Distant Shores

"You look . . . different," Elizabeth said clumsily. An understatement on par with It rains in Oregon.

Anita laughed. "Oh, that. All those clothes were for Edward. This is my natural hair color. "

For Daddy?

Her regal, aristocratic father had wanted his wife to dress like Dolly Parton?

Elizabeth couldnt process that. She didnt want to step aside, not for Anita-the-Hun, but what choice did she have?

You take care of her, you hear?

"Come on in. " Elizabeth grabbed the huge suitcase (What

did Anita need with that much stuff? How long did she intend to stay???) and dragged it over the threshold.

Anita stepped inside, looked around. She was wringing her hands together. "So, this is the famous beach house. Your daddy always wanted to see it. "

That sentence brought them together for a moment. "I begged him to come up for the Fourth of July. "

"Yes," Anita answered softly.

"Come on, Ill show you to the guest bedroom. Its upstairs. " Elizabeth turned and walked through the house, dragging the rolling suitcase behind her. When she reached the foot of the stairs, she looked back.

Anita stood in front of the fireplace. A pretty red-gold sheen made her dress appear translucent. She reached out for one of the framed photographs on the mantel.

It was the one taken at Christmas, where the whole family stood clustered around the brightly decorated tree. They were laughing so hard their faces were scrunched up. All except Daddy; he looked grim and irritated.

And no wonder. Hed bought Elizabeth a 35 mm camera for Christmas. It had taken him twenty minutes--and at least that many tries--to get the automatic timer to work.

I dont care if your damned lips are ready to fall off, hed boomed, frustrated by their laughter, just smile, damn it. This is fun.

It was the last picture she had of him.

Anita turned. There were tears in her eyes. "Could I get a copy of this?"

"Of course. "

Anita looked at the picture for a second longer, then headed for the stairs. Gone was the Bette Midler mince-step; in its place, a flowing gracefulness that suggested at least a few years of dance training. She stopped in front of Elizabeth.

"I didnt know where else to go, Birdie," she said quietly. "I couldnt stay there another night. "

Elizabeth could understand that. Her father had generated a lot of heat. Without him, it would be a cold world. She looked down at her stepmother. Amazingly, she couldnt see the woman shed fought with for most of her life. This new Anita was frail and fragile, a lost soul. "Of course its okay, Anita. Were family. "

For better or for worse, it was true.

Jack came awake slowly, groaning. He felt as if hed been hit in the head with a crowbar. He rolled over in bed; his outflung arm cracked onto the nightstand, sent the lamp clattering to the floor. He opened one eye. The clock read: 8:07.

There must have been a power outage last night. He never slept past five oclock.

Then he noticed something on the floor. Red. Small.

Smacking his dry lips, he stared at it, trying to focus.

It was a condom wrapper, ripped in half.

He bolted upright. At the movement, his headache lurched into a run.

Oh, shit. He glanced to the left.