Free Her Mother's Shadow by Diane Chamberlain Page B

less which one Jessica was in. “Besides,” she added, “you were not so staid yourself.” She was annoyed at the speed with which her brother jumped to judge her friend.
    â€œMy guy?” Gina asked, putting her arm around Clay’s shoulders and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Did you have a wild side back then?”
    â€œLacey was so wasted that summer that she wouldn’t have known what I was doing,” Clay said.
    She had known, though. She’d been at parties where she’d watched her older brother drink himself into the adolescent oblivion that was typical of the other graduating seniors that year. True, he’d only used alcohol, at least to thebest of her knowledge, while she and her friends had dabbled in marijuana and an occasional tab of LSD. Some of the rowdier kids had actually used crack. But Clay had been old enough to pass himself off as a responsible adult when he needed to. She—and Jessica—had simply been a mess.
    Finally, a male voice came on the phone. He gave her the numbers for three different hospitals and she wrote them down on a piece of paper Gina slipped onto the counter in front of her.
    â€œI’m going to call her from the studio,” she said, clutching the paper in her hand as she headed out of the kitchen in the direction of the sunroom.
    â€œGood luck,” Gina called after her, and as Lacey walked through the living room, she could hear her sister-in-law chastising Clay for his insensitivity.
    Sunlight poured into her small home studio, filling it with color from the panels of glass hanging in the windows. The room was at the back of the keeper’s house, away from the ocean and the lighthouse. Her view was of the stretch of sand between the house and the scrubby maritime growth in the distance. There were two worktables, one where she drew her designs out on paper, the other where she cut glass. Sitting down at that second table, she reached for the phone and dialed one of the numbers on the list.
    â€œShe’s in the ICU,” the hospital operator told her after Lacey gave her Jessica’s name. “No phones in the rooms up there.”
    The ICU. She pictured machines and tubes. Respirators and EKGs. Poor Jess.
    â€œCan I find out how she’s doing?” Lacey asked. “Maybe talk to a nurse?”
    â€œHold on.” The operator sounded sick of her job. “I’ll connect you to the ICU.”
    A woman answered quickly, her voice friendly and upbeat.
    â€œHello,” Lacey said. “I’m calling to find out how one of your patients is doing. Jessica Dillard.”
    â€œAre you family?” the woman asked.
    â€œNearly,” Lacey said. “A very close friend.”
    â€œHer condition’s been upgraded from critical to serious,” the woman said.
    â€œCritical!” Lacey said. “I had no idea it was that bad.”
    â€œShe’s doing much better now,” the woman reassured her. “We’ll be moving her out of the ICU sometime this afternoon. Would you like to speak with her? I can carry the cordless into her room.”
    â€œOh, yes, please,” Lacey said. Jessica was well enough to talk. Thank God.
    A few moments passed, and she could hear a rustling sound. The next voice she heard on the phone was weak but familiar.
    â€œHello?” Jessica said.
    â€œJess, it’s Lacey.”
    â€œLacey.” She sounded tired. Maybe half-asleep. “You’re so sweet to call.”
    â€œHow do you feel? Are you in terrible pain?”
    She was slow to answer. “I think I would be if they weren’t pumping me with drugs,” she said. “How did you know I was here? Did Mom call you?”
    â€œShe came into the studio to tell me about the accident and that she’s going out there to help with Mackenzie.”
    â€œPoor Mackenzie,” Jessica said. “I think it was worse for her than for me, since I was knocked out and