wife promised to keep a candle in the window until his whaler came back into port. Instead his ship went down with all hands on board, and he was reported lost at sea. The widow mourned, but finally she gave up hope and remarried. Pirates plucked the captain off a desert island – not dead! Joyful, he headed home, looking for the candle in the window. The house was bright but his candle was gone. When the long-lost husband looked inside he saw his wife, his children at the hearth with another man sitting in his chair, a nice, happy family gathered around the fire with their heads bent in the golden light. His heart blazed and then died.
For her sake, he turned and walked away.
For her sake he lived on other people’s happiness, glimpsed through lighted windows at night.
Walker became that person. He never went where Lucy was, but he kept track. He located her in New London; he knew their baby was a boy; he knew when she married Mixon; he’s never followed because he can’t let her be with him or come anywhere near, but he kept track. Dear God, has he kept track.
It was hard. He loved her. He missed them to extinction, but he managed. He managed until that freakish night when the kid turned five and he weakened and sent the clipping, as though one day he would find it and know. Walker left Lucy Carteret to keep her safe – to keep them safe – but he sent the clippings, trying to explain. He sent them because from the brain he was given to the whorls in his fingertips, this boy was his, and he should know.
But, God. What is he? What kind of monster abandons his only son?
46
Both
Wham!
Walker jumps. This is what you get for drifting.
Someone’s banging on the roof of his car.
‘What,’ Walker shouts. ‘What?’
It’s the kid.
It’s Dan Carteret, with his angry mouth squared like the door to an open furnace and his eyes peeled stone naked, wider than Pop’s, glaring in at him. He rocks the car, shouting at Walker through the glass: ‘WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME?’
Shit, Walker thinks, I guess this is what I saw coming. Sighing, he rolls down the window. ‘No real reason, son,’ he says evenly, although he has damn good reasons.
‘Don’t call me son!’
‘I’m sorry.’ Anything to talk him down. ‘Quiet. He’s sleeping in there.’
‘I know. I know!’
‘You don’t want to wake him up.’
‘The fuck I don’t!’
‘Shut up, will you? Shut up!’
Dan grabs the door handle, shaking it violently. ‘Get out of the fucking car!’ He kicks the door with each word.
With Walker unshelled, his son starts pounding on him instead of the car, livid, and yelling so loud that the commotion sets off Kalen’s automatic burglar lights. Suddenly the driveway is brighter than day. ‘What the fuck,’ he shouts, blinded by the glare. ‘What the fucking fuck?’
Walker takes advantage of the distraction and grabs the kid, holding him at arm’s length to make him stop hurting himself. Not only are his eyes peeled wider than Pop’s, they are the exact same cobalt as Pop’s eyes and Walker’s eyes, and the set of the brows, the whorl of hair at the top of his head, everything – even the line of that jaw – signifies that this crazed, out-there guy directly related to Walker can do more damage than he knows.
Straight-armed by Walker Pike, he digs his fingers into Walker’s forearm. ‘Let go.’ Wild, he is shouting loud enough to wake the dead-drunk.
‘Shhh, honey.’
‘I said, let go!’
‘Shut up,’ Walker says in a level tone, ‘shut up, if you don’t want the cops.’ He has been following this boy it seems like forever, frightened and proud and dubious and hungering for a glimpse, a moment in which he knows and the kid knows. For the first time since this thing started they are close enough for Walker to see him plain. Certain now, stricken and joyful, Walker lets go. He looks like me.
The kid’s eyes fly even wider.
Walker is used to dissembling. He covers quickly. ‘Keep it down or Brad will . . .’
‘You mean Kalen.’ Astounded, Dan softens. He looks like me. All those years looking for the truth in a mirror and here is the man he was looking for, blood and bone, spit and image. Right now, it’s too stupendous to process. Like Walker, he has grown up vigilant. Schooled in protecting himself. ‘Yeah. That’s who I’m looking for.’