Kiss River. Diane Chamberlain

      “Do you have a dog?” Clay poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from her. He reached for the handle on the waffle iron and looked at his sister. “Is this ready yet?” he asked.

      “Wait till the steam stops.” Lacey put a plate in front of him and sat down again herself.

      “When I was a kid,” Gina said. “I don’t have one now. I work long hours, so it wouldn’t be fair.”

      Clay opened the waffle iron and used his fork to extract the berry-marbled waffle from the grill. “What are you looking for in the phone book?” he asked.

      “A room,” she said. “I tried a couple of places already, but no luck. I thought I’d try this place next.” She looked down at the book. “Suiter’s Inn.”

      “No, not that one,” Clay said.

      “Is that the one near Shorty’s Grill?” Lacey asked him, and he nodded. “It’s a bit seedy, Gina. You shouldn’t stay there.”

      “I can’t pay a lot,” Gina said, her finger still on the page in the phone book. “I might have to settle for something a little less luxurious than the Ritz.”

      “What area do you want to be in?” Clay asked.

      Gina shrugged. “Near Kiss River, I guess. But anyplace on the northern part of the Outer Banks would do.”

      “Maybe there’s a cottage available,” Clay said. “Maybe someone had to cancel their reservation at the last minute. That happens. Then you’d have something for a week or two. How long were you planning to stay?”

      “No more than that,” she said.

      “I’ll try Nola,” Lacey said, reaching across the table for the phone.

      “Who’s Nola?” Gina asked.

      “An old family friend,” Lacey said, dialing. “She’s also a Realtor and she’d be able to find out what’s available.”

      Gina and Clay ate quietly while Lacey spoke with Nola. She pulled the phone book toward her to write a few notes in the margin of the page, but from the conversation, Clay could tell that the news was not good. Lacey hung up the phone and wrinkled her freckled nose at their guest.

      “She could only find one cottage available,” she said, reading from her notes. “It’s soundside in Duck and it’s sixteen hundred dollars a week.”

      Gina shook her head. “I can’t do it, then,” she said. “But if I can’t find something here, maybe there’d be a room available on the other side of that long bridge. That would be close enough, and—”

      “Stay here,” Clay said, the words surprising him as they slipped out of his mouth. He didn’t need to look at Lacey to know she was astonished by the invitation, but he also knew she wouldn’t mind. She’d probably been thinking the same thing herself, but had been afraid to suggest it because of how he might react. “You can rent the room you’re in for a hundred a week,” he said.

      “I … I …” Gina stammered. “That’s so nice of you.” She looked at Lacey. “Are you sure that’s all right with you? Do you two want to talk it over in private, or—”

      “It’s great with me,” Lacey interrupted her.

      “You have to charge more than that, though,” Gina said. “I’m not that broke. I can—”

      “It’s a token amount,” Clay said. “We’ll put it into the keeper’s house conservation fund.” He was aware he was not acting rationally, but he hadn’t felt rational in a long, long time.

      “Well, thanks,” Gina said. Her hand shook a bit as she lifted her glass of orange juice to her lips. She took a sip, then set it down again. “That’s a huge relief to me. I really appreciate it.”

      “No problem,” Clay said. He extracted another waffle from the iron and offered it to Gina, but she shook her head again. He put it on his own plate, then poured more batter into the grill.

      “Do you mind a check from my bank in Bellingham?” Gina asked. “Or I could get some money from an ATM and—”

      “A check is fine,” Clay said.

      Gina sat back from the table, finished with her breakfast but not with conversation. “I thought I would call your father today, and see if I could talk to him about raising the lens.” She looked at him, then Lacey. “It’s been ten years, right? Maybe he and the other people who objected to raising it ten years ago have mellowed about the idea by now.”

      “You’re talking about our father,” Clay said with a halfhearted laugh. “Mellow, he ain’t.”

      “You’re a fine one to talk,” Lacey said. “You’re exactly like him.”

      He couldn’t argue with her. As much as Lacey looked like their mother, he resembled Alec O’Neill. So much so, that when one of the old-timers spotted him and Lacey together in the grocery store a few weeks ago, he’d thought they were Alec and Annie. It had taken them quite a while to convince him of the truth. And although Clay didn’t like to admit it, he was no more mellow than their father. He had both Alec’s wiry build and the bundled, hyper sort of energy that accompanied it.

      “Dad’s off this afternoon,” Lacey said. “I think you should just go to his house and talk to him.”

      “Call first, though,” Clay said.

      “I don’t think she should call,” Lacey said, her tone more pondering than argumentative. “He might just blow her off if she calls.”

      “He can blow her off just as easily at his front door,” Clay argued. His father would be kind about it, but it was doubtful he’d have any interest in talking to anyone about the Kiss River light.

      Gina followed their conversation as if watching a Ping-Pong match.

      “Well, we can call him, then,” Lacey said.

      “No, no.” Gina held up a hand. “You two have done too much already. Let me take care of this on my own. Okay?” She looked at each of them in turn, and they nodded. “Can you give me his address and phone number?” she asked.

      Lacey stood and walked over to one of the kitchen drawers, then returned to the table with a notepad. In her seat again, she jotted down the address. “I’d go with you,” she said, “but today I have two kids to tutor, a three-hour shift on the crisis hot line and an appointment to donate blood at two-thirty. Not to mention bread to bake.”

      Gina stared at her. “I thought today was your day off?”

      Lacey dismissed her question with a wave of her hand. “It’s all fun for me,” she said.

      “Where do you do your stained glass?” Gina asked.

      “I share a studio in Kill Devil Hills,” she said. “But I do some work here, too, in the sunroom.” She pushed the pad across the table to Gina. “His house is on the sound in Sanderling.” Pointing to the camera hanging around Gina’s neck, she added, “You know, he used to take pictures constantly of the lighthouse. He’ll have a thousand for you to look at if you ask him.”

      “What sort of pictures?” Gina looked intrigued.

      “You name it, he has it. It used to be all he ever did. Drove me nuts.” Lacey shuddered at the memory.

      “He’s still consumed with photography,” Clay said.

      “Yeah, but now he just takes pictures of his kids,” Lacey said. “At least that’s normal.”

      “His kids?” Gina asked. “You mean, you two?”

      “No. He’s remarried.” Lacey hopped up again and reached for her purse where it sat on the counter by the door. Clay knew she was going after her wallet and the pictures of Jack and Maggie. She held