There had been something in her mother’s hand.
Terri was still. Go, she imagined her mother saying. I’m giving you time now. Go back to your room, and dream.
It was a dream, Terri told herself. A dream.
She turned without speaking and tiptoed across the dining room. There was no sound behind her. And then, reaching the foot of the stairs, she heard the wooden door of the kitchen softly shut.
As if walking in her sleep, Terri climbed the stairs. A dream, she told herself. A dream, made vivid by her own desires, the ones she could not confess.
‘I’m sorry,’ Chris murmured. ‘I’m so sorry.’
As he reached for her, Terri crumpled.
She sobbed against him uncontrollably, her body shuddering. Cried as Christopher Paget held her – cried for Elena and for Rosa, for Carlo and Chris and all the things that had come between them. And for herself, the child Teresa.
‘It’s all right,’ Chris kept saying. ‘In time, everything will be better.’
In her grief, she did not know how. But she clung to this, even as she wept for all that she had never forgotten, as fiercely as she had wished to forget, and paid for her wish in dreams.
Somewhere, in the minutes of the night, Terri found herself again. At least she could look at Chris, and speak to him. Tomorrow she might start to face the rest.
‘Why did you do all this?’ she asked.
He smiled a little. ‘Because I’m foolish, as I said. But that’s not for tonight.’
Terri nodded; whatever it was, she did not believe she could comprehend it. She felt unspeakably tired.
In her lap, where it had fallen, was her mother’s diary. ‘What shall I do with this?’ she murmured.
Chris’s eyes narrowed. ‘Take it to your mother,’ he said. ‘Tell her it’s a gift from me.’ There was a certain tone in his voice, the absence of mercy. And then Terri remembered Carlo.
‘Carlo needs to know,’ she said. ‘About Richie, and about Elena.’
Chris nodded. ‘I meant to tell him.’
Terri sat straighter. ‘We both should.’ She paused, adding quietly, ‘If that’s all right with you.’
He did not answer. But when he climbed the stairs to Carlo’s room, Terri was at his side.
The Family
APRIL, THE FOLLOWING YEAR
Chapter 1
It was over a year before Chris and Terri returned to Italy, and when they did, it was not to Venice but to the hill town of Montalcino.
Terri did not know why she was relieved that the church on the hillside was as before: little about Montalcino had changed in centuries. But that the church matched her memories pleased her deeply. So many of her memories, retrieved from the darkness of her childhood, had been difficult.
They took in the view together, quiet. The spring morning was fresh and still; the trees surrounding the white stone church were in the first vigor of renewal, and the valleys beyond were verdant, rising and falling in the green undulations until, miles away, the last ridge met the sky.
Chris turned to her. ‘We’ve earned this, don’t you think?’
Terri smiled. ‘If we haven’t, I don’t want to know.’
This made him laugh. But so much did now: it was something else she was still learning about him. Terri fell quiet again, happy in their shared contentment, gazing at the church.
‘It really is as I remembered it,’ she told him.
Chris smiled again. ‘From which life?’
‘The twentieth-century version. You remember – the one I have with you.’ She turned to him. ‘You didn’t go inside the last time, did you?’
‘No. As Carlo would saay, I generally don’t do churches.’
Smiling, she took his hand. ‘Come on, then. I’ll show you. It’ll be all right.’
That night a year before, when they told Carlo all that had happened, Terri had thought that nothing could be all right.
Carlo sat up in his bed, back against the wall; Chris sat at the bottom of the bed with Terri. Carlo was silent for a long time, looking from one to the other with a mixture of astonishment and vulnerability and some other emotion, deeper and more obscure, which Terri could not quite read.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said to his father. ‘But you should have told me.’
Chris could have justified himself, or at least tried. But he seemed to know that he should not. ‘Will your forgive me,’ he asked mildly, ‘for not killing Richie?’
‘Don’t play games with me, Dad. You let me believe you were guilty. This wasn’t just about you. Or Terri.’
Terri felt overwhelmed. Part of her dealt by rote with whatever was in front of her; another part recoiled from the shock of what she had learned. ‘At least I know,’ she said to Carlo, ‘that you didn’t hurt Elena.’
‘I always knew that,’ he snapped. ‘Do you expect me to be thrilled with you?’ He turned to Chris. ‘Or you?’
‘No,’ Chris answered coolly. ‘But I expect you to remember all that Terri’s gone through and will go through. If you want to blame someone, make do with me. I’ve earned it.’
Carlo folded his arms. ‘Do you know who I feel sorry for?’ he finally said. ‘Elena. She’ll be left holding the bag a long time after I get over it.’ Pausing, he looked at Paget. ‘What are you going to do about Terri’s mother?’
‘For myself? Nothing.’
Carlo studied him. ‘So you two are hanging me with this. If I say we should let the truth out, I’m the one who’s sent this kid’s grandmother to prison, and made her feel responsible for everything.’
Chris’s eyes narrowed. ‘No,’ Terri interjected. ‘We’re not putting this off on you. I won’t let you, or Chris, pay the price for Richie and my mother.’
Carlo regarded her intently. ‘Thanks anyhow,’ he said at last. ‘I’m screwed here, that’s all, and I’ll just have to deal with it.’ His voice grew hard. ‘Just don’t expect me to pretend this didn’t happen. Either of you.’
It was five o’clock before Terri got home. Elena was asleep; Terri’s neighbor Nancy slept on the couch.
Terri apologized to Nancy, showered in a kind of trance, and had a quiet breakfast with Elena. Mercifully, the child had slept; she did not even seem to know that Terri had been gone.
Softly, Terri asked, ‘Do you remember what we talked about last night? With your daddy?’
Elena nodded at her bowl of Happy Loops. She did not look at Terri.
Terri took her hand. ‘I’m so glad you told me, Elena. I know how hard it was.’
Slowly, Elena looked up. ‘Was it wrong, Mommy?’
You know it was, Terri thought sadly. ‘Very wrong, of your daddy,’ she finally answered. ‘That’s not how parents treat their children. You were just trying to be nice to him.’
Elena looked down again. That morning, they said nothing more about it.
All that Terri could think to do was to treat this like a normal day: she was too drained to go on anything but instinct. And it was instinct that led her, after she dropped Elena at school, to return to her mother’s. It was only on the way there that she remembered her mother’s journal, secreted in the trunk of her car.
Rosa had not collected the morning paper. The headline PAGET ACQUITTED stared up at Terri from the doormat. When her mother answered the door, she was dressed with care, her makeup applied. Only the hollows like bruises beneath her eyes were left to mark what had happened. She saw the journal that Terri held, and then stared into her daughter’s face.
‘May I come in?’ Terri asked.
Silent, Rosa opened the door. When Terri was inside, Rosa extended an arm toward the couch. The gesture was courteous and oddly formal.
They sat at opposite ends, as they had the night before. It was strange what daylight did, Terri thought wearily; it was possible to imagine that what happened in darkness was a dream, if the truth was terrible enough.
Without speaking, Terri handed the journal to Rosa.
Her mother seemed
to flinch; the journal lay in her lap, untouched.
‘You have read it,’ Rosa said.
‘Yes.’ Terri’s voice was soft. ‘Chris says that you should consider it a gift.’
Rosa folded her hands: Terri could feel, more than see, the depth of her mother’s humiliation. Rosa’s voice was parched. ‘Then Ricardo had it.’
‘Yes. He duplicated my keys and, apparently, decided to prowl through your house – perhaps to see if I kept papers here. Instead he found this.’ Terri paused, finishing quietly. ‘I suppose he overlooked the gun.’
Rosa gave a small shrug. ‘Perhaps he didn’t think it was important.’
The quiet remark, so lethal in its irony, left Terry silent again.
Rosa gazed at the journal. ‘I never knew that this was gone,’ she said, ‘until after that night. I thought that you had taken it but could not bring myself to ask.’
All that silence, Terri thought. ‘Do you think I’d have said nothing?’
Slowly, Rosa looked into her face again. ‘What do you remember?’
‘Everything.’ Terri watched her. ‘What were you holding, Mother?’
‘A wrench.’ Rosa’s voice was soft. ‘His wrench. To use if I needed it.’
Terri felt a wave of sickness. ‘We killed him, Mama.’
‘I killed him, Teresa. You simply protected me, and then tried to protect yourself. As best a child could.’
It was strange, Terri thought: about her own future, Rosa had asked nothing. ‘so you see,’ her mother finished, ‘Ricardo was not new to me. Long ago, I learned that I was capable of murder. Because when Ramon lay on the porch, reaching up to me from amid his own blood and vomit, I knew that he must die if we were ever to be free.’
But they had never been free, Terri thought, and were not free now. In that moment, she felt the burden of her family’s past, with full knowledge of what that meant, pass from Rosa to her. She squared her shoulders. ‘Chris will say nothing, Mama. Neither will Carlo.’
Her mother stared at her, silent and still. ‘Does this mean,’ Rosa finally asked, ‘that you and Chris will be together?’
The surprising question brought Terri close to anger; only the look in Rosa’s eyes, still hopeful for Terri’s happiness, kept her under control. ‘Just the two of us and our secrets?’ Terri asked with bitterness. ‘I can’t imagine it. But if we were, I’m sure that Chris would never want to see you.’
Rosa studied her. ‘The boy.’
‘Yes. Even if Chris could forgive you for himself.’
Her mother turned away. ‘What about you, Teresa?’
Terri watched her mother’s profile: how many times, she wondered, had she studied this face for clues as to how to feel, or to be. Softly, Terri answered. ‘You’re my mother.’
Her mother’s eyes closed. ‘And Elena?’
‘I’ll bring her to see you. As much as is possible, we’ll act as we did before. We’ve become quite good at that, over the years.’ Hearing herself, Terri finished evenly, ‘Elena’s your granddaughter, and she loves you. I don’t think she can take another loss.’
There was nothing else to say; Terri found that she could not stay inside this house. Without waiting for Rosa’s answer, she stood and walked out the door.
Denise Harris touched her eyes. ‘Incredible,’ she murmured.
Shaking her head quickly, as if to clear it, Harris stood, then walked to the window. It seemed minutes until she turned to Terri.
‘Have you slept at all?’ she asked.
‘No.’
Harris shook her head again. ‘You can’t keep carrying the mail for everyone else,’ she said. ‘In certain ways, you’re the strongest woman I know. You’ve taken care of your mother, Elena. Richie – even Chris, at times. But you’re going to need help now. A lot of it.’
‘That’s exactly what I don’t want – help.’ Terri stood now. ‘I’m Elena’s mother. I can’t ask her to cut me slack, or Chris or Carlo to live with the mess I helped create.’
Harris walked over to her; for the first time, the psychologist simply put her arms around Terri and held her. In her surprise, Terri found this warm and comforting; she had to fight to keep herself from crying. ‘Then I’ll help you,’ Harris said softly. ‘We’ll do this thing together. If it ever gets to be too much, call me. Day or night.’
After a moment, Harris let her go.
Terri backed into a chair; sitting, she felt as if Harris had released her exhaustion. ‘I could go to sleep right here,’ she said tiredly. ‘But there’s so much to think about. Elena . . .’ Slowly, Harris nodded. ‘Let’s start with some simple things,’ she said. ‘Elena can’t know – not now. And you’re right: you shouldn’t keep her from seeing Rosa. Not only would it damage Elena’s sense of security, such as it is, but she’d understand intuitively what was wrong.’
‘Then what do I tell her about Richie’s death?’ Terri felt a wave of despair. ‘For all I know, she’ll ask me about Richie on the way home from school.’
‘Two things. First, that Chris is innocent and that what he went through is unfair. Second, that Richie’s death was an accident and no one’s fault.’ Harris leaned forward. ‘On some level, Elena is relieved that Richie’s dead. That’s probably why she was so eager to blame Chris.’
‘And about what Richie did to her?’
‘So far, you’re doing fine. Just keep telling her, as you did this morning, that it was wrong. Instinctively, Elena knows that: her father did more than abuse her physically; he abused the trust between parent and child. And having her please him would make that all the more shocking.’ Harris paused for emphasis. ‘Beyond that, keep on reassuring her that she can talk to us about anything – Elena shouldn’t have to keep anyone’s secrets, as you did for Rosa and Elena did for Richie. Adults protect kids, not the other way around.’
‘And when Elena’s grown? What do I tell her then?’
‘That’s light-years away. Our mission is to get her through the next few months. And you.’ Harris became openly pensive. ‘About when Elena’s an adult, I really can’t say. You’ll have to trust your judgment. Maybe, by then, she’ll have sensed something. Maybe not. And your mother may well live for another thirty years.’ Her voice grew quiet. ‘Sometimes the truth is hard at any age. As you’re beginning to learn.’
Terri shook her head. ‘How could Richie do it?’ she asked. ‘Elena was his daughter.’
Harris gave her a look of compassion. ‘The hard truth may be that Richie did it to get back at you. If Richie was a sociopath, as Dr Gates suggests, then he would tend to view life as a ledger book: “If you do something to offend me, I get to do something back.”’ Frowning, Harris tried to make her tone sound clinical. ‘Perhaps, as you believe, Richie wasn’t molested as a child. But the occasional paedophile whose sexual interest in a child may coincide with an interest in adults is trickier. Richie was slapped around by his father and made a love object by his mother, so neither of them respected the lines between parent and child. Between them they helped create someone who saw other people – including his own child – solely in terms of his own needs and desires.’ Harris paused, then finished quietly. ‘The fact that she was also your daughter may have made it that much more enticing.’
Terri felt an impotent anger, at Ricardo Arias and at herself. ‘To accuse Carlo . . .’
‘Oh, Richie was clever, in his way. After this Leslie Warner raised child abuse, he must have felt quite desperate about how to divert suspicion and avoid an evaluation of Elena that might very well expose him.’ Harris gave a small grimace. ‘When Elena said that Carlo had given her a bath, Richie probably saw a way to solve both problems – blame Carlo and then use that to bludgeon you into giving up. But you didn’t.’
For a moment, Terri was still and silent. ‘Would you have ever caught it?’ she asked at last. ‘Dr Gates didn’t.’
Harris shrugged. ‘She doesn’t specialize in abuse cases. I do. That’s why Alec Keene wanted me to do this.’ She paused
a moment. ‘Alec is supposed to be neutral. But when he called me about Elena, he said that there was something wrong with Richie – like a very good actor trying to play a real person. “Spooky,” Alec called him.’
Terri felt ashamed. ‘I should have seen it.’
‘Terri, Alec Keene has a Ph.D., and he’s seen just about everything. But to most people, let alone a twenty-year-old girl, a con artist like Richie could look okay for quite a while –’
‘No,’ Terri interjected. ‘Part of me always knew better.’
Harris folded her hands in front of her. ‘You’re a perceptive woman, Terri. But your mother taught you to suppress the truths within your family, even to forget them. And Ramon Peralta was your first model of a man.’ Harris’s voice became very soft. ‘“The truth shall make you free,” they say. As terrible as the truth is, you’re free now. You’ve broken the chain, for Elena and for yourself. All you have to do is make a life that really is your own.’
One more person deserved to know the truth. A few days later, with Tern’s consent, the telling fell to Paget.
Caroline leaned back in her chair. ‘Rosa,’ she murmured. An astonishing range of expressions crossed her face – amazement, deep thought, and a profound seriousness that bespoke a sense of tragedy. And then, to her plain surprise, Caroline Masters began to laugh until her eyes danced.
‘Rosa,’ she repeated. ‘God, Chris, I just love assisting justice by accident. It expands my sense of the possible.’ She touched her forehead. ‘It isn’t funny,’ she managed. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Really, I don’t.’
‘Take your time, Caroline. I’m pretty well out of cosmic jokes. So you might as well enjoy this one.’
Through her laughter, Caroline gave him a long look that, after a moment, turned wholly serious. ‘Will you please tell me,’ she said at last, ‘just what you thought you were doing?’
Paget shrugged. ‘Oddly enough, I thought I was protecting myself.’ He sat back, watching evening settle onto the city.
‘I’d already lied to Terri about being at Richie’s; I wasn’t prepared to confront her with what I’d learned about her father’s death, at least until I thought about it. Then, suddenly, there was Monk questioning Terri. All at once, I sounded like a man who’d lied to her in order to build an alibi –’
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