Diane Chamberlain - Keeper of the Light

They walked into the kitchen. “The damn room I fell and broke my hip in.” Mary touched Alec’s arm. “If it weren’t for that wife of yours, I’d still be lying there on that floor.”

Alec smiled at her.

Mary told them about the hand pump that used to stand in one corner of the kitchen, and the cisterns that collected rainwater to be used in the house. She showed them the pantry and the large downstairs bedroom, along with the tiny bathroom that had been added on in the sixties.

“Upstairs now,” the old woman said, lifting her cane toward the narrow stairway.

Alec and Paul practically carried Mary up the stairs, each of them taking an elbow and nearly lifting her off her feet as they climbed to the second story. They stopped at the first room on the right, a large bedroom with rustic furniture and a quilt on the bed.

“Caleb’s mother made that,” Mary said, pointing her cane at the quilt. She began talking about the room. It had been the bedroom of her daughter Elizabeth, she said, whose boyfriend had set a ladder against her south window one night, and carried her away with him to escape the isolation of Kiss River.

Paul was not well. He closed his eyes as Mary spoke, and his breathing was fast and shallow. Olivia could actually see the staccato beating of his heart in the collar of his shirt. She leaned toward him. “Are you ill?” she whispered.

He shook his head without looking at her, and she took a step away from him. Mary spoke about Elizabeth’s bedroom a few minutes longer, and Alec took some pictures before they moved on to the next room, another bedroom, this one much smaller than the first. Olivia saw the white spire of the lighthouse through the window.

“And this one was Annie’s room,” Mary said. They stood in the hallway, peering inside.

“ Annie’ s room,” Alec said. “You mean… my Annie?”

“Yes indeed,” Mary said. “The room where Annie brought her young men.”

“Where she…?” Alec frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Mary turned to look squarely at Paul. “ You know what I mean, don’t you, Mr. Macelli?”

The Adam’s apple bobbed in Paul’s throat. His face had gone gray, and his fingers shook as he turned off the recorder and hung it on his belt. “I have no idea,” he said.

“Oh, I think you have a very good idea,” the old woman said. “An excellent idea. She loved the way you looked when you’d come over in your costume. You know, from the Lost Colony play.”

Alec turned to face Paul. “What is she talking about?”

Paul shook his head. “God only knows.” He looked at Mary and spoke loudly. “You have me confused with someone else,” he said.

Olivia could barely breathe. She wished she could do something to break the tension crackling in this hallway. She wished she could stop Mary Poor from saying another word, but the old woman was already opening her mouth, already pointing her cane toward the double bed.

“How many afternoons did the two of you spend in that bed?” she asked Paul.

“I’ve had enough.” Paul turned toward the stairs, but Alec caught his arm.

“What’s going on, Paul?” he asked. “I think you’d better tell me.”

Paul faced them again, but he shut his eyes. He took off his glasses, rubbing the reddened patches of skin where they had rested on either side of his nose. He looked miserably at Mary. “Why are you doing this?” he asked the old woman, his voice very soft. “What possible good can it do?”

Mary shrugged. “I guess that’s up to you.”

He hesitated a moment before putting his glasses on again and shifting his eyes to Alec. “I did know Annie at Boston College,” he said.

“Paul,” Olivia said, stunned.

“The truth is,” Paul said to Alec, “I knew her long before you did. We had a relationship. A very serious relationship. We were together for two years before you ever met her, before you even had a clue she existed.” There was a weird sort of pride in his voice. “She was mine long before she was yours. That blue cloisonné horse in your kitchen? I gave it to her. She loved it. She treasured it.” Paul looked at the floor for a moment, as if collecting himself, as if trying to decide what to say next. Olivia didn’t dare look at Alec, but she could hear the raw sound of his breathing.

“We talked about getting married,” Paul said. “About raising a family.” A slight smile played with the corners of his lips. “We even had names picked out for our kids, but then the summer after our sophomore year she met you and broke it off with me. The problem was, I could never get her out of my mind.” He looked pleadingly at Alec, as though surely Alec could understand. “How could anyone know Annie and just forget about her?”

Alec shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “No,” he said. “Please don’t tell me you…” His voice trailed off and Olivia rested her hand on his back. She wanted to hold him, to slip her hands over his ears so he would not hear whatever Paul had left to say.

“Paul,” she said. “Maybe that’s enough.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “I came down here one summer, years ago.” Paul folded his arms across his chest, then unfolded them. He slipped his hands into his pants pockets, took them out again. “I got an apartment and a part in the Lost Colony play.” He was no longer looking directly at Alec. Rather, his eyes were focused on the floor of the small bedroom. “I saw Annie and realized there were feelings left—on both sides. We…a few times we met here.” He glanced up at Alec and nodded toward the bedroom.

“Annie wouldn’t…” Alec looked at Mary. “Is this true?”

Mary nodded solemnly, and for the first time Olivia realized that she was behind this confession. She had orchestrated it.

Alec glowered at Paul, but when he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. “Bastard,” he said.

“I think…” Paul blinked rapidly and returned his gaze to the floor. “I’ve always thought that Annie might have been pregnant when I left the Outer Banks. She was very upset, and when I interviewed her for the article in Seascape, she lied to me about Lacey’s age.” He looked up at Alec, patches of crimson on his cheeks. “I’m truly sorry, Alec, but I think Lacey may be my daughter.”

Mary made a sudden sound of annoyance. “Lacey’s no more your child than I am,” she said. “Annie got rid of your child.”

Alec’s eyes widened. “Got rid of…?” The anger was beginning to boil up in his voice. “That’s impossible. Annie would never have had an abortion.”

Mary looked at Alec, and Olivia did not miss the compassion in the old woman’s eyes. The sympathy. “She did,” she said, “and it wasn’t easy on her either. She got rid of Paul’s child and one other later on.”

Alec took a step toward Mary. “What the hell are you…”

“Alec.” Olivia closed her hands around Alec’s arm and pulled him tightly against her.

“Lacey is the child of that young man she did stained glass with,” Mary said. “Tom what’s-his-name?”

“What?” Paul exclaimed.

“Oh my God, no.” Alec closed his eyes and leaned against the door frame as though he could no longer hold himself up. He looked at Mary again. “How can you possibly know that? How can you possibly be sure?”

“Annie was sure,” Mary said. “I’d seen her upset more times than one but never like when she realized she had Tom’s baby inside her. She couldn’t have another abortion, she said, though later on she changed her tune about that. But this one was just too close to the first time. It was still too fresh in her memory. So she had the baby. She never told Tom it was his, and I think by the time the little girl— Lacey—was born she’d almost convinced herself it was yours, Alec.”