A Little Light Magic (3 page)

She dumped the clean paintbrushes into an empty jar. Enough already. She’d go for a walk on the beach and do some tai chi. It was an exercise routine she’d started after her miscarriage, hoping it would help her painful periods. They’d always been bad, but since she lost the baby they hurt like no one’s business. It was as if her body were reliving the trauma of losing that precious new life, over and over. Tai chi helped a little, if she did it every day. At least, she thought it did.

She walked the block and a half to the beach. The lifeguards had long since packed it in, leaving the wide stretch of sand nearly deserted. On the shore, a woman was building a sand castle with two little blonde girls. The younger one was just a toddler, still wobbly on her feet.

She was midcycle at the moment, not even close to her bad time of the month. But Tori’s stomach twinged anyway. She pressed her palm to her belly and started walking the other way.

She headed up the beach past the rock jetty. Breakers pounded the black boulders, coughing sprays of white froth. She slowed at a break in the dunes. On the other side of the sculptured mound of sand and sea grass, she could just make out the house she used to call the Castle.

It was funny: She’d been back in town for a month, but she hadn’t come to see it. She guessed she’d been afraid it would be gone, torn down like so many of the older houses on the island, to make way for something newer and bigger. But then, the Castle wasn’t that old. It’d been completed just before Aunt Millie had her stroke. Tori had run down to the beach every day after school to watch it go up. It rose three stories high on the edge of the sand, each floor stepped back to form a terrace on the roof of the level below, all curved walls and wide windows.

It didn’t look like a castle, really, except in her childish imagination. But she used to pretend it was her castle, and that she lived in it with her handsome knight and their dozen or so children. Her hero was slender and blond, with shining blue eyes and a soft expression. He kissed her hand and composed love poems in her honor.

She’d looked for that knight ever since she was twelve. Now that she was thirty, she knew he didn’t exist. If she wanted a castle, she was going to have to build one of her own. So she spread her legs in the warrior stance—a power pose. Arms lifted, she started her exercise routine, matching her breath and movement to the rhythm of the pounding surf.

She didn’t know her knight was watching.

Tori Morgan was on the beach.

She was impossible to miss in that neon green T-shirt. Nick stood at his bedroom window and watched her do some kind of Asian exercise thing. Yoga, maybe? Her body stretched and swayed like grass on the dunes. The wind whipped her flimsy skirt against her legs. He kept his eye on her as he shrugged out of his tomato-spattered shirt and into a clean one.

She spread her stance wide, arms lifted. Even from a distance, her body intrigued him. She was supple and strong, slender for the most part—except for that beautiful round ass, which faced him now, taunting him as she bent at the waist toward the ocean and planted her hands in the sand.

His palms started itching.

He wasn’t sure what lunacy had prompted him to take her job, but suddenly he was very glad that he had. It had been almost a year since he’d been involved with anyone, and celibacy was wearing thin. Tori struck him as the perfect incentive to get back in the game. She turned him on, and, as far as he could tell, she was unattached. She was a bit kooky, maybe, but that would probably work in his favor. In his experience, the free-spirited, flighty types weren’t looking for long-term commitment, which suited him just fine. They could have some fun together. When it was over, they could both move on with no hard feelings.

He watched her straighten, then rotate and sink into a deep split. Her spine arched. Nick had a sudden, visceral image of Tori astride his body, arching her back in just that same way as he drove himself deep inside her.

By the time she’d finished her exercise and wandered to the water’s edge, he was hard. He watched until she disappeared behind the dunes, then shoved his shirt into his pants and headed down the stairs. He paused on the second-floor landing, listening to the pulse of hip-hop from behind Leigh’s closed door. He sighed. She was probably in there crying.

Some men—better men—would no doubt knock on the door and insist on a father-to-daughter talk. Nick, by contrast, took the coward’s way out and continued down the stairs. He’d talk to Leigh tomorrow, after her emotional storm had blown itself out. It was always easier that way.

Nonna was waiting for him in the foyer, clutching her handbag to her chest and tapping her toe on the tile.

“What took you so long, Nicky? I coulda walked to Atlantic City by now.”

It was almost true. Nonna had never learned to drive, and even now, at eighty-six, she walked everywhere.

“Sorry, Nonna.”

“Were you talking to your daughter?” she demanded.

Nick escorted her out the door and into his truck. He settled Nonna and her handbag in the passenger seat. “Why bother? When it comes to Jason MacAllister, she doesn’t listen to a single word I say.”

“He’s not such a bad boy. He reminds me of you at that age.”

Nick felt his neck muscles tighten. “That’s exactly why I don’t like him. The last thing I want is for Leigh to end up like Cindy.”

He rounded the hood and slid into the driver’s seat. As he buckled his seat belt, Nonna said, “You got a beautiful daughter, Nicky. Do you wish she’d never been born?”

He put the truck in gear and eased onto the street before answering.

“Of course not. I just wish things had been different when Leigh was a baby.”

Nonna clucked her agreement. “Madonna, but she was a feisty baby. She gave us a quite a time, didn’t she?”

An understatement if Nick had ever heard one. A time? It’d been pure hell. Born six weeks early, Leigh had spent every night of her first year strapped to a sleep apnea monitor. When she stopped breathing, an alarm shrilled. Nick could count on one hand the number of nights the thing hadn’t gone off in the first twelve months.

“I love Leigh more than anything in the world, Nonna.”

“You’re a good father, Nicky.”

“I just want to avoid trouble, you know?”

“Trouble?” Nonna shrugged. “When it comes, it comes. What can you do?”

“You can get off the track before the train hits.”

“It’s the trains you don’t see coming that hit hardest.” Nonna patted his arm. “Don’t worry so much. It’s not healthy. Leigh will be fine. She’s a good girl.”

Even good girls get in trouble
, Nick thought, but he didn’t voice the sentiment. “I don’t like leaving her alone while Ma’s at her church meeting.”

Nonna snorted. “Nicky, your mother’s been going out every Thursday night for months now. If you think Rita’s at Holy Mother church hall, your brain’s gone soft.”

Nick took his eyes off the road long enough to send his grandmother a questioning glance. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“If she’s not at church, where is she?”

Nonna shrugged. “How should I know? Your mother don’t tell me nothing.”

Nothing comes between daddy and his little girl. Until she grows up and falls in love.

CrazyBoy69 was online.

Thank God.
Leigh clicked Jason’s screen name.

The reply came immediately.

Leigh held her breath. Usually Jason asked
her
that. Sometimes she went; sometimes she didn’t. They made out in one of the lifeguard stands, or behind the dunes. At least, that was all they’d done so far. She knew he wanted more.

Her fingers hesitated on the keys. If she went out before her dad got home, would he check on her when he got back?

After the fight they’d had at dinner, probably not. But Mimi’d be home at eleven, and sometimes she stopped in to say good night. The story about the church meeting was pure BS, of course. Dad might be too clueless to notice, but Mimi went out every Thursday, and Leigh knew for a fact she wasn’t going to church.

Briefly, she wondered where Mimi was going. Mimi had always been more mother than grandmother to Leigh, since Leigh’s own mother had left before she could remember. Mimi was about the same age as some of Leigh’s friends’ mothers, too, since the Santangelos tended to breed young. Which was why Rita insisted on being called “Mimi” rather than “Grandma.”

But once the hot flashes started coming last year, it seemed Mimi had gotten less and less motherly every day. She used to be a mother hen, overweight and overprotective. Now she spent half her time exercising, the other half moody and distracted. She hardly even noticed Leigh anymore.

Leigh used to complain she needed space—well, now she had tons of it. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure it was all good.

Jason typed.

<: - ) Meet me @ 12?>

Jason’s reply took a little longer than Leigh would’ve liked. Who else could he be online with? She scanned her buddy list. ShoreCruiser—that was Matt. PinkAlien—Stacey. Angel42—Julia and BeachBum113—Kyle.

OneSexiLadi. Karla.

Shit.

Jason’s reply finally popped up. <12 it is, babe ; - )>

Leigh stayed online for a while, chatting with everyone about nothing, all the while watching for Karla’s screen name to go from black to gray. When it finally did, she shut down her computer and got out her sketchbook and doodled a bit. Usually, drawing calmed her down. But tonight it didn’t seem to do the trick.

At eleven forty-five she rooted through the mess on her closet floor and found the knotted rope. She didn’t need it to climb down off her balcony onto the patio below, since the stone piers supporting the upper terraces provided easy footholds. It was getting back up that was tricky.

Her hands shook as she clipped the rock climbing carabiner to the railing and tossed the free end of the rope over the side. Then she swung her legs over and shimmied down until her bare feet found a niche between the stones. From the lower terrace, it was a short jump off the seawall to the sand.

Jason waited in the lifeguard stand one block over. Leigh grabbed his hand and let him pull her up onto the bench beside him. God, he was strong. When he lifted her, she felt as if she weighed nothing. Talk of Jason’s physique had always ruled the girls’ locker room, but since he joined the Beach Patrol last year, his drool quotient had gone off the scale. And he was so cute, too, with blond, blond hair and dark, dark eyes.

They’d been going out since the spring dance. Leigh still couldn’t shake the feeling she’d won the lottery. But there was a downside to dating the guy all the girls wanted. Her name was Karla.

Leigh beat back her insecurities and snuggled into Jason’s side. He tipped her chin up for a kiss and made it last, holding her head and stroking his tongue across her lips and into her mouth. She sighed and just about melted. Jason was an incredible kisser. When he gave it his full attention, Leigh couldn’t think about anything else.

She forced herself to break away before her head spun completely off her shoulders. “I didn’t come out here for this.”

He smiled against her cheek. “No? Then you got more than you bargained for.”

She nuzzled his chin. He smelled of sunscreen. “Yeah.”

“If not this, then what?”

“I need to tell you something.”

He kissed her nose. “What?”

“My dad won’t let me go to your graduation party.”

She felt him stiffen. “You told him my folks were away.”

“I didn’t! He already knew.”

Jason was silent a beat. Then, “So what if he doesn’t want you to go? Come anyway.”

“Oh, right. Like I could. He’d kill me.”

“He doesn’t need to know. Tell him you’re staying overnight at Stacey’s.” Jason’s voice turned teasing. “That way you won’t have to worry about getting home before morning.”

Leigh’s heart started to pound. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Jason’s hand slid into her open windbreaker. His palm cradled her breast while his thumb gently stroked its peak through her shirt. Her body responded, going into full meltdown mode.

“I want to spend a whole night with you, Leigh.”

Lightning shot from her nipple to the place between her legs.
Oh, God.
She covered Jason’s hand with her own, but whether she wanted to stop him or encourage him, she couldn’t say.

“I…I don’t like lying to him. You know that. I don’t even like sneaking out here.”

“You wouldn’t have to lie if your dad didn’t hate me. And I can’t figure out why. He doesn’t know me. He’s barely even said two words to me.”

“I know. It’s not fair.”

“Leigh, I want you at my party. It won’t seem right if you’re not there. I know we haven’t been together long, but I’ve never felt like this before.” He gave a rueful laugh, as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d admitted it. “I love you, you know.”

“I do. I love you, too.”

They sat silently for a while, listening to the waves break on the shore. A lone gull flew overhead, its vague night shadow skimming the sand.

“Come to my party,” Jason whispered. “For me. Will you?”

She could felt him withdraw a fraction for every second she remained silent. “Yeah,” she whispered finally. “I’ll be there.”

He kissed her again, and the crazy fire he lit so easily sprang to life.

She shoved her misgivings into a dark corner of her brain and kissed him back.

Tori hated doctors.

One of her earliest memories involved a hospital waiting room. She was sitting on the floor, playing with one of those push-the-bead-along-the-wires toys. It was shiny and new; she’d never seen one before. She tried her best to look only at the beads, and not at the man who sat behind her, smelling of beer—her mother’s latest boyfriend, Ed. A doctor materialized, saying her mother was lucky this time, but had to stay overnight. Ed muttered a single, sharp word. He took her home and she stayed out of his way until morning.

Another memory—she was about eleven in this one—involved another white-coated doctor in another hospital waiting room. Tori’s mother wasn’t so lucky that time. Tori stayed with a policewoman that night, until Aunt Millie came in the morning. But just a couple years later, another man in white broke the news that Aunt Millie’s stroke meant she wouldn’t be coming home ever again.

And that was why Tori hated doctors. And hospitals. She realized it was a shoot-the-messenger kind of thing, totally undeserved, but there it was. She would cross four lanes of traffic rather than meet someone in a lab coat on the sidewalk.

Nonetheless, here she was, in an OB-GYN waiting room, perched on the edge of her chair next to an enormously pregnant woman. She tried not to look, but her eyes kept drifting to the woman’s round belly. She wanted to ask if she could put her hand on it and feel the baby, but of course, she didn’t.

The woman had an older child, too. A cute, pudgy toddler who was playing with one of those push-the-bead-along-the-wires toy.

Tori looked away.

Looked up, actually. But that wasn’t much better. Directly in front of her was a huge corkboard covered with photos of newborn babies with red, wrinkled faces and screwed-shut eyes. In some of the pictures, older children clutched the newborns on their laps, with a parent or two hovering nearby. In other photos, adoring grandparents beamed at the camera.

Families.

A nurse moved in front of her, blessedly blocking the view. “Victoria Morgan? The doctor will see you now.”

Dr. Melissa Janssen was a petite woman with short hair and an even shorter smile. She briskly asked why Tori had come, even though she’d already told the nurse, who had duly noted it in the file currently open in the doctor’s hand.

“It’s my period,” she said. “It hurts so much the first day I can hardly walk.”

The doctor nodded. “Cramps?”

Right. Cramps. Tori proceeded to inform the doctor that
cramps
described her monthly torture about as accurately as, say, a pinprick described a knife wound in the gut. The doctor nodded and scribbled in the file.

Tori answered a slew of questions during the exam. Afterward, she found herself in the doctor’s private office, eyeing the framed certificates above the desk. Just why did medical schools feel obliged to print up poster-size diplomas when a simple eight-by-ten would do just fine?

Dr. Janssen got right down to business. “In my opinion, you have a severe case of endometriosis.”

Tori fiddled with her purse strap. “Is that a kind of cancer?” Because fear of cancer was the only thing that could have driven her into a doctor’s office. She was terrified she was dying.

“No, not at all. It’s the abnormal growth of endometrial cells outside the uterus.”

Tori gave her a blank look.

“Sometimes, the lining of the uterus migrates into the body cavity, causing severe pain during menstruation.”

“But it’s not…serious?”

“Not life threatening, no. However, the condition often leads to infertility.”

For a moment, Tori couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe, even. “Infertility?”

“That’s right. The fallopian tubes become scarred, preventing conception.”

“I…see. But…I’m not infertile! I was pregnant last year. I told the nurse.”

The doctor consulted the nurse’s notes. “That’s a good sign. Your pregnancy ended in a miscarriage, I see?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Were there complications?”

Tori looked at her hands. “I bled so much, I ended up in the emergency room. They did…some kind of procedure, I guess.”

“Which most likely led to even more scar tissue, which may make it even more difficult to conceive in the future. You have options, though.” The doctor paused. “Do you hope to have children at some point?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, though I could prescribe hormone therapy, I’d rather do surgery, both for more extensive diagnostics and for treatment of the condition.”

Surgery? In a hospital?

Tori’s throat closed. Panic spiked and the room started to sway. She gripped the edge of the exam table.

“Ms. Morgan, are you all right?”

It took a moment for Tori to answer. “I…don’t have insurance,” she managed at last. “I…I couldn’t possibly pay for surgery.”

Dr. Janssen’s frown deepened. She made a few notes in the file. “All right, then. If that’s the case, we’ll start you on hormone therapy right away. It’s similar to taking birth control pills.”

Tori’s stomach cramped. “No. I can’t take those. I tried once, and it was a disaster. I had horrible mood swings. All in the down direction. I cried night and day. I couldn’t function.” She tried to drag oxygen into her constricted lungs. “Isn’t there anything else? Some diet I could follow? Special exercises?”

Dr. Janssen peered at Tori over her glasses. “While a good diet and exercise are always worthwhile, I’m afraid they won’t cure your condition.”

“There’s got to be something besides drugs or surgery.”

The doctor sighed. “I’m afraid the only natural treatment for endometriosis is pregnancy.”

Pregnancy? Tori stared at her.

“Hormones again,” she explained. “After nine months without a period, the endometrial masses shrink. Breast-feeding’s beneficial, too.” She consulted the file again. “But I see you’re not married. Are you in a steady relationship?

Maybe with the father of the baby you lost?”

“No. He and I…It didn’t work out. I’m on my own now.”

“So I’m guessing a baby isn’t an option for you at this time.”

“No,” Tori whispered. “I guess it’s not.”