Diane Chamberlain - Her Mother's Shadow

“Should I wrap each of these separately?” Rick held up the three gel pens they had bought for Jessica.

“Sure,” Lacey said. “It will be more fun for her to have a bunch of things to open, don’t you think?”

She and Rick had shopped most of the afternoon, picking up small gifts to send to Jessica. Little things like pens and magazines, tiny jigsaw puzzles and one of Lacey’s kaleidoscopes, gifts that could help her while away her time in the hospital. Lacey planned to put all the wrapped gifts into one big box and ship it to her. It had been kind of Rick to go shopping with her, and he’d seemed to get into it, picking up things on his own that he thought someone like Jessica might enjoy. Adding the kaleidoscope had been his idea.

A car door slammed shut in the parking lot, and Sasha was immediately on his feet, nose pressed against the screen and tail wagging. It was too soon for either Clay or Gina to be home, and Lacey got up to walk over to the door.

Her father was walking—strolling, really—toward the house. His head was down, his hands in his pockets. He was not a stroller. He always moved quickly, like Clay, and the sight of him like this scared her.

She pushed open the door and stepped onto the porch.

“Dad?” she called.

He looked up from his pensive staring at the sand and waved to her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, as he neared the house.

“Let’s go inside.” He reached past her for the handle of the screened door. “Go on in,” he said.

He followed her into the kitchen, and Rick was quick to stand up.

“Dad, this is Rick Tenley,” she said. “Rick, this is my father, Alec O’Neill.”

“Hello, Dr. O’Neill.” Rick held out his hand, and Alec shook it, frank curiosity on his face, but the expression disappeared quickly as his somber look returned.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again. Her heart was beating hard, and she thought of Rani’s little heart, so newly repaired and delicate. “Please tell me Rani’s okay.”

“Rani’s fine.” Her father touched her shoulder. “Sit down,” he said, and she dropped into the chair Rick pulled out for her.

“Nola just called me,” her father said. “She was trying to reach you, but didn’t have your number out here.”

All of a sudden, she knew. “It’s Jessica,” she said.

Her father leaned against the kitchen counter and nodded. “She died this morning, honey. I’m sorry.”

Lacey leaped to her feet so quickly that Sasha started barking at her. “Oh, Dad, no!” she said. “How could that happen? She sounded so good when I talked to her yesterday.”

“They think it was a blood clot from the surgery,” her father said. “It was fast. She probably didn’t even know what hit her.”

That’s what they had said about her mother, but her mother had known. Lacey would never forget the look of surprise on her face.

“Oh, God, I don’t believe it.” She sat down again, one elbow on the table, her fist pressed to her mouth. She was not aware of crying until she felt the tears falling over her clenched fingers. Rick rested his hand on her back. She knew he was trying to console her, but his touch felt like more of an intrusion than comfort.

“Nola said they weren’t sure about arrangements for a service yet,” her father said, “but that it would probably be Monday.”

“I’ll go,” Lacey said into her fist. “I have to go.” She turned toward her father and saw that he looked tired and drained. The O’Neill family had become all too accustomed to coping with unexpected loss. “How’s Nola taking it?” she asked.

“She’s in a lot of pain, as you can imagine. I had trouble understanding her, she was crying so hard. Oh.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a piece of paper, handing it to her. “She left this number in case you wanted to call her,” he said.

Lacey took the piece of paper from his hand and stared at it numbly.

“I have to get back to the office, hon,” her father said. “I still have some appointments today, but I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

“Thank you.” She knew he had done some major shuffling of his patients to be able to make the trip to Kiss River.

Her father turned his attention to Rick. “How do you know Lacey, Rick?” he asked.

“We met at her studio,” Rick said.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” Her father surprised her with the words. “I’m glad Lacey’s not alone right now.”

After Alec left, Rick began unwrapping the items they had bought. “I’ll return these things for you,” he said.

She glanced at the puzzles and pens without seeing them. “You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“I want to. I know there’s not a lot else I can do to help out right now.” He stood up and began digging through the trash can beneath the sink for the receipts. “I’d like to go with you to Arizona,” he said as he pawed through the trash.

“Thank you, but no.” She didn’t want him there. He would feel like more of a liability than an asset. She stood up, the piece of paper her father had given her in her hand. “I’m going up to my room to call Nola,” she said. “You don’t have to stay.”

He looked up from his work in the trash can. “Your father didn’t want you to be alone,” he said.

“I’ll be okay. Gina and Clay will be home soon. And I really just want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.”

He put his hands in his pockets, worry on his face. “It’s not even four-thirty,” he said.

She shut her eyes, drained of energy to explain her need for time to herself. “I just want to go to bed,” she said, and it came out like a plea.

He nodded. “All right.” He slid the trash can back under the sink, then walked over to her and hugged her tightly, and all she could think about was having him leave so that she could fall apart in peace.

Once he was gone, she carried the cordless phone upstairs and crawled, still dressed in her blue T-shirt and striped capris, into her bed. A breeze billowed the sheer curtains into the room, but it was still too hot for more than a sheet. She pulled the box of tissues from the night table to her bed. Hugging her arms across her chest, she thought, Should I let myself break down before or after I talk to Nola?

Without making a decision, she dialed the number on the piece of paper. A woman with a quiet voice answered.

“I’m trying to reach Nola Dillard,” Lacey said. “This is Lacey O’Neill.”

Her name seemed to mean nothing to the woman. “Nola’s lying down,” she nearly whispered. “Can I have her call you when she gets up?”

“Yes, I’m calling from the east coast, but please tell her to call me any time,” Lacey said. “No matter what time it is here, all right?” She gave the woman her phone number and made her repeat it back to her. For once in her life, she wanted to talk to Nola Dillard. She needed to talk to someone else who loved Jessica.

Once she hung up the phone, her tears started. They lasted for five or six minutes, then faded away, and just when she thought she was done with them, she pictured Jessica’s smile and thought about the fear and disbelief Mackenzie was enduring, and her sobbing started again.

She’d long ago given up asking why things like this happened. Her mother had died from a bullet meant for someone else. Her sister-in-law, Terri—Clay’s first wife—had died while doing search-and-rescue work. The losses seemed so random, so meaningless—although once this past year, she’d wondered if her mother’s death had been fitting punishment for all the cheating she’d done during her marriage. If God existed, though, she refused to believe he worked that way.