Shattered by Donna Ball Page B

the spiral staircase.
    She changed into a soft warm-up suit and half expected Guy to be waiting for her in the master suite when she came out of the bathroom. He was not, and she retraced her steps to the roof.
    At first she didn't see him. She moved to make sure the cover had been replaced on the hot tub and that the controls had been reset, and when she turned, Guy was sitting on the bench, his head tilted back toward the starry sky.
    “Remember that contest we had to see who could name the constellations?”
    After a moment, Carol answered with only a slight stiffness in her voice, “You drove all the way to Tallahassee to get a book on astronomy.”
    “Kelly was one tough kid. She hated it when she thought you were letting her win at anything.”
    Carol almost smiled. “Well, you gave her a run for her money that summer. I wasn't even in the game.”
    “I was going to surprise her by naming a star after her on her next birthday. But by that time, there was so much going on, and she seemed to have lost interest in the stars.”
    Carol knew exactly what had been going on. Kelly's parents were getting a divorce, her world was shattered, and she wasn't interested in much of anything.
    She came and sat beside Guy on the bench. “Kids of that age outgrow things pretty quickly.”
    Guy said softly, “She was the best thing you and I ever did.”
    Carol felt her throat tighten. “Yes,” she agreed. “But not the only good thing.
    He was silent for a moment. Then, “What happened to the telescope?”
    “The wind knocked it over a couple of years ago. I never got around to putting it back up.”
    “You should have called me.”
    “It's probably broken.”
    Again silence fell. The wind rattled the glass partition and hissed around the corners; the stars hung brilliant and profuse overhead, as though suspended in a net. They were alone at the top of the world and Carol discovered, in the silence and darkness, that she didn't mind.
    Then Guy said, “I wanted to explain about the other night. What I said. No, how I acted.” He didn't turn his head to look at her, but spoke straight ahead toward the sea. It was easier that way for both of them. “When you told me about the phone call, I know I cut you off at the knees. But if you think it was because I didn't think it was Kelly—that I didn't consider the possibility it could be Kelly—you're wrong. I did. Just like you, it was the only thing I could think.
    “But after all this time, I've kind of gotten into the habit, a bad habit, of closing that door hard and fast before it ever completely opens. And yeah, I guess it's easier for me to think she's dead than to believe she's out there somewhere and I can't reach her.”
    Carol knew how hard that must have been for him to say. She said, “I know you tried, Guy. I don't think I ever thanked you for that.”
    When Kelly had first disappeared, Guy had called in every favor, used every contact, brought to bear the investigative resources of every news agency and law enforcement office with which he had ever worked, but to no avail. He had had his street contacts in Tallahassee reporting to him on an almost hourly basis for the first two weeks; undercover cops who owed him favors put out the word over their own networks with the drug and countercultures of the city. The bus stations were watched, airline manifests called up, police, hospital, and maritime records all over the state were opened to him. But Carol, intent and absorbed with her own desperation, had been unable to understand just how much he was doing until it was all over, and he was gone. They hadn't been able to speak to one another back then without fury or accusations; instead of the tragedy bringing them together it had only pushed them further apart.
    That was why Carol had been so disappointed in the way their last encounter had turned out. She had hoped they might be able to deal with one another more maturely by now. And perhaps tonight was a