Keeper of the Light

He had not even considered asking Nola. He could not imagine spending that much time alone with her. “Well, Saturday’s your big day at work.”

“True, but what does Olivia Simon know or care about the lighthouse? And with this brouhaha about her mishandling of Annie’s treatment—it’s a little like sleeping with the enemy, don’t you think?”

He laughed. “No, Nola, your metaphor’s a bit off base.”

“Well, hon, I think there are going to be some repercussions from this. I got a lot of phone calls yesterday from people who are upset over it and want to do something about it.”

Alec sighed. “Try to diffuse it, okay, Nola? Annie’s gone. Nothing’s going to bring her back.”

Clay was alone at the kitchen table when Alec came downstairs. He was eating half a cantaloupe filled with cottage cheese, and Alec’s stomach turned at the sight. He put a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster and poured himself a cup of black coffee before taking a seat across from his son.

“Is Lacey up yet?”

“Uh-uh.” Clay looked up at him. “You look like you crawled out of a toxic waste dump.”

“Thanks.” Alec rubbed a hand over his chin. He hadn’t bothered to shave this morning. Hadn’t even showered yet. He didn’t want to miss seeing Lacey.

Clay stuck his spoon upright in the cantaloupe. “I’ve made a decision, Dad,” he said. “I’m not going to college this year.”

“What?” The toast popped up in the toaster, but Alec didn’t bother to take it out.

“I’m going to stay home a year. Lots of kids do that.”

“You have a straight-A grade point average and a scholarship to Duke and you’re going to stay home and sell surfboards?”

Clay looked down at his cantaloupe. “I think you need me here,” he said. “I think Lacey needs me.”

Alec laughed. “You and Lacey get along like oil and water.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to her. I’m afraid if I go away I’ll come back and she’ll be pregnant and using coke or something.”

Alec reached across the table to lay his hand lightly on his son’s arm. “Clay, what is it? Are you afraid to leave home?”

Clay drew his arm away. “Yeah, I’m afraid, but not for myself.”

“You’re going to college. I can certainly take care of a fourteen-year-old girl.”

Clay looked up at him, and Alec was surprised at the tears in his eyes. He had seen Clay cry only once since he was small, and that was the night Annie died. “You used to be the greatest father in the world,” he said, “but now I’m not so sure you can take care of a fourteen-year-old girl. I’m not so sure you can even take care of yourself.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Dad, listen to me, all right?” he said. “I was at a party last night and some guys I know came in and told me they’d just come from a party where they saw Lacey. She was ripped, Dad. Wasted. They said she went into one of the bedrooms with some guy and then later with another. And that’s just while they were there.”

The coffee started to burn a hole in Alec’s stomach. He stared wordlessly at his son.

“They didn’t know who the guys were or I would have found them and beat the shit out of them.”

“Okay,” Alec said. “Thank you for telling me. Let this be my problem, though, all right? I’ll handle it. I’m her father, not you.” He reached for the toast, thinking of Annie. She would never have forced Clay to go to school if he didn’t want to. “The choice is yours about college, Clay, but don’t stay here because of Lacey.”

He turned on his answering machine to take the calls from friends and acquaintances incensed over the way Olivia had managed Annie’s case in the ER, angered by something they knew nothing about. Then he showered and shaved in an at tempt to pull himself together, struggling unsuccessfully to keep his mind off the image of Lacey in a strange bedroom, being pawed at. Used.

He woke her at noon. Her face was puffy and pale, and she groaned when she opened her eyes. He’d left the overhead light off and the shades pulled, but still the faint light made her wince. She sat up slowly, leaning against the headboard, the china doll lying face down at her side.

“You wanted to talk to me last night,” he said. He would be careful not to call her Annie.

“I don’t remember,” she said in the sullen voice he had come to equate with her lately. There was a string of hickeys, red and round, on her neck, disappearing under the neckline of her T-shirt.

“I think we do need to talk.”

“Not now. I don’t feel well.”

“You’re hungover, and that’s one of the things we need to talk about. You’re way too young to be drinking.” He cursed himself as she frowned. Wasn’t he going to start this conversation by telling her he loved her?

“I only had one beer,” she said, and tempted though he was to accuse her of lying, he bit his tongue.

He picked up the doll and rested it on his lap. Its brown eyes were painted on; they stared blankly at the ceiling. Alec looked back at his daughter. “I was thinking last night that it’s been a while since I told you I loved you,” he said.

She dropped her eyes to the blanket covering her knees and picked at a thread coming loose from the binding. She’d made a tactical error in cutting her hair—it was no longer long enough to cover her eyes.

“I do, Lace. Very much. And I’m worried about you. Clay told me that some of his friends saw you…go into a bedroom with a couple of different guys last night.”

Her face shot up. There was alarm in her eyes, but she attempted a laugh. “They must have me mixed up with