Her Mother's Shadow. Diane Chamberlain

that Jessica was right to keep the identity of the baby’s father to herself. Bobby was crazy. Undoubtably, he would have talked her into an abortion so he could rid himself of the problem. Nola had tried to talk Jessica into an abortion herself, but Lacey had persuaded her not to do it. Lacey had only recently lost her mother, and the thought of yet another life being wiped off the planet, no matter how tiny and unformed that life might have been, was unbearable to her. Jessica agreed. She had turned fifteen by then, and there was no way any doctor would take that baby against her will. So Nola arranged for her to leave the Outer Banks, spiriting her away to an aunt in Phoenix so that her expanding belly would not be a source of gossip and shame for Nola, a prominent real estate agent.

      When Lacey was sixteen, she learned that Tom was her biological father and her feelings about Jessica keeping the identity of Mackenzie’s father to herself changed. A child needed to know who her father was, even if knowing the truth created more problems than it solved. And a man needed to know that he was responsible for a child. The subject of Mackenzie’s paternity had nearly caused a falling-out between her and Jessica. As recently as Mackenzie’s eleventh birthday this past April, Lacey had once again brought it up with her. “You really should tell Bobby Asher,” she’d said. “Mackenzie’s getting old enough to know the truth.” As always, Jessica had adamantly refused to even consider it.

      She knew Jessica had told Mackenzie that her father was someone she’d seen for a short time and that she didn’t know where he was. That was true, but he was findable. Anyone was findable. Lacey tried to picture Bobby Asher now—he would be nearly thirty, Clay’s age, but the only image that came to her mind was of a long-haired man in need of a bath, standing at a corner of a busy Richmond street, holding a bowl out to drivers passing by, the sign at his side reading: Homeless. Please Help. That was surely the direction in which he’d been heading.

      When she finally reached Kiss River, she was glad to see that the chain across the driveway was already down and she wouldn’t need to get out of the car to unhook it. She turned onto the shaded lane and sped over the ruts, spraying gravel behind her, not really caring about anything other than getting to the phone.

      Clay’s Jeep was next to Gina’s van in the parking lot, and she knew he was either in the woods with one of his search-and-rescue trainees or in the house waiting for a client to arrive. She jumped out of her car and ran across the sand toward the house.

      Clay and Gina were in the kitchen when she pulled open the screen door, and Gina lifted a finger to her lips.

      “Shh,” she said. “I just got her down for her nap.”

      Clay was sweeping the always-sandy kitchen floor and he looked up from his task. “What’s wrong?” he asked, and she knew her worry was showing in her face.

      “Jessica and Mackenzie were in an accident,” she said. “They’re alive, but Jessica was hurt.” She rattled off Jessica’s injuries to the best of her memory. “I’m going to try to call her at the hospital.”

      “Whose fault was the accident?” Clay asked, as if it mattered.

      “Drunk driver.” Dropping her purse on the table, she reached for the cordless phone and dialed Information.

      “Who’s Jessica?” Gina asked Clay.

      “An old friend of Lacey’s,” he said. “She was crazy. She got pregnant when she was fourteen, and I think she used every drug in the book that summer.”

      “She’s completely different now.” Lacey felt tears burn her eyes as she waited to get a human being on the line. She didn’t know the name of a single hospital in Phoenix, much less which one Jessica was in. “Besides,” she added, “you were not so staid yourself.” She was annoyed at the speed with which her brother jumped to judge her friend.

      “My guy?” Gina asked, putting her arm around Clay’s shoulders and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Did you have a wild side back then?”

      “Lacey was so wasted that summer that she wouldn’t have known what I was doing,” Clay said.

      She had known, though. She’d been at parties where she’d watched her older brother drink himself into the adolescent oblivion that was typical of the other graduating seniors that year. True, he’d only used alcohol, at least to the best of her knowledge, while she and her friends had dabbled in marijuana and an occasional tab of LSD. Some of the rowdier kids had actually used crack. But Clay had been old enough to pass himself off as a responsible adult when he needed to. She—and Jessica—had simply been a mess.

      Finally, a male voice came on the phone. He gave her the numbers for three different hospitals and she wrote them down on a piece of paper Gina slipped onto the counter in front of her.

      “I’m going to call her from the studio,” she said, clutching the paper in her hand as she headed out of the kitchen in the direction of the sunroom.

      “Good luck,” Gina called after her, and as Lacey walked through the living room, she could hear her sister-in-law chastising Clay for his insensitivity.

      Sunlight poured into her small home studio, filling it with color from the panels of glass hanging in the windows. The room was at the back of the keeper’s house, away from the ocean and the lighthouse. Her view was of the stretch of sand between the house and the scrubby maritime growth in the distance. There were two worktables, one where she drew her designs out on paper, the other where she cut glass. Sitting down at that second table, she reached for the phone and dialed one of the numbers on the list.

      “She’s in the ICU,” the hospital operator told her after Lacey gave her Jessica’s name. “No phones in the rooms up there.”

      The ICU. She pictured machines and tubes. Respirators and EKGs. Poor Jess.

      “Can I find out how she’s doing?” Lacey asked. “Maybe talk to a nurse?”

      “Hold on.” The operator sounded sick of her job. “I’ll connect you to the ICU.”

      A woman answered quickly, her voice friendly and upbeat.

      “Hello,” Lacey said. “I’m calling to find out how one of your patients is doing. Jessica Dillard.”

      “Are you family?” the woman asked.

      “Nearly,” Lacey said. “A very close friend.”

      “Her condition’s been upgraded from critical to serious,” the woman said.

      “Critical!” Lacey said. “I had no idea it was that bad.”

      “She’s doing much better now,” the woman reassured her. “We’ll be moving her out of the ICU sometime this afternoon. Would you like to speak with her? I can carry the cordless into her room.”

      “Oh, yes, please,” Lacey said. Jessica was well enough to talk. Thank God.

      A few moments passed, and she could hear a rustling sound. The next voice she heard on the phone was weak but familiar.

      “Hello?” Jessica said.

      “Jess, it’s Lacey.”

      “Lacey.” She sounded tired. Maybe half-asleep. “You’re so sweet to call.”

      “How do you feel? Are you in terrible pain?”

      She was slow to answer. “I think I would be if they weren’t pumping me with drugs,” she said. “How did you know I was here? Did Mom call you?”

      “She came into the studio to tell me about the accident and that she’s going out there to help with Mackenzie.”

      “Poor Mackenzie,” Jessica said. “I think it was worse for her than for me, since I was knocked out and don’t remember a thing.”

      “Do you want me to come out, too?” Lacey asked. “I can, you know. I mean, Dad has enough help that he can get by for a few days without—”

      “No,” Jessica said. “I’ll be fine. But