Keeper of the Light

Lacey and Clay that had not been used in the article, and Paul stared hard at the young girl. She looked like Annie. He needed to see her again. He needed to search her face for traces of himself and his sisters. He needed to know for certain, and there was only one person alive who could tell him.

He inserted another tape into the recorder and pressed the play button, leaning back against his headboard, eyes closed, to lose himself in Annie’s voice.

CHAPTER FORTY

Olivia was moved by the poem. It reminded her of the poems he’d written about her in Sweet Arrival. She could imagine Paul reading it to her in the voice he saved for his poetry, the voice that could still other voices in a crowded room and draw all eyes to him. She remembered the pride she’d felt listening to him at readings, and the wrenching sort of love his carefully crafted verses elicited in her. No wonder he missed Washington. There were many people there who appreciated his gift.

The doctor’s office had called her earlier that afternoon to tell her that the results of the amniocentesis were completely normal—and that she was carrying a boy. Only when she felt the wild surge of relief wash over her did she realize how frightened she’d been that something might be wrong. Now she could think of little except the baby.

She read the poem over several times, even though the first reading had convinced her that the old Paul, the Paul she had married, had returned. It was time to tell him about the baby. Time to accept him back, to do her best to forgive him and begin moving toward the future again.

She dialed his number, but reached only his answering machine. Alec had mentioned a lighthouse meeting tonight. Most likely he was there.

“I love you, too, Paul,” she said, after she heard the tone on his machine. She rested her hand on her stomach. “Please call me when you get in. I have something important to tell you.”

She worked on the stained glass panel at the kitchen table, waiting for the call, which never came. The phone didn’t ring at all until after she had gone to bed, and she knew before she picked it up that it would be Alec, not Paul, on the line.

“Was Paul at the meeting tonight?” she asked him, after a few minutes of small talk.

“Yes. He was first to leave, though. Seemed like he was in a hurry.”

“He wrote a poem about me and left it in my mailbox. I think he might truly be ready to come home and start over.”

There was a short silence on Alec’s end. “I think you’re right. He said something about needing to make up to you for the hell he’s put you through.”

“He said that?”

“Something like it.”

She smiled. “I’ve decided to tell him about the baby.”

“It’s about time.”

“It’s a boy, Alec. I got the amnio results and everything’s fine.”

“That’s wonderful.” He sounded a little flat.

“Paul’s always talked about having a son. He grew up surrounded by females.” She sighed. “I’m nervous about telling him, though. Once I do, there’s no turning back. I left a message on his machine to call me.”

“Oh,” Alec said. “Then I’d better let you go.”

“No. Please don’t get off.” She bit her lip as another few seconds of silence filled the line.

“I spoke to Tom,” Alec said finally. “He said to tell you he’s sorry for his behavior, and he’d like to teach you again.”

“Really? That’s great. Thank you.”

“Do you have all the tools you need now?”

“I could use a soldering iron. Did Annie have one?”

“A couple of them.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, God. Paul will have a fit when he finds out I’m doing stained glass.”

“Why?”

She clutched the phone. She had slipped, forgetting that Alec did not know the whole story. “I’m not a very artistic person. He’ll think I’m wasting my time.”

“It’s not a waste of time if it’s something you enjoy.”

There was one more brief, loaded silence before Alec spoke again. “If you don’t see Paul tomorrow night, you’re welcome to come over here and use the soldering iron or whatever.”

“All right,” she said, but she knew she would see Paul. She had to. Suddenly she wished she could split herself in two. “Oh, Alec,” she said, “you’ve been the very best of friends.”

“You sound as though we’ll never see each other again.”

“No, I don’t want that to happen.” She knew it would have to be that way, though, that she would have to cut herself off from Alec. It was too dangerous. She might confide in him when she should be confiding in Paul. She might compare Paul to him, and there was enormous risk in doing that, in the possibility she would find Paul lacking. At some point she would have to break away from Alec completely. But not right now. Not yet.

“Alec?” she asked. “Are you in bed?”

“Yes.”

“What are you wearing?”