a big effort with her. I know you still aren’t your old self, and I just want you to know that I appreciate how you tried to…to be a mom to her this week.”
Tears welled up in my eyes.
He moved closer, taking my hand and holding it between those big teddy-bear paws of his. “What is it?” he asked. “Why the tears?”
“I just wish I could feel something for her.” I swallowed. “For you. Like a normal mother and normal woman.”
He leaned forward, surprising me with a kiss. “You will,” he said, his hand on my cheek. Then he kissed me again. His lips against mine felt familiar, tugging at a place deep inside me—a place I wanted to get to again but couldn’t seem to reach.
His fingers curled beneath the sheet where it lay across my chest. He started to lower it, and I let him, because I couldn’t shut him out of whatever was left of my heart. He fumbled in the nightstand for a condom, tore it open and put it on.
I feigned desire for him, a gift I wanted to give him, but my body felt nothing as I opened it up to him. For the first time, I faked my orgasm.
When we were finished and he pulled out of me, he swore.
“Damn!” he said. “Well, that’s a first.”
“What’s a first?” I asked, worried he was referring to my poor acting job.
“It broke,” he said, and I realized he was talking about the condom. “It must have been old.” He lay down next to me, his hand on my stomach. “Where are you in your cycle?” he asked.
I thought back to the last time I’d had my period, well over a month ago. Well over a month ago. I remembered feeling woozy for a few days the week before, a light-headedness I’d attributed to drinking too much. My heart gave a great, breath-stealing leap in my chest. I wanted to jump out of bed and run to the kitchen calendar, count off the days, hoping I was wrong. But I didn’t budge, trying to stay calm.
“I’m not sure,” I managed to say.
“That’s the last thing you need now,” he said. “Another pregnancy.”
It may have been the last thing I needed, but I knew it was what I had.
Chapter Thirty
Marcus
COKE WITH PEANUTS WAS MY COMFORT FOOD, but it wasn’t working for me that morning. I sat on the back deck of my tower, watching the waves make chop suey of the beach. The surf was high and rough, spraying my face and the Wilmington newspaper on my lap. I waved at a couple of beachcombers. Watched their yellow Lab fetch a ball from the water. Tried to pretend it was an ordinary day, which almost worked till I lifted the paper again.
Could Fire Hero Be Villain? the headline read.
The last couple of days, the rumors had started flying. The police had a press conference the night before to try to squelch some of them. It backfired. Too many questions asked. Too few answers given.
Even CNN had people there. That’s what happened with exposure on the Today show. Suddenly a small-town fire was big news.
“Is it true several witnesses saw Andy Lockwood outside the church during the lock-in?” a reporter had asked.
How did this information get out? I’d wondered. Did it float through the air and settle in people’s heads?
“As I said,” the police chief repeated for the third or fourth time, “the investigation is ongoing and we’re still conducting interviews and collecting evidence.”
“Would you call him a person of interest?” someone asked.
“Everyone with a connection to the church that night is a person of interest,” the chief said.
“We’ve heard reports of Andy Lockwood’s temper,” a reporter said. “Can you verify that he’s lost his temper in public before?”
“That’s not something I personally have ever witnessed,” the chief said.
I remembered a time Laurel went out of town to give an FASD speech. The school called me, since I was Andy’s second backup emergency contact. The first was Sara, of course, but they couldn’t reach her. Andy’d been suspended for the day. He’d hit a girl who called him a jerk-off. There were other incidents Laurel had dealt with over the years, though not an infinite number. Andy could be unpredictable—calm and cuddly one minute, furious the next. I could see him beating up Keith at the lock-in. His temper was a flare, though. Impulsive. Never premeditated.
It didn’t matter that nothing incriminating had been said about Andy at the press conference; the seed was planted by the questions themselves.
“Hey, Uncle Marcus.”
Maggie walked across the san
d near the corner of my house. I turned the paper upside down on the off chance she hadn’t already seen it.
“Hey, Mags,” I said.
“I knocked, but I figured you were back here when you didn’t answer.” She climbed the steps to the deck.
“Don’t you ever go to school anymore?” I teased.
“I had to see you.” She stood in front of me, her hair blowing in long wavy strands around her head. “You have to tell me what’s going on.” She pulled an elastic band from her pants pocket and tied her hair back as she spoke. “That press conference last night was flippin’ unbelievable, and I just don’t get what’s happening!” She grabbed the long ponytail and raked her fingers through it.
“Sit down, Mags.”
She plunked down in one of the deck chairs. “I am so totally pissed off,” she said.
“Can I get you a Coke?” I asked, although caffeine would probably be a mistake for her at the moment.
“No, you can tell me what’s really going on in the investigation.”
I watched the Lab get flipped by a wave. He shook himself off and ran in the water for more.
“Uncle Marcus! Tell me.”
“You know I’m not on the team any longer,” I said.
“They searched Andy’s room yesterday.”
I nodded. “Did they find anything?”
“A condom and some cigarettes.” She shrugged. “They took the clothes he was wearing that night. Like they’d actually find something on them.”
“A condom, huh?” Did Laurel ask Andy where he got it? Did he tell her? She’d kill me, but he was fifteen and I didn’t know how much she’d talked to him about sex. Someone had to do it.
“It was so…invasive,” she said. “Yuck.” She sounded like a real teenager. Most of the time, she seemed much older. I usually had to remind myself she was only seventeen.
“Is your mom okay?”
“No, she’s not okay. Everybody’s suddenly saying Andy’s an arsonist. How could she be okay? It’s insane.” She looked at me. Her face was crimson. “First of all, the guy at the press conference didn’t even call it arson. Couldn’t it have been some kind of accident?”