He stood transfixed, afraid that if he twitched he would pitch onto his face. Looking at her was like looking at the final masterpiece of a genius sculptor, working for years until his work was complete and perfect. Before, Mary's features had hinted as to what might be, but no one could have foreseen what now was.

"She didn't believe me, but I told her you would."

"She?"

"Grady."

"You're not-"

"Oh, I'm very angry with you," she said, though her eyes were soft. "Don't think I'm not."

Robert looked away, down the green of the golf course, and thought about that home in the Simola Straight golfing community that Veronica had so wanted. But that time seemed so far away now, so far back it seemed safe, unable to haunt him. But this wasn't so: The past was nothing if not a ghost. "You would not believe my last few days. I'm not sure I do."

"You wouldn't believe my last seven years."

Robert sighed, a choked exhalation. "I'm so sorry."

"She won't be home for a couple of hours."

He looked back. She hadn't moved, but still regarded him calmly, patiently. As if she'd expected this day to come. She seemed almost serene.

He said, "She-" Tears sprang into his eyes and he suddenly couldn't catch his breath. "She's-"

Mary nodded. "She's fine, Robert." She came down the stairs. "You've seen the lake?"

"Yeah."

"Want to kill an hour?"

Grady screamed and spat. Grady screeched, gesticulating wildly. He finds his way back after seven f.u.c.king years and you wanna take him for a f.u.c.king boat ride? was the mildest of her opinions. But Mary had handled her. She hadn't raised her voice, had weathered the tirade all the way through, and when Grady had finally tired Mary had gone to her, taken her hand, and whispered soothingly into her ear for some minutes. Eventually, Grady snorted in disgust, proclaimed, "Whatever," then stalked back into the house.

Mary and Robert did not speak as they prepared. Mary drove the truck to the lakeside and expertly backed the boat trailer into the water. Together, they wordlessly unlatched the boat and pushed it into the water. Robert stood there beside it, feeling useless and shocked, as Mary moved the truck to a nearby parking spot. When she returned, she took his hand to steady herself as she climbed in. He took it, trembling all over, then settled into the boat opposite her. She she started the engine, and, smiling gently, steered them out into the channel while he craned his neck, tried to take it all in.

The view was breathtaking. Carla had mentioned the houses built into the cliffs, but nothing had prepared him for the mansions, some propped on ma.s.sive stilts, hanging from the side of Mt. Renier. A few loomed over the water, and one had a rope vine attached to its roof, another a long, winding slide. "When did you move here?"

Steering lazily, Mary didn't look directly at him. "This was Grady's dream." She said this as if her own were impossibly out of reach.

"You both work here?" Robert asked, wondering what her dream might be.

"Yep," she said, and positioned the boat into what seemed to be the middle of the lake. She shut off the engine, tossed the anchor over the side.

"Why are you so calm?" he asked finally. "I mean, for all you know-"

"I've seen you every night."

He could only blink at her.

She leaned forward. A stiff, cool wind worried her hair. "Dreams," she said.

"I don't understand," he told her, but he did understand. He understood perfectly.

"I've had several years to think on it, years to piece it together."

Nearly in shock, Robert dragged his mind to Veronica, to Jenn as an eight-year old, to his diagnosis, to the missed time, to the living shadows and the scales over his eyes, and to the dreams. "You first."

"For the longest time I dreamed only of a beach, or these weird clouds."

He nodded, thinking, No. f.u.c.king. Way.

Her smile widened. "I knew I was right." Her hair streamed back over her face. "Until you disappeared all I saw was this beach, a strange sky, and a figure at the opposite end, a person waving to me."

Robert ran a hand over his face, shook his head, tried to find something pithy or wise to say, but he had nothing.

"But then, after you left . . ."

He held up his hand, closed his eyes. "I swear, Mary, I didn't-"

"Leave on purpose, I know." Again, she only smiled, this time brighter, somehow truer. "And the reason I know is that I saw you."

It suddenly occurred to him what she might be getting at and he thought, Why would she be involved in this and why would my mother have reached out to her as well?

"Every night, the figure at the other end of the beach got closer, maybe walked a few yards, or maybe I did, but every night the figure crept out of the shadows a little more."

"It was me," he said, still disbelieving.

"It was you, even though at first I didn't recognize you."

"Because I was like this," he said, pointing to his torso.

"You weren't sick in my dream," she said, nodding. "I told Grady about it, and of course she had lots to say about my mental health, so I shut up. For a while, anyway. Whenever I mention it, she gets p.i.s.sed."

Robert wondered if Mary knew the truth of why this so angered the spiky blonde. He'd known the moment he'd seen Grady that she was in love with Mary, but Mary seemed, although older and more worldly, guileless. "How often did you have that dream?"

"Oh, not every night. I guess three or four times a week."

"And what was I doing?"

"Well, at first I had the same dream. You were looking down from a cliff, at this huge ocean. It was weird water, though; it didn't really move."

Robert felt cold all over. "Then you saw me traveling through a forest, through this strange-"

"Through this huge valley covered in boulders and stones, yeah." Mary was nodding excitedly. Their eyes locked. "I do have a question."

"Just one? I have thousands." Although it seemed inconceivable, Mary was connected to him. Or to his mother. He shook his head again. It was all too strange.

"Just the one."

"Anything," he answered. He didn't understand his emotions, couldn't fathom his heart. He thought that perhaps this was because he suddenly wasn't alone in this anymore. For whatever reason, Mary had seen the place, too. And not only that, but for some reason only she and G.o.d knew, she had taken care of his little girl.

And then Mary said it: "Who was the woman who rose up out of the water?"

Robert did his best to get through it. Mary followed his story, soaking up each detail more avidly than the last. She asked logical questions so that he had to back up and fill in gaps sometimes, and in the retelling it all became clearer to him, as well.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She leaned against the slumbering engine as she listened, running her fingers through her hair and encouraging it to flutter in the wind. He didn't think she knew how beautiful she was, how breathtaking. He nearly opened his mouth to tell her, but stopped, ashamed of himself. He hadn't seen his daughter yet, but was quick to consider hitting on the first girl who'd been nice to him in a long time. What an a.s.shole he was.

Except it wasn't that simple. Here was this girl, woman really, who'd been so utterly kind to his daughter. And why?

Then came the kicker: She had listened to a story that any educated, self-respecting woman would have considered to be, at best, utter bulls.h.i.t, and at worst evidence of severe mental deficiency, but her only response was a smile.

"Got somewhere to stay?" she asked.

He blinked at her, dumbfounded. "Ah, no, I'm not-"

"Of course you'll stay here. You need all the help you can get, Mister."

"But, I'm-"

"You're staying with us. Jenn is one p.i.s.sed-off teen, and you'll have to reintroduce yourself at some point. It won't be easy."

"I'm scared to death."

"Good."

"What about Grady?"

Mary laughed, a high-pitched giggle, and said, "She's such a teddy bear, it's ridiculous."

They headed back, and Robert's heart beat faster and faster. His hands were ice, he couldn't feel his feet, and he was shivering even though it wasn't cold.

When they returned to the bungalow, Mary grabbed his hand, pulled him up the stairs and through the front door.

Grady headed them off at the kitchen. She glared at Mary. "Now he's welcome in our home?"

"I guess we should talk."

Grady's eyebrows rose and her mouth twisted into a mocking sneer. "You think?"

Mary turned to him. "We'll be a few," she told him sweetly.

"Okay," said Robert, took a look around for a place to sit, but Mary grabbed him by the arm.

"Your daughter," she said. "She's upstairs."

He nodded, took a deep breath.

2.

"What in all of h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?" Grady said hotly as soon as they were outside.

"That's his daughter upstairs."

"Yeah, and he hasn't-"

Mary put a restraining hand on Grady's shoulder. Grady stood there breathing hard, her eyes burning. "He was very sick. Remember when Jenn was eleven? The bathroom that morning?"

Grady relaxed, c.o.c.ked her head, rolled her eyes. "You know I do."

"She was burying the bird we'd bought her and sobbing, hyperventilating, almost."

"Oh G.o.d, don't do this, come on-"

"And we tried everything to calm her down, but she couldn't get a hold of herself for hours, and then-"

"Yeah, I know, bonehead me."

"You mentioned her father, and boy did the tears stop."

"Yeah, long enough for her to fly into a rage," said Grady triumphantly.

"True, but that's when we both realized she hadn't buried her father. We all thought he was dead, Grady, don't you remember?"

"Actually, I remember that Mary and me thought he'd kicked the bucket, but you, oh but you had other ideas, didn't you?"

"Don't laugh at me."

"Okay," said Grady, meekly.

"Jenn had to have closure."

"Come on, don't you think-"

"Ever wonder what not hating your father might be like?"

Grady's face went flat. She clenched her fists.

"Just because you hate yours," Mary continued, "doesn't mean we all should."