It seemed silly to take four cars, but the others had come by themselves, and I didn’t want to make anyone drive the ten miles back to the lighthouse later in order to drop me off. I pulled into the rear of our little convoy, and we headed into the night. Two deer watched us pass from the row of pine trees lining the long driveway to the lighthouse. It was a Wednesday evening in late September. Only a scattering of cars were in the parking lot at Jake’s. Inside, a few customers lingered over their meal in the dining room, but the bar area was empty. The four of us sat ourselves at a big round table by the windows, looking over the dark expanse of Roanoke Sound to Roanoke Island. Lights twinkled on the far shore and the fourth-order Fresnel lens of the lighthouse flashed its rhythm. Outside, lamps were lit along the wood railings, and the soft murmur of conversation came from tables on the deck.
“Hey, Butch, Connor. Whatchya havin’?” the bartender called to us.
I ordered a small glass of white wine, and Butch and Connor asked for beers. Stephanie ordered a double scotch on the rocks. I saw Butch—the cop—raise his eyebrows at that, but he said nothing.
Connor had taken the chair that put his back to the windows. “Don’t look now,” I said, “but isn’t that Doug Whiteside having dinner on the deck?”
Butch had the seat in the corner, back to the wall as always. He glanced outside. “Yup.”
“Who’s that with him?” I asked.
“Jack Ambridge. He’s on the police board. The other guy is Whiteside’s campaign manager. I can’t remember his name.”
Connor grunted.
“Who’s Doug Whiteside?” Stephanie asked.
“A mayoral candidate,” Butch said.
Stephanie looked at Connor. “Didn’t someone tell me that you’re the mayor?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“And an excellent one too,” Butch added.
“The election’s coming up,” Connor said. “Anyone is, of course, welcome to run; that’s how democracy works.”
“Ambridge,” Butch said, “is always after the chief to find what he calls efficiencies in the police budget.”
“Efficiencies,” I snorted. “What some people call cutting essential services.”
Stephanie lifted her hands. “I’m staying out of this. I don’t know enough to comment. Although I’m sure,” she added quickly, “you’re an excellent mayor, Connor.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“I can tell you one thing,” I said. “Anyone would make a better mayor than Doug Whiteside. He’s an opportunist, pure and simple. His sister was murdered a while ago, and he had the audacity to use her death as a springboard to launch his campaign. I wouldn’t trust him farther than I’d . . . I’d . . .” I sputtered to a halt, unable to find a suitable idiom. “Don’t talk to him, Steph, or he’ll give you an ugly fridge magnet.”
“I’ll make no comment on Doug, his campaign, or his suitability for mayor,” Connor said. “But I’ll tell you privately that I don’t trust Bill Hill. That guy has ambition written all over him. Everyone in politics has ambition. Nothing wrong with that. Unless it’s taken to extremes. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bill is already dreaming of a presidential campaign.”
“You think he wants to be president?” Butch asked. “That’s a stretch.”
“Not for him. He’s a political staffer. They can be every bit as ambitious as any candidate.”
Our discussion of the unsuitability of Doug Whiteside for mayor and the possible ambitions of his campaign manager was interrupted by the welcome arrival of the waiter, bringing our drinks as well as a bowl of peanuts and the bar menu. We clinked glasses.
“The book club was great fun,” Stephanie said. “Thanks for inviting me, Lucy.”
“Thank Bertie,” I said.
“Why?” Connor asked.
“My mom’s recovering from a car accident,” Stephanie said, taking a long drink. “Bertie offered to sit with her tonight so I could get out.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Connor said.
Butch said, “Is your mom going to be okay?”
“Yes, but it’s going to be a long haul. She broke both legs, among other injuries.”
“That’s gotta be tough. I’m going to have a platter of wings. Anyone else?”
We all declined.
“Tough on Mom for sure,” Stephanie said, once the waiter had taken the menus and left. “Life isn’t fair sometimes.”
“Stephanie lives in Raleigh,” I said. “She’s taken a leave of absence from her job to help her mom.”
“What do you do?” Butch asked.
“I’m a defense attorney.”
Perhaps only I noticed Butch stiffen. “Is that right?” he said slowly.
“I’m just an associate, but I’m with Berton, Baxter. They’re an important firm and I was lucky to get in there.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Butch said.
Stephanie caught the tone in his voice. “You have some kind of problem?”
“Problem? Why should I have a problem with your boss getting that cop killer off by intimidating the only eyewitness?”
“Hardly intimidating. The witness was a flake. He didn’t know what he saw. His story changed depending on who was asking.”
I knew of the case. It had been big news over the summer. “Let’s not . . .”
“His story changed when Chuck Baxter paid him to change it,” Butch said.
“That’s not true. I know Chuck. He’s a good lawyer and a moral man.”
Butch slapped his beer bottle down with enough force that the table shook and my wineglass jumped. I grabbed it. “A moral man? There are three little kids growing up without a mother, and for the rest of their lives they’ll know the man who shot their mama in cold blood is walking the streets. Baxter should have been strung up along with that client of his.” Butch got to his feet and threw money on the table.
“Convicting an innocent man wouldn’t have helped those children.” Stephanie’s face was flushed. “Nor would it have done anything for the cause of justice.” She gestured to the bartender to pour her another drink.
“I hope you’re not driving tonight,” Butch said.
“What are you? Some kind of cop?”
“Yes.”
“Figures,” she said. “You going to tell your buddies to follow me?”
“If you give me reason to.”
“Why don’t I drive Stephanie home?” I said.
“See that you do.” Butch stormed out, barely avoiding knocking down the waiter coming out of the kitchen with a plate piled high with extra-hot chicken wings. “Everything okay here?” he asked us once the door had slammed shut behind Butch.
“Perfectly fine,” Stephanie said. Her color was high and her eyes shone. I guess there’s little a defense lawyer likes more than a good argument.
“Do you still want these?” the waiter asked.
“Might as well,” Connor said. The platter was placed in the center of the table.
The waiter gave Stephanie her drink, and she took a hefty swallow.
“I should be used to arguments like that by now,” she said. “I’ve heard it all before. For the record, we would have represented that man whether he was guilty or not, but it’s true that the witness changed his story more than once. Without being paid off or intimidated. Anyway, tell me about Butch. Detective or uniform?”
“Uniform,” Connor said. “His brother’s Jake.”
I spread my arms out. “Of this place.”
“I suppose I’m persona non grata now.”
“I doubt it,” Connor said. “You caught Butch by surprise. He’s not the sort to carry a grudge. We all know cops and defense lawyers can be on different sides sometimes.”
“That’s good to hear.” Stephanie finished her drink. “This tastes so good. It’s nice to be out with friends for a change rather than sitting at home with Mom. I love my mother beyond words, but . . .”
“I understand,” I said. I patted her hand, and she gave me a grateful smile.
The waiter asked if we needed anything else and Stephanie ordered another drink.
Connor lifted one eyebrow at me. I gave him a nod. I’d take care of Stephanie.
“So,” she said, “tell me more about Butch. Is he married?”
We didn’t stay for much longer. I was getting uncomfortable as Stephanie continued drinking steadily, while Connor and I stuck to one drink each. The extra-hot wings sat in the middle of the table like an unwanted visitor.
Connor insisted on taking care of the bill, and then we walked out into the night. Stephanie tripped on her four-inch heels coming down the stairs and was saved from falling flat on her face only when Connor grabbed her arm with a “steady there.”
“I hope you meant it when you said you’d drive me home, Lucy,” she said.
“I did.”
She hiccuped.
Connor helped Stephanie into the passenger seat of my Yaris, and then he came around to my door to say good night.
“It was certainly an . . . interesting evening,” I said, aware of just how close he was standing.
“Never a dull moment.”
We said nothing for a few seconds. “Good night,” Connor said at last. “You take care of yourself, Lucy.”
“I will.”
He leaned in and kissed me on the lips. It was a light kiss, more of a peck, but my heart began to hammer and blood flooded into my face. When he pulled away his eyes were dark and intense. “Do you want me to come with you? Help get Stephanie home?”
“I’m good. She’ll be embarrassed enough tomorrow as it is.”
He stepped back, and I got into my car, started it up, and pulled out of the space. When I reached the road, I took a quick peek in the rearview mirror. Connor was standing alone in the center of the empty lot. A bright light shone down on him, and he lifted his hand. I pulled into the traffic.
“Is it nice,” Stephanie asked, “coming from a big family?”
“No,” I said. “I have three older brothers. All they ever did when we were kids was boss me around, and now that we’re adults, their wives offer me the benefit of their words of wisdom.”
“I wish I had brothers.”
“Perhaps I spoke too soon. Sometimes it wasn’t so bad. You can be sure no one bullied me in high school, and I had no shortage of girls who wanted to be my friend. Not because they particularly liked me, but because they hoped I’d invite them around to our house and they’d bump into whichever of my brothers was the object of their current crush. It did get tedious.”
“You have a mom and a dad. Aunts and uncles. That must be nice.”
“It is,” I said. My parents were never what you’d call affectionate or even attentive, but I always knew they loved me, and I loved them very much. My mother’s sister, Ellen, and her husband, Amos, had been second parents to me whenever I visited the Outer Banks, and sometimes I thought I belonged more with my cousins than with my own brothers. “You have a relationship with your mother that’s very special, Steph. I envy that. We can’t all have everything.”
She sighed. “I know that. I just wish . . .” Her voice trailed off.
It was only ten minutes to Stephanie’s mom’s house. Bertie’s car was parked on the street in front and the downstairs lights were on. Pat’s battered old Neon was in the driveway. Despite Pat’s serious injuries, her car had suffered only some body damage in the crash, and Stephanie had had the necessary repairs done.
“We’re here,” I said, switching the engine off.
“Home already? Why don’t you come in for a drink, Lucy?”
“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you’ve had enough,” I said.
“I know I have. I also know that I’m going to be sorry in the morning, but right now I don’t care. Believe it or not, I don’t drink much. I guess things are getting to me.”
“That’s okay. I’ll walk you in.”
Bertie was standing at the open door as we came up the sand-covered path. The house was a couple of blocks from the beach, and having a lawn or garden was a lost cause for all but the most committed gardeners. The house was old and small and weather-beaten, but freshly painted and well maintained.
“Did you have a nice evening?” Bertie asked.
“Yup,” Stephanie hiccuped.
“We’ve had a delightful visit,” Bertie said. “It was so nice to have the time to really catch up.”
The front door opened directly onto the living room. Photographs of Stephanie at all stages of her life, from screaming baby to newly minted lawyer, covered the tabletops. Pat was seated in a reclining chair, dressed in blue-and-yellow-striped pajamas. Her legs were propped up, covered in a blue blanket. She had the same pale skin and curly red hair as her daughter, although the fire color had faded and the hair was now more gray than auburn. Lines of fresh pain were etched into her face, but she gave us a bright smile. “Lucy, how nice of you to bring Stephanie home.”
“It was my pleasure,” I said, leaning down to give her a kiss.
“I’ll be off now,” Bertie said. “I’m sure you’re ready for bed too, Pat.”
“I am tired,” Pat said. “But I’m not getting up to run a marathon tomorrow. Although my physiotherapist seems to think that should be my goal. I wasn’t even going to try that when both legs worked perfectly.”
“Who’s my father?” Stephanie said abruptly.
I turned. Stephanie was standing with her back against the door. Her arms were crossed over her chest, a dark cloud filled her gray eyes, and her lips were a tight line. So this was what all the questions in the car about family had been leading up to. Poor Steph. I knew everything there was to know about my parents’ families and my lineage. I knew where I came from. Steph didn’t even know her father’s name.
“I don’t want . . . ,” Pat said.
“It’s time, Mom. Long past time. Do you understand that when . . . if . . . you go, I’ll have no one. No one in the whole world I can call my own.”
“I am not dying,” Pat said. “I’ll be fit as a fiddle soon enough. Maybe running marathons.”
“Then what? Even you aren’t going to live forever. Stuff happens to everyone. You could have been killed by that drunk.”
“No matter what happens, Stephanie,” Bertie said. “You will not be alone. You’ll have me, for one.”
“And me,” I added. But I doubt Stephanie heard me.
“That’s hardly the same. I’ll have no one who looks like me, who shares my blood, my ancestry. Someone who knows my history. It’s time, Mom. I deserve to know.”
“We’ll be off,” Bertie said.
“No,” Pat said. “Stay, please, Bertie. You too, Lucy. Stephanie’s right. She does deserve to know. If she’s sure she wants to. I have to confess that my brush with mortality has unnerved me too.”
Bertie and I exchanged glances. She gave me a nod, and we sank into the couch.
“You said it didn’t matter,” Stephanie said, “and for a long time it didn’t. We didn’t need anyone else. But now, tonight, I guess I realized that it does matter.” Tears spilled out of her eyes. She did not move to wipe them away.
Pat closed her own eyes with a deep sigh. “I was still in high school when I met him. My family life wasn’t pleasant. I was an only child and my parents were cold and distant people, much older than my friends’ parents. I won’t make excuses, except to say that like so many girls who only wanted someone to love them, I mistook an older man’s passing fancy for true love. He was married, had a young son, but he swore he would leave his wife for me.” Pat laughed without humor. No one else said anything.
“Well, long story short, when I told him I was pregnant I expected him to be overjoyed at the news; instead he said he was leaving North Carolina. He’d accepted a job with an oil company and he was moving his family out of state.”
I threw a quick glance at Stephanie. Those gray eyes. Pat’s eyes were dark brown. A horrible feeling began to crawl up my spine.
“I suspect he’d been offered the job and was going to turn it down, but when I dropped my bombshell, he saw the opportunity to get the heck out of town. He wanted to be as far away from me as he could get.”
“So he up and left,” Stephanie said. “Did he ever meet me? See pictures?”
Pat shook her head. “No. His loss, I’ve always said. Foolishly, I wrote to him when you were born, thinking he’d change his mind and come back to me. He replied, only once, telling me not to contact him again or I’d be hearing from his lawyers. He said things, horrible things, about me, casting doubt on your paternity.”
“How awful,” Bertie said.
“I was young, and so naive. I was devastated at his betrayal. His as well as my own family’s. When I told my parents I was pregnant they said they never wanted anything to do with me again.”
Bertie shook her head. “They’ve missed so much.”
“He was from a well-known local family and I heard word of him now and again over the years. He lived in Alaska, they said, and he became a big-shot executive in his company, making a lot of money. Do you remember, dear, the time I broke my arm? You were around ten, and I was working as a waitress at the Ocean Side Hotel restaurant. It was the beginning of the summer, when I’d make most of the money I’d need to see us through the year. It was a bad break.” She glanced ruefully at the blanket over her legs, bulky in their casts. “I seem to make a habit of that. Anyway, I lost the whole season. I swallowed my pride and wrote to him, saying I was in desperate straits and needed financial help. I was so excited when I got a letter with an Alaska postmark. It said, and how well I still remember, that if I needed money I could ask your real father, if I knew who he was. I am sorry, dear. For many years I never talked about him because I was ashamed, but then I came to realize that he simply wasn’t good enough to be so much as a shadow in your life. Can you forgive me?”
“Nothing to forgive. I never figured he was some saint.” Stephanie appeared to have sobered up completely. “He never mattered to me all that much. You know that, Mom. But things are different now. I’m not entirely without legal resources, you know. There’s such a thing as DNA testing these days. It’s time he paid up.”
“Let it go, honey. What good can it do now?”
“Revenge,” Stephanie said, her voice as cold as the ocean waters flowing around Alaska. “Pure and simple. Revenge. What’s his name?”
Pat hesitated.
“Mom. His name?”
“I heard that he’d divorced the wife he had when he was with me, and his second wife died some years ago. He recently retired, and has come back to the Outer Banks.”
“Is that so?” Stephanie asked. “Saved me a trip to Alaska. What’s the name?”
“You won’t do anything rash, will you, dear?”
“Have you ever known me to do a rash act in all my life?” Stephanie said.
A trace of a smile touched Pat’s lips. “There was that time in seventh grade when you punched that boy who tried to put his hand up your shirt.”
“Even that wasn’t rash,” Stephanie said. “He had a reputation, and I was ready for him.”
Pat let out a long sigh. Bertie and I sat immobile. Stephanie waited, saying nothing, just watching her mother. Finally, Pat said, “Will Williamson. I called him Willy. I said I was a stupid young girl.”
The name came as no surprise to me, but Stephanie’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
Alarmed, Bertie got to her feet. “Do you know him?”
“A man by that name was at the library tonight,” I said, also standing up.
“I can’t believe it,” Steph said. “He sat right there, next to me, making a fool of himself while some simpering girl who’s probably no older than me giggled and fussed over him.”
“It’s just a name,” Bertie said. “Might not be the same person.”
“Right age, recently back from Alaska. Oil company exec. It’s him all right. Of all things.”
“You said you wouldn’t do anything rash,” Pat said.
“And I won’t.” Stephanie turned to Bertie and me. “Thanks for being here. Secrets are better when shared. I trust you’ll keep this to yourselves.”
“Goes without saying,” Bertie said. I nodded.
“It’s late, Pat,” Bertie said. “Can I help you get settled for the night?”
“I’ll do it,” Stephanie said.
“Thank you for coming, Bertie,” Pat said. “It was fun to talk about the old days, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”
“I’m going to open that bottle of wine in the back of the fridge,” Stephanie said, “and think long and hard about good-old-dad. Nothing rash, right? Lucy, you want to stay for a drink?”
“Not for me. I have work tomorrow.”
We said our good nights. Bertie and Pat embraced for a long time. I wanted to give Stephanie a hug too, but a hard shell seemed to have settled over my friend. She had a heck of a lot to take in, I knew. The secret of her life had been uncovered, just like that.
I was worried about what she might do.