Keeper of the Light

“Sometime tomorrow. I need to think about what I really want before I talk to him.”

Alec was quiet for a moment. “I wish you’d take it,” he said. She heard him draw in a long breath and let it out again. “Olivia,” he said, “are you in bed?”

“Yes.”

“You know…sometimes I want to say things to you that I’m not sure I should say.”

“Like what?”

“Well, that I appreciate you and admire you. That I miss you when I haven’t seen you for…”

Her beeper went off, and he stopped talking.

“I heard that,” he said. “I’d better let you go.”

Olivia closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I have to go to the studio tomorrow to pick up the oval window and make an enlargement of a print. Could you have lunch after your lesson?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll see you then.”

She hung up the phone and called the ER. There’d been a fire in one of the soundside cottages in Kitty Hawk. Three burn victims were coming in. Expected time of arrival: ten minutes.

She quickly got out of bed and pulled on her pink and white striped jersey dress. She brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair. It wasn’t until she was in her car on the way to the ER that she allowed herself to think about Alec.

She wished he’d gotten to finish what he’d started to tell her.

Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow at lunch.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Through the studio door, Olivia saw Alec and Tom standing by the work table. Tom was taping the small oval window between two pieces of cardboard, and Alec was laughing. They looked up when she opened the door.

“Morning, Olivia,” Tom said, as he set the packaged window down on the table. “I have to give Alec a hand in the darkroom, so go ahead and get set up here and I’ll be back in a minute.”

Alec didn’t say a word to her, but he didn’t need to. The warmth in his smile said enough.

Olivia sat down at the table and pulled the piece of glass she’d been working on from her tote bag. She would need Tom’s help on this. She’d already destroyed two pieces of glass trying to make this particular shape.

She cut out the pattern piece with her three-bladed scissors and had just glued it to the glass when Tom came out of the darkroom. He sat down next to her, and laughed when she told him the problem she was having with the cut.

“Well, you’re trying to do something impossible here,” he said, pulling a piece of scrap glass from the pile on his desk. He showed her a different way to score the glass, and she was attempting to follow his instruction when the studio door suddenly burst open. Olivia looked up to see Paul charging toward her, his face red, his eyes angry, and she dropped her hands from the glass to her lap.

“I don’t believe this,” Paul said, his voice far too loud. “I heard you were doing this, but I thought it couldn’t possibly be true.”

She glanced toward the darkroom. Alec must have heard Paul’s voice, because he opened the door a few inches. Olivia could just make out the frown on his face.

“Stained glass, Olivia?” Paul had his hands on the work table, and he leaned toward her, his face inches from hers. “The Battered Women’s Shelter? Taking care of Annie’s daughter? What are you trying to do, turn yourself into her?”

“Paul…” Olivia stood up, trying to think of the words that would put an end to his outburst, that would erase what he had already said, but her voice wouldn’t work. Everything in the room seemed frozen. Next to her, Tom had stopped breathing, and Alec stood fast in the doorway of the darkroom, his hand locked on the knob. Only Paul moved, his arms thrashing in the air, his face tinted blue one minute, yellow the next.

“I hear you’re great friends with her husband,” he said. “Are you sleeping with him too, Olivia? Are you doing it in Annie’s bed?”

“Stop it, Paul.” Olivia’s voice was a whisper compared to his. “You have no right to…”

Paul stalked toward the door, but whipped around once more to face her. “You think I’m nuts,” he said. “What you’re doing is sick, Olivia. Really crazy.” He turned on his heel and stamped out of the studio, slamming the door behind him. The stained glass panel hanging from the door swung loose for a moment, and Olivia cringed as it crashed against the door knob, splintering several of the small pieces of glass..

She sat down again as a stillness filled the studio, a silence so complete that when she began turning her ring on her finger, she could hear the faint chafing sound it made against her skin.

Alec pushed the darkroom door open and stepped into the room. “It was Annie,” he said. “The other woman, right? Paul’s obsession?”

She looked up at him. His smile was gone. There was an iciness in the faded blue of his eyes. “Yes,” she said.

“You told me you were trying to be more like her, like the other woman. You used me, Olivia.”

She shook her head.

“Paul used me too, didn’t he? He got to see Annie’s house and…the oval windows, and the pictures in the den. Jesus.” Alec pounded his fist on the work table. “He picked my brain about her. You did