There was no way out of it—Paul would have to speak to Mary Poor. His work was beginning to suffer. Sal Bennett, the editor of the Gazette, chastised him for being late with one article, inaccurate on another.
“Are you having some personal problems?” Sal asked, and Paul knew the obsession must show in his face. His thoughts were full of Annie, and of the girl he was coming to think of as his daughter.
He’d tried twice to get a look at her. He’d lurked in her neighborhood like a mad rapist, following her once to the beach, another time to the movies, where she’d sat with a boy who managed to slip his hand under her shirt sometime during the first hour, eliciting in Paul an unfamiliar paternal fury.
He’d held off on going to see Mary, hoping that by some sign from Lacey, some distinctive mannerism or familiar inflection in her voice, he would know the truth. Asking Mary required courage he did not have, but now that his job was being threatened as well as his sanity, he knew he could no longer put it off.
He found Mary at the retirement home, sitting as usual in one of the rocking chairs on the porch, the folded newspaper on the arm of the chair. She looked up as Paul sat down next to her.
“Where’s your recording machine?” the old woman asked.
“I don’t have it with me today,” Paul said, tapping his fingers on the arm of the rocker. “This isn’t an interview. I just have a few things I need to get straight with you.”
Mary rested the paper on her knees. “Such as?”
“Such as, exactly how well do you remember me?” He lowered his voice. “I mean, I guess you remember that I was Annie’s…friend, long ago.”
Mary nodded. “I can’t remember yesterday, sometimes, but I remember fifteen years ago well enough.”
“Then…do you remember the last time I was with Annie at your house at Kiss River? The day you kicked me out?”
“Yes.”
Paul sat on the edge of the chair, turning to face her. “I need to know…was she pregnant then? Is that why she wanted me to leave? She has a daughter who’s fourteen years old. Lacey. Is she my child?”
“What difference does that make? Annie’s husband is Lacey’s father now.”
“It makes an enormous difference. She may be the only child I’ll ever have, and she should know who her real father is.” He looked into the old woman’s clear blue eyes. “She’s mine, isn’t she?”
Mary lifted the paper to the arm of her chair again. “Think what you want,” she said, turning her attention back to the crossword puzzle.
Paul watched her for a moment before getting to his feet. He didn’t leave the porch, though, and after a while Mary looked up at him again.
“I can’t get free of her,” he said quietly. “Annie’s ruining my life.”