A Gala Event

by Sheila Connolly

Kevin looked down at his feet. “I might have tossed a butt in the wrong place—there was a lot of random trash down there.”

  “That would be a roach, brother of mine,” Aaron said.

  “Yeah, whatever. And suddenly there was this kind of ‘whoosh’ and what looked like a fireball, and the walls kind of shook, and I didn’t know if I was hallucinating or what. But it got hot pretty fast. Aaron, you were just sitting there admiring the pretty flames, so I grabbed you and hauled you out the back door and dumped you on the lawn. By the time I turned around, there was fire everywhere, and I couldn’t get back in. But what was so weird was that I didn’t see anybody moving around inside the building, or hear anybody shouting. I really didn’t think I could do anything, and I guess I panicked because I thought everybody would blame me. Aaron was no help by then: he was more or less passed out.”

  Kevin paused, and shut his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and looked around the table, and when he spoke, his voice was bitter. “So I left. I goddamn went back to my little dorm room at school, and lay there staring at the ceiling until somebody came to my room a few hours later to tell me that my parents were dead and my home had burned to the ground.” By then Kevin had tears running down his face. “And I never told anybody. I’m so sorry, Aaron. I was a chickenshit kid, and I let you take the blame. Oh, and one more thing: you weren’t cooking anything that night. I didn’t see any equipment or chemical-type stuff. You had a lighter, and that was it.”

  Kevin’s confession had stunned everyone. Seth was the first to speak, after a long silence, and Meg was happy to let him take the lead. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight, Kevin. You sneaked away from school, without anyone noticing, and drove to your family’s house so you could experiment with drugs with Aaron’s help.”

  Kevin nodded. “I was a senior, so I didn’t have to sign in or out. I didn’t tell anyone what I was going to do; I just went. So no witnesses, right? I was going to be back before morning anyway, although maybe I didn’t think that part through very well. I thought I’d take a few puffs or whatever, just to see what it was all about, and then leave.”

  Seth nodded. “The two of you were smoking Aaron’s weed in the basement, and you believed that you inadvertently started a fire there.”

  “Right.”

  Seth went on, “So you got Aaron out, and by then the fire had spread fast.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Did it ever occur to you that if in fact you did set a fire in the basement with a discarded roach, it couldn’t possibly have spread that fast? At least not without some sort of accelerant?”

  “You mean, it wasn’t me? It was Dad’s fire?”

  “Maybe. We don’t know how he might have planned to start a fire, but we know he was asking about water heaters blowing up before that. We’re guessing that whenever or however it started, he didn’t rush to get out because he wanted to be sure that the house was destroyed so he could claim the maximum insurance value. So he waited—too long, apparently. Look, Kevin, there’s no way to tell now whether you started a fire or not. But if you did, and that was the only one, there should have been time for your parents to get out, and to get your grandmother out, too . . . unless there were other factors involved.”

  “Oh, wow,” Kevin said, almost to himself.

  “And you let Aaron take the rap for it, you asshole?” Lori burst out. “How could you do that? You let him go to jail for what you did! Or thought you did. Whatever.”

  “And I’m sorry about that! You think that hasn’t been eating at me all these years?” Kevin protested. “But by the time I got home, everybody had already decided how it happened, and Aaron had been arrested. And he didn’t remember!”

  Seth looked levelly at Kevin. “It took months to bring the case to trial, Kevin. You could have stepped up at any time. Or since.”

  Meg sneaked a glance at Aaron’s face, and his expression almost broke her heart. There was something so innocent about it, like he was having trouble believing what he was hearing. There was no anger, no hate, just a deep bewilderment. His brother’s selfish choices had shaped his entire adult life, and he was struggling to understand what had happened. Meg fought down the absurd thought that now would be a good time to offer dessert, but she was pretty sure that cake wasn’t going to do much to make up for all the wasted years shared by the Eastmans.

  They were all startled when Aaron shoved back his chair and stood up. “I need to think about this. I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Lori stood up, too. “Aaron, walk me back to the other house, will you? I don’t want to be in the same car with him right now.” She nodded toward Kevin.

  Aaron hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay. Let’s go, then.”

  Lori looked back briefly at Meg and mouthed, We’ll talk, then took Aaron’s arm and went out the door with him.

  That left Kevin sitting like a lump at the table, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “What happens now?” he said to no one in particular.

  Meg said, almost sharply, “Before you ask, we haven’t involved any law enforcement authorities, although Art Preston did give us the original police files on the fire. Seth and I have no idea what legal impact what you’ve just told us may have on anyone or anything. I think right now you all need to digest what we’ve just dumped on you. Go back to the house now and try to get used to it. We can talk tomorrow.”

  “Sure, that’s worked for twenty-five years now,” Kevin muttered. He finally looked up at Meg and Seth. “I’m sorry. Look, I appreciate what the two of you have done, trying to help Aaron, and that you shared it with us. I don’t know what we’re going to do next, but we’ll let you know. We can’t just hide our heads in the sand anymore—well, I can’t. If that means talking to the cops, I’ll do it. It’s time I stepped up. Good night.” And Kevin went quickly out the back door, leaving Meg and Seth alone in the kitchen.

  “Well,” Meg began, “that wasn’t what I expected.”

  “I didn’t, either,” Seth said. “Now what?”

  “I have no idea. Do we need to tell law enforcement? Do we start a drive to exonerate Aaron Eastman, at the expense of his brother? You think Aaron would want that?”

  Seth shook his head. “I don’t know, Meg. I think the first thing to do is to talk unofficially to Art . . . tomorrow. All we can say now is that Aaron looks somewhat less guilty than he did, and Kevin somewhat more, but there’s no way to prove anything. I have no clue what Kevin’s confession changes, if anything. But we owe it to them to let them decide what they want to do, because they have to live with the outcome.”

  “I agree.” Meg reached out and took his hand. “Seth, why is it our lives are never simple? I mean, really—you’re a builder, I grow apples. How do we keep finding ourselves in the middle of these difficult ethical and legal dilemmas? Issues that have a real impact on other people’s lives?”

  “Just lucky?” Seth smiled at her, then his expression sobered again. “Frankly, I don’t know what the best outcome would be here, either legally or ethically. Aaron has paid a heavy price for something he wasn’t responsible for. Kevin hasn’t paid for something he might or might not have done. None of the three of them has led what we would call a happy life, but that’s not our problem to fix. I’m guessing that law enforcement is going to throw up their hands at this one.”

  “But that doesn’t help Aaron!” Meg protested quickly. “He’s still going to have a record, unless somebody acknowledges it was all a mistake.”

  “Meg, I don’t have a clue how the official exoneration process works, or if it’s even possible for Aaron. Why don’t we talk to Art? As a friend? Maybe that smacks of passing the buck, but we aren’t qualified to deal with this. Maybe he can tell us what the options are.”

  “That makes sense, if he’s willing. But it all makes me sad.” She stood up and started clearing dishes from the table. Seth stood as well, turned her arou
nd, and wrapped his arms around her. They stood silently for a few moments, leaning against each other. Finally Meg pushed back far enough to see Seth’s face, and to say, “Well, at least I still have grouting to look forward to.”

  He smiled. “That you do. But let me say this: you did the right thing in trying to help Aaron.”

  “You believe that?” Meg looked up at him.

  “Yes, I do. You are a good person, and that’s why I love you. Well, one of the reasons.”

  “Like seeks like, sir,” Meg replied. “Neither of us seems to pick the easy way out of anything. But at least we do it together.”

  * * *

  Seth called Art as early as it seemed respectable for a Sunday morning. He came back to the kitchen to tell Meg, “He’ll be over after breakfast. I told him it wouldn’t take long.”

  They ate their own breakfast in near silence, waiting. For what? Meg wondered. Closure? Art arrived quickly, and Seth let him in. “Coffee?” he asked, as they came into the kitchen together.

  “Sure, why not? Hi, Meg. Your man here was being kind of cryptic over the phone. I assume this isn’t about what I’m wearing to the wedding?”

  “Nothing so simple,” Meg said. “Please, sit.”

  Once Art was supplied with coffee, he said, “Okay, shoot. Seth, what’s up?”

  “Can we keep this off the record, just between us, for now?” Seth asked.

  Art looked bewildered, but he nodded.

  Seth took a breath and launched into the story that Kevin had told them the night before, supplemented by what they had learned from the insurance agent. By the time Seth was finished, Art’s expression was grave. “You two are so much fun to hang out with,” he said. “I never know what you’re going to come up with next. What is it you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know, Art,” Meg answered him. “Tell us if there is anything to be done, or if this is the end of it.”

  “I assume you’re thinking of official exoneration for Aaron? Not criminal charges against his brother or Patterson, for concealing evidence?”

  “Is exoneration possible?”

  Art rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m no expert, but my semieducated guess is no. It’s a complicated process, and most of the cases don’t work out. You may have some new evidence, but there’s not a lot here that would be useful in court. Most of the cases that do succeed are based on conclusive new evidence, like DNA tests that weren’t available at the original trial. Look, I don’t want to burst your bubble, guys. I think Aaron Eastman has had a lousy deal all the way, but that doesn’t mean the original trial was flawed.”

  “What about Kevin Eastman?” Seth asked.

  “What about him? Aaron was tried and convicted of the crime. Even if he could be exonerated, I don’t know that anyone is going to want to try to prosecute Kevin, and I’m pretty sure the statute of limitations for arson ran out a long time ago. There’s no physical evidence that Kevin was responsible for the fire, just the suspicion . . . and neither Kevin nor Aaron was thinking straight at the time. Heck, maybe dear old Dad had taken a fatal dose of something or other, and figured the insurance would provide for the kids if he and Mom were gone. Nobody looked for any kind of drugs in their systems. I’m sorry, but I think this is over. I know that’s not what you want to hear. How did Aaron take the news?”

  “Hard to say,” Seth said. “He seemed kind of numb when he left. At least his sister was with him.”

  “What’re you going to do now?” Art asked.

  “Tell him that we’ve done all we can,” Meg said sadly. “He can pursue exoneration legally if he wants, but that’s up to him, and he’ll probably hear what you just told us. And I doubt he’d want to throw his brother under the bus at this late date. Nobody wins. But thanks for listening, Art.”

  “Always glad to help. By the way, I thought I’d wash my best blue jeans for the big event. Will that do?”

  “You’re ahead of me, at least,” Meg said, summoning up a smile. “I haven’t even figured out what I’m wearing. My mother’s going to pitch a fit when she shows up and then probably drag me off to the nearest mall—I don’t think the local boutiques will be up to her standards, but there’s no time for serious shopping.”

  “I’ll be seeing you, then,” Art said. “Please don’t dredge up any other crimes between now and the wedding, okay?”

  “Deal,” said Seth.

  Meg and Seth stood in the doorway as Art pulled away, then turned back to the kitchen. “So that’s that,” Meg said, helping herself to the last of the coffee. “Poor Aaron. How’s he supposed to find a job with this hanging over him?”

  “I won’t tell you it will be easy,” Seth said.

  Then Meg went still. “I might have an idea . . .”

  “What?”

  She looked at Seth. “Rick Sainsbury. He owes us, right? I think this might be a good time to call in that favor.”

  “Think he’s even around, or still off celebrating his election win?”

  “One way to find out. We have his home number, remember?”

  31

  Meg tracked down Rick Sainsbury’s home number and made the call. She was surprised when he actually answered; she had expected him to be in Washington, reveling in his status as newly elected congressman, and where she’d have to wade through multiple layers of people who were trained to deflect people like her.

  “Meg, how nice to hear from you!” he said with a measure of sincerity. “You haven’t stumbled onto another crime, have you? That seems to be the usual way we come into contact.”

  “No, or rather yes, but I think there’s some good to come from it. Can we talk, face-to-face? I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”

  “Let me check my schedule.” There was a pause but without words, and Meg guessed that he was scrolling through his phone calendar. “I’ve got an appointment in Amherst at four. Could I swing by, say, three?”

  “Perfect. Thank you, Rick.” Meg hung up to find Seth staring at her with an amused expression. “What?”

  “I never thought I’d see you trading favors with a congressman,” Seth said. “You have hidden depths.”

  “It’s not for me, it’s for Aaron, remember?” Meg reminded him. “And this should help balance the debt between us.”

  “What do you plan to ask him?”

  “I’m really not sure. We’ve already more or less decided that none of the legal channels would work, but maybe Rick will come up with some ideas. Especially if they make him look good.”

  “Cynic,” Seth said, smiling. “But it’s worth a try. Just remember, he can’t unilaterally pardon Aaron, and I don’t think he has close ties to the governor, who may be the only one who could. Do you want me there?”

  “Much as I’d love to have your moral support, I guess I feel like this is my crusade. Do you mind sitting this one out?” Meg asked.

  “Not really. I don’t think my presence would help your chances. If you’re sure it’s okay.”

  “It is, and thank you. Anyway, he won’t be here until three, so do I have time to grout the bathroom? And clean up? I’d like to look respectable to greet my elected representative, or at least get the grout out of my hair.”

  “I think we can manage that. I’ll give you a quick and dirty grout lesson, and then I’ll get to work on the powder room.”

  Grouting proved less demanding than tiling, although no less messy, and Meg was downstairs, cleaned up, with a pot of coffee waiting, when Congressman Rick rang her doorbell in the front. She opened the door quickly. “Thanks for coming on such short notice, Rick. I can still call you Rick, right?”

  “Of course. You’ve done a lot for me and my family, and if there’s some way I can repay that, I’m listening.”

  “Come on back to the kitchen, then, and I’ll explain.”

  Rick declined coffee, but list
ened attentively as Meg outlined the history of the Eastman fire and the subsequent trial, and what had come to light since. He didn’t interrupt, but waited until Meg had finished before commenting.

  “Good summary, Meg. I remember the fire, vaguely, and Aaron’s arrest—he was only a few years older than me. But it took a while to come to trial, so I lost sight of what happened. I didn’t realize that Aaron was out, or back in town, but I’ve only just come back myself. I hate to admit it, but I think Art Preston is right: there’s not enough to reopen the trial. I can look into how Massachusetts handles pardons, or ask my staff to do it, but I wouldn’t pin too many hopes on that.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you could get the details, but I realize that any legal avenues are going to be complicated and slow. What I’m most concerned about now is what Aaron is supposed to do tomorrow, and next week, and next year. I mean, the man is past forty, and he’s been in prison since he was a teenager. He has no money, no home, and his surviving family members can’t offer much in the way of support. His only real asset at the moment is the computer skills he’s learned in prison. To put it bluntly, he needs a job. Can you help with that?”

  Rick smiled. “Maybe I can. Look, can I meet the guy, talk to him? You said he’s working near here at the moment?”

  “Yes,” Meg said. “If you’re sticking around Granford over the Thanksgiving holiday, do you think you can squeeze in some time to get together with him?”

  “I’ll try, Meg, and I mean that—I’m not just blowing you off. You’re trying to do a good thing here. But then, it’s not the first time, is it?” An oblique reference to the occasions she’d done a good turn for him—because it was the right thing to do, not because she was trying to curry favor.

  She didn’t respond directly to his comment. Instead she said, “Aaron needs help, and if you can provide that, he’ll be grateful, and so will I. And if you can get some good press out of it, all the better.” She grinned wickedly at him.

  “Point taken.” Rick glanced at his watch. “I’d better be going. I don’t want to be late for my next appointment. But I will be in touch, I promise.” He stood up.