Duplicate Daughter. Alice Sharpe
He rubbed his eyes before entering the room and stood with his back to the fire, staring down at her.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, fine.” Reluctantly, he added, “I need a favor.”
She immediately nodded. “Of course.”
“Helen is taking a snowmobile into Frostbite to visit her sister. I’m not comfortable with her going out in this alone. Will you keep an eye on Lily while I give Helen a ride? It shouldn’t take more than twenty or thirty minutes and Lily is sound asleep. I doubt she’ll stir.”
“Helen is leaving because of me, isn’t she?”
“It’s her choice. I won’t be long.”
Katie said, “I spent half my youth babysitting. I’d love to watch Lily.”
Helen was sitting on the bench out on the porch, lacing up her boots. He put on his snow gear. In unison, they moved to the garage, where they both pulled on helmets. Nick pushed the larger of the snowmobiles out the door. As he and Helen roared away from the house, he looked back once, reassured by the flickering of the lanterns visible through the falling snow, his home a comfortable island floating on mounds of pristine white.
KATIE WATCHED the retreating lights of the snowmobile disappear, with her hands clenched into fists at her side.
It all came down to time.
Time for stories read to a child, time for Helen to get sulky and distant, to require aid, to retreat.
Time to eat and wash dishes, time to build fires and light lanterns, time for everything and everyone except her mother, the one person to whom every second might mean the difference between life and death.
What was going on? Why was it so hard to get an answer to anything in this house?
She turned away from the window in a huff, frustration demanding movement, movement all but impossible unless it was contained within the log structure. She stomped down the hall until she found an open door with a soft light coming from within. An oversize window covered with lacy curtains took up half of one wall. The bed was positioned in such a way that a person could look outside while lying down. The view must be gorgeous when it was actually possible to see outside.
Nick had left a lantern burning on his daughter’s dresser; its flickering light cast dancing shadows against the walls, but it also bathed a sleeping child’s face. Katie covered her mouth with her hand and stared.
Lily Pierce was an angel on earth. Fine blond hair, long dark lashes, rosebud mouth, rounded cheeks…the whole nine yards. She was the treasure inside the castle, the princess inside the steeple, and all of a sudden, Nick’s fierce determination to see to her needs at any cost made a little more sense.
Katie backed quietly out into the hall, returning to the living room, sitting back down in the red chair, holding her hands toward the fire not so much because she was cold as because the sounds of the storm made her feel cold.
And alone.
Wind rustled in the trees, whistled in the eaves, banged things together, blew snow against the windows. The interior of the house was warm and welcoming in the way a port in a storm always is, but despite the reassuringly thick walls and the beautiful slumbering child a few steps away, the underlying tensions between Nick and herself, to say nothing of Helen’s abrupt departure, eroded the comfort level, letting the cold seep between the logs of polite construction.
Katie settled back in the chair, closing her eyes. Her headache had disappeared with the ingestion of Helen’s excellent meal, but her leg still throbbed and she knew fatigue fueled her distress. For once she was glad Tess couldn’t pick up any telepathic vibes, because the maelstrom inside Katie’s head wouldn’t do anyone any good, especially not Tess. Tess needed to put her energy into healing, not worrying.
Katie should have gotten back on that blasted plane. She’d been here for three hours and nothing had happened except she’d eaten dinner and made an enemy. Why was Helen so determined not to give her a chance?
She opened her eyes and surveyed the surrounding room. The rock fireplace took up most of one wall. A wooden door about two feet square led to a supply of firewood—she’d checked. The wide hearth was two feet off the ground with a few cushions tossed atop, making extra seating. One photo sat on the mantel, framed in heavy wood. A blond woman holding a baby. Nick’s late wife, no doubt, Lily as an infant. The other walls, logs chinked with what appeared to be cement, were covered with watercolors, beautiful paintings of hillsides and wildflowers, snowy peaks and exotic animals. The furniture was big and comfortable, table-tops cluttered with toys and books and camera equipment. Because of the log construction, the windows were deep and dark—
A face suddenly appeared in one of the front windows. Gasping, Katie shot to her feet. A man’s face but not Nick’s. Fuller, unshaved, dark eyes furtive.
And then it was gone—poof!—as though it had never been there.
Katie stood stock-still for several moments, her mind racing. Was the door locked? Were all the doors locked? She moved quickly to the front door and found a chain in place. She started to undo it, to open the door, to peer outside and call out, but her hand stilled at the last moment and she dropped it, leaning back against the door, listening, waiting.
Nothing. No knock. The silence was ominous.
She went through the kitchen to the back door. It, too, was locked. She didn’t know if there were other doors. Spying the phone on the wall, she plucked off the receiver, ready to call 911 and probably make a fool of herself. The line was dead. She dug her cell phone from her pocket. The screen lit at her touch. Still no signal.
She was alone. Well, except for the slumbering child down the hall.
Katie retraced her steps to the living room and the fireplace, sitting back on her red chair, staring toward the window, a black portal buffeted now and again by nothing more sinister than a snow flurry.
“Who are you?” a high-pitched voice said from her elbow.
For the second time that night, Katie gasped as her heart did a little stop-and-start thing in her chest. Lily Pierce stood nearby in pink footy pajamas, tousled fair hair a halo around her head, round cheeks blooming with pink. She held a gray stuffed bunny by one ear.
Hoping the child wouldn’t burst into tears or run from the room, Katie said, “My name is Katie.”
“Where’s Helen? Where’s Daddy?”
“Daddy took Helen to visit her sister—”
“Went to Auntie Joy’s house?”
Sounded reasonable to Katie. She said, “I think so. Daddy will be back very soon. Did something wake you, sweetheart? Did you, uh, see someone?”
The child shook her head. She shuffled a little and Katie started to get up to follow her back to her room and tuck her into bed, but Lily came to stop right in front of Katie.
“You know ’bout the birdie in the palm tree?” she asked.
Katie said, “I don’t think so.”
“I tell you?”
Happy for the company, Katie patted her knee. “Okay.”
The little girl climbed onto Katie’s lap, squirming around until she fit comfortably, her head right under Katie’s nose, her fine hair fluttering when Katie exhaled a breath. She presented a warm, sweet-smelling bundle, totally at ease, one dimpled hand clutching the bunny, the other hand laying idle on Katie’s arm except for a single finger she used to stroke Katie’s watchband.
The wind howled outside and rattled the door. A shiver ran up Katie’s spine and she wrapped her arms around Lily. She wasn’t sure what else to do. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if she’d imagined the man at the window.
“’Bout that birdie—”