This was better, Paget thought. He nodded to Carlo; in his pocket, Carlo carried Paget’s check for ten thousand dollars in lire, for the preservation of the church. Paget did not require thanks in person: in some sublime balance, it seemed right that Paget, the nonbeliever, should honor this place for opening itself to them. And so Paget and Terri thanked the priest and followed Elena into the sunlight.
Outside, on the bench where they had sat during their first visit, was a bottle of cold champagne and a dish of fresh strawberries. But before they could retrieve them, Elena asked, ‘Mommy, can we go get some ice cream? Yesterday I saw a place in the town.’
Terri smiled. ‘Not now, Elena. We just got married, remember? We have toasts to drink.’
Elena pondered that and then turned to Carlo as he emerged from the church. ‘Maybe you can take me, Carlo. You’re my step-brother now.’
Carlo gave a droll look. ‘Does that mean I have to take you places, Munchkin?’
The old nickname made Elena’s eyes crinkle. ‘Yes,’ she announced firmly. ‘You have to now.’
‘Oh, all right. But after I drink some champagne.’
‘Are you old enough?’
Carlo smiled at her. ‘For champagne? Sure, Munchkin. We’re in Italy, remember?’
Quietly, Terri took Paget’s hand and walked away a little, to the bench.
They sat there for a time, watching Elena reattach herself to Carlo; it was probably good, Paget thought wryly, that Carlo was traveling to Rome tomorrow, to meet his brother.
‘Do you think,’ Terri asked, ‘that Carlo and Elena would mind if we drank one toast alone? Now that we’re married, I have something to tell you.’
As soon as he looked at her face, smiling yet watchful, he knew what it was: roughly two months before, when Terri and Elena had moved in, Terri had thrown out her diaphragm. Paget was forty-seven, after all, and there seemed no point in waiting.
‘A baby?’ he asked.
Saying it aloud seemed strange. Terri grinned at him. ‘Uh-huh. What do you think?’
Paget sat back, taking this in as he looked out at the lush green hills of Tuscany, then at his family. First at Carlo and Elena, still talking to each other. And then at his wife, Teresa Paget, the mother of the child who would become part of them all.
He was forty-seven, Paget reflected. He would never be a senator, or do all that he might have wished to do. But he would be this woman’s partner, their time together still ahead, filled with joys and sorrows and surprises and, most of all, people whom he cared for, their lives interwoven with the fabric of his own.
Taking Terri’s hand, he leaned back on the bench, feeling the sun light on his face, at peace for perhaps the first time in his lfe.
‘A baby,’ he said again. ‘Seems like enough.’
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Like Blanche Dubois, I often depend on the kindness of strangers – and friends.
Assistant District Attorney Bill Fazio and defense lawyers Hugh Levine, Jim Collins, and Jim Larson contributed numerous valuable suggestions about the trial of a complex criminal case. As before, County Medical Examiner Boyd Stevens and Homicide Inspector Napolean Hendrix lent me their expertise. Karen Jo Koonan, of the National Jury Project, helped explain the valuable services performed by jury consultants in assessing jury panels. And Assistant District Attorney Al Giannini not only gave great advice but reviewed the manuscript. They share the credit for authenticity; any errors, or simplifications for narrative purposes, are mine.
The child custody process is interesting and unique. Marjorie Kaplan and Brian Johnson were generous with their advice, and Dr Erika Myers helped me understand the conduct of a family evaluation.
Spousal and child abuse are difficult subjects. Drs Howard Gillis, Rodney Shapiro, and Teresa Schumann, and counselor Cecilia Moreno, were invaluable in helping me. While there is no single psychological profile for either victim or perpetrator, I hope I have treated these subjects fairly and informatively.
Others helped as well. Clint Reilly, political consultant; handwriting experts Pat Fisher and Howard Rile; gun expert Dennis Casey; and blood-typing experts Dr Ben Grunbaum and District Attorney Rock Harmon, all shared their knowledge. And legendary private investigator Hal Lipset was generous in explaining how he would help defend the case I have presented here.
As usual, several perceptive friends read various portions of the manuscript. Without Philip Rotner, Lee Zell, and – particularly –my wife, Laurie, the task of writing this novel would have been far more solitary and difficult. And, throughout, I was buoyed by the support and confidence of my friends at Ballantine Books, Linda Grey and Clare Ferraro.
One of my great pleasures has been working with Alison Porter Thomas. Not only does she type the manuscript, but Alison – a particularly insightful reader – tells me what seems right or wrong. The next book is for her.
Finally, there are Fred Hill and Sonny Mehta. Fred has been my literary agent, and friend, for fifteen years. He is what writers, at their most idealistic, hope an agent will be – a discerning reader, a supportive friend, and a superlative mediator between writer and publisher. With every book, Fred has helped me make the best possible arrangement, including a meticulous concern with which publisher and editor would be right for me. My career would be far different without him.
When we learned that Sonny Mehta was interested in my last novel, Degree of Guilt, Fred advised me to go no farther. It was, perhaps, Fred’s best single piece of advice. Sonny is a superb editor, a committed and creative publisher, and a brilliant promotor of emerging writers. Because Sonny and his gifted coworkers at Knopf worked hard to communicate their enthusiasm to booksellers and to the public, I have been able to reach the audience that any writer wants. And because my career has become intertwined with the talents of Fred Hill and Sonny Mehta, I am free to write the best that I can. I am deeply grateful to them both.
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