Inevitable Sentences (12 page)

Those kids certainly didn’t need any more un-happiness in their lives, especially delivered by one they saw as a strong, grandmotherly figure. Moreover, Celeste delighted in the fact that she could provide a consoling environment for them, and that was the only side of her the children should know. Who was she kidding? The children consoled her as much as she did them. Only they didn’t know it.

Celeste rubbed her eyes and face to push away any hint of her own melancholy, collected the empty popcorn bowls, and headed off to the other bedrooms where the younger children slept. Toddler Matthew had kicked off his blanket again. She drew it back up over his shoulders, kissed all of the cherubs, and headed downstairs.

Celeste left the bowls in the kitchen and wandered back to her own bedroom and sitting area, her place of solace from the hectic and lively activities each day brought. At the moment, she needed a break before she attempted to find out what had put Priscilla in such a foul mood.

Celeste’s quarters, the perfect space for her requirements, were located on the first floor in the Keeper Dufrain room, as it had been called when the lighthouse was a B&B. The cozy, traditional-style furnishings in hues of blue always calmed her the moment she stepped into the room. She often nestled in a chair near the windows that overlooked Lake Superior. The two chairs and comfortable queen-sized bed were all she needed. Her own furniture, except Pilar’s piano, was tucked away in a storage unit near Gross Pointe for an unknown future need. She had given the piano to Cass Technical High School in Detroit, which was close to where Pilar had done her residency and a school that catered to gifted and often disadvantaged youth. Pilar would have appreciated the donation.

Celeste sat down, leaned her head against the chair back, and gazed at the gold-framed picture of Pilar the day she graduated from medical school. Her daughter’s face glowed with eagerness and hope—the way Celeste wanted to remember her. Thankfully, Celeste now had many young women who were like her daughters. Some, like Adrian, became especially close and cherished friends. Photographs of them and their children lined the mantel. Celeste wanted them all to find their own personal inner fire.

After about a half hour of rest and relaxation, Celeste forced herself from her cocoon. Satisfied that the children were taken care of, she went from window to window and door to door to make sure all were secure, a task she performed every evening. The clouds in the dark sky as black as greasepaint hid any glow from the moon and stars. Except for the outside house lights and a faint hint of the automatic beacon from the tower splashing across the horizon, there would be no illumination at all this night. As paradoxical as her feeling might be, given her life amid a houseful of women and children, she was unsure she’d ever get over the wash of loneliness she felt at night in this wilderness environment.

Celeste was still standing at the window when she heard Priscilla and the women saying their good-byes. The session had gone longer than the usual hour.

Celeste nodded at Lorraine and Adrian as they picked up their sleepy children from her room and shuffled off to their own rooms with the other women. They were silent, no doubt milling over the revelations that surfaced during their hour session.

Celeste had been deep in her own thoughts of being alone, childless and without Max—thoughts that flooded over her like one of those giant wintry waves on Lake Superior—she had forgotten where she was. It took her a moment to realize she was standing in her own home.

“Silly,” she chastised herself and went to the kitchen to make tea. “It’s the eerie night gloom that’s playing with my mind. I do better in daylight and sun.”

“Who are you talking to?” Priscilla asked in a cheerless voice as she entered the kitchen behind Celeste.

Celeste faced her, feeling like a child caught stealing candy. “Oh. I’m having a conversation with myself to set me straight on a few issues. Sometimes it is the only way to keep me above water.” The whistle sounded on the teapot. “Would you care for some tea before you leave?”

“Sure,” Priscilla’s face brightened slightly and she sat at the small table. “I’ll have a quick cup and then get on the road. It’s even dark out there for someone like me who has lived up here most of my life.”

“Good. I can use the company tonight.” Celeste circled her arms around herself and rubbed them to take the chill away. She thought about Priscilla’s comment. Maybe the darkness she referred to also came from within.

“Are you okay?” Priscilla asked.

Her concern reassured Celeste. Perhaps she might have overreacted to her friend’s mood earlier. Everyone went through lows in their lives. Celeste certainly had had her share. “Yes,” Celeste answered quietly. “I have never liked the dark. I’m an early morning and sunshine person.” Celeste poured the tea into floral cups that were part of the china set her parents gave her for a wedding gift, and which she rarely used anymore. Tonight the splash of red flowers seemed to be the precise nudge to lift her spirit. Maybe Priscilla’s, too.

Celeste set the cups on their saucers and placed them at the only two spaces at the small table. She picked up the plate of the leftover homemade chocolate chip cookies from the counter. “Chocolate is always good for the soul, especially when I feel a little down.” She checked Priscilla to see her reaction and waited for a response that she, too, was sad about something.

Priscilla didn’t bite on the prompt. Instead she stirred sugar into her tea and sipped the brew. She selected a cookie and nibbled at it. “You’re getting to be such a good cook.”

Celeste laughed. “I can’t take credit for these. Adrian baked them.” She noticed the gray surrounding Priscilla’s sunken eyes. Had she even slept since Celeste last saw her? “She even made bread from an old recipe I found tucked away in a kitchen drawer,” Celeste continued. “It’s called Lighthouse Bread and is now one of our favorites.”

“Adrian’s the consummate mother.”

Celeste heard envy or perhaps disdain in Priscilla’s voice. Clearly Priscilla wasn’t herself. Did Celeste dare pry deeper into her affairs? Maybe she could help if she treaded carefully. “As a psychologist, you know it’s always good to get what’s ailing you off your chest.”

“Look, I know you’re trying to help, but this is …” Priscilla hesitated. “This is something only I can handle.” She bit down so hard on the cookie her teeth clicked. She vigorously chewed and then gulped her tea.

Celeste studied every action. Whatever was troubling Priscilla had to be crushing. She’d never seen this side of her before. “Is it your husband?”

“Ex-husband,” Priscilla spat. “No.” She pushed the plate of cookies at Celeste.

Celeste reached out to stop the plate from tumbling to the floor and slid it back to the center of the table. She had never been certain whether Priscilla had actually divorced Dwayne. Priscilla rarely discussed her past with anyone, including Celeste. Maybe one day she would feel comfortable enough to let it all out.

Priscilla abruptly stood, causing her chair to teeter for a few seconds, making a clicking sound against the linoleum before righting itself. “Why can’t you drop it?”

They were quiet for a while as they stared at each other. The unforgiving wind screamed up from the lake across the yard, slapped against the house, and then disappeared into the woods with a reverberating moan. Celeste stood, too, and walked around the table to Priscilla. She circled her arm around her friend’s waist. “It hurts me to see you so upset and distant. I’ve never seen you this way. I’m your friend and I want to help you.”

Priscilla eased from Celeste’s embrace. Tears ran freely from her eyes. She turned her back and wiped her face with a tissue. “I don’t know how to make you understand,” she whispered. “You can’t help me. No one can. Not this time.”

“Trust me. There is a solution to every problem. Even—”

Priscilla swung around with such speed she nearly knocked Celeste backward. She leaned over to bring her face mere inches from Celeste’s. “Like you solved your problem with Marcus? You lost your daughter to a serial killer, remember?”

“That’s not fair.” Celeste collapsed back onto her chair.

Priscilla straightened and moved away. “You know as well as I do, life isn’t fair. Sometimes we have to make decisions that seem unclear to everyone else. Sometimes we screw up our lives so badly, there is no way out.” She grabbed her coat. “What would you know, dressed in your fancy clothes and doling out charity? Do you think that’s going to get rid of your own guilt?”

“What have I done to deserve this?” Celeste’s voice quivered. “I only want to help those who need it.” She lowered her head and murmured, “Perhaps I do feel a little cleansed of fault in Pilar’s death when I do.” She raised her head and stared deeply into Priscilla’s eyes. “Is that wrong?” Was she using the women and their children to cover up her own weakness? Or did she use the lighthouse to prevent herself from facing decisions about her life and her future?

“You know nothing of the real world. You’ve been coddled most of your life.” Priscilla’s voice grew as shrill as a witch’s and her face formed into the lines of an angry hag.

Celeste believed Priscilla was trying to give her clues—whatever was causing her grief had to do with her past and her ex-husband, Dwayne. She only lashed out at her because of their closeness. At least Celeste prayed that was why Priscilla was acting uncommonly hateful toward her. This kind of breach had never occurred in their friendship. “Please,” Celeste begged. “Please tell me what I have done to hurt you.”

Priscilla buttoned her coat. “Nothing. I’m …” She wound a scarf around her neck. “I’m sorry to tell you this; I won’t be able to help out for the next few days. Can you get Kip or Beth to fill in?”

“Sure.” Celeste was even more concerned because Priscilla never missed both days on the weekend. Suddenly, fear washed into every pore. Had Dwayne escaped? Was Priscilla afraid he’d come after her? Nonsense. Wouldn’t she tell Celeste? It had to be even worse than that. What could it be? Celeste risked one last attempt to get to the bottom of the secrecy. “What are you so afraid of?”

Priscilla’s face turned a deep red and her chest heaved in anger. “I’m”—breath—“not”—breath—“afraid.”

“Then why are you running?” Or was she? Celeste asked herself. At that moment everything and nothing seemed plausible.

“Why is everyone asking me that?” Priscilla reached for the doorknob. “I have no intention of going anywhere but here.”

Celeste wanted to clarify what she’d meant—that Priscilla was running from herself and troubles, not away from the UP. Instead, Celeste kept it to herself, fearing more questions would only provoke Priscilla further. She placed a hand on Priscilla’s arm to stop her exit, but Priscilla pulled the door open. The motion forced Celeste’s hand to flop off and hit the jamb. The contact smarted, but not as much as the pain she observed in Priscilla’s eyes.

“Leave me be.” Priscilla ran out the door and to her car. Gunning the engine, she sped away, tires spewing stones.

Celeste stared at the taillights. Her legs went weak and she braced a hand against the door. Something told her she’d never see Priscilla again, at least not as her good friend. Although the knowledge seemed clear to her, she couldn’t explain why. Was this the predicted event that had been haunting her thoughts the past few days? The notion of losing Priscilla to whatever “problem” awaited her out in this stormy night was simply unthinkable. Celeste had already lost Pilar.
Not another,
she thought. Heaviness descended on her like a shroud.

O
N
S
ATURDAY
, L
IZZIE, FOLLOWING
her usual routine, parked the food service truck outside the salleyport. She handed the gate officer an inventory of the products she was bringing from the off-grounds warehouse to the prison kitchen. While she waited for him to check the vehicle, she studied Hawk Haven Prison—a compound she really had paid little attention to, except for her everyday route from the warehouse, to the salleyport and onto the road to the kitchen.

Today, Lizzie marveled at the sight she had ignored over the past six months. A tower loomed over the center of the red-brick main house, or administrative building. Castlelike turrets flanked each corner. The imposing structure reminded her of a Gothic castle from a fantasy or historic romance novel. She half-expected to see a shirtless, muscular, Greek-god-like male on a graceful white stallion rescuing a damsel in distress from the tower window. She snickered, even as she shivered at the thought of having to live forever behind those thick, impenetrable walls like her poor Chad. She found little romance in that.

The whole building was incorporated into a thirty-foot-high concrete wall, an ominous perimeter protected by razor ribbon, electronic detection system, and eight gun towers. No one had gotten out of Hawk Haven in its one-hundred-year history, even though Chad had once tried. Most of the inmates knew they had no place to go once they escaped unless they had someone waiting. After all, the prison was in the middle of the Hiawatha National Forest in the Upper Peninsula between two Great Lakes.

Lizzie and Chad intended to use the wilderness to their advantage. This time Chad would get out. Lizzie would make that certain. They’d be off to Mexico and never again have to face the bleak weather of a November like this, or the gloomy walls of a prison.

Lizzie had to chuckle. She would be Chad’s knight, in a food service uniform riding in a cumbersome white truck, rather than on a stallion, to rescue him from his cell. Reality didn’t hold the charm of a fairy tale. Yet she had no reservations that the ending to their flight would be as happy.

“All clear, ma’am,” the officer announced. “Hey, Chatfield wake up.”

Lizzie cleared her mind of her reverie. “Sorry. I’m daydreaming of sunshine and beaches.” Should she have told him that? After all, once she and Chad were free, it would be a clue for the investigators who would search for them.

“In this weather, who isn’t?” Clancy answered. He pulled a handheld radio from a pouch on his belt and notified the tower officer to open the gate.