He had been as careful as his training demanded. After printing out the documents he had photographed in Hanley’s office, he had put his cell phone and computer in a bag filled with rocks, driven a powerboat far offshore, and dropped them to the bottom of the Vineyard Sound. Further out, he had done this with his hard drive. Before putting the documents in a mailbox, he had made sure that neither they nor the envelope bore his prints. He did not think he had made any mistakes; he knew that he could not afford one.
Reaching Carla’s guesthouse, he paused for a moment to dispel his thoughts. Being in her presence required a clear head.
*
As Carla cooked dinner, Adam sat watching her at the kitchen counter, sipping a glass of the Pinot Noir he had brought from Benjamin Blaine’s cellar. He could not help but wonder, uncomfortably, how many times the dead man had sat where Adam did now – watching this beautiful woman, knowing that, as night fell, he would have her. The swell of her stomach was more visible now.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I’m pretty careful about what I do and don’t do. I want to give this baby every chance.’
‘Because you thought you’d never have one?’
She was still for a moment, as though captured by some memory or reflection. Adam found himself looking at her long neck and back, no less elegant for the ripening of her body. Quite deliberately, he thought, she did not turn to face him. ‘My son is a gift,’ she said softly. ‘I tell myself he’s why everything happened – crashing and burning; coming here; meeting Ben, yet never imagining that whatever came of that would include a child. So there’s nothing I can regret without regretting him.’
Adam was struck by the emotion in her voice. ‘Did you always want children?’ he asked.
Without responding, she served dinner – fresh linguine with clams, cooked in garlic and olive oil; a salad of tomatoes, romaine hearts, radishes, and a savoury dressing she had made herself. ‘To understand what this means to me,’ she said at length, ‘you have to know more about my childhood than you’d care to hear. But the idea of kids kept coming up for me in different ways. My home life was difficult. So, as an antidote, I fantasized about being a good mother, protecting my kids from the harshness of life, and some of the things I’d seen.
‘When I started acting, I’d observe other families, and try to imagine what they were thinking and feeling.’ Sitting across from Adam, she looked at him with a clear, candid gaze. ‘One afternoon, toward the end of it, I was being driven home from the set in a limousine with tinted windows. I’d quit early; I was too drunk on vodka and edgy on coke to bring the last scene off. We got stuck in traffic. I was staring out the darkened window, at nothing, when I noticed an S.U.V. stalled next to me – a mom, dad, and a small boy and girl, laughing, heedless of time. All at once, I was filled with confusion and self-pity. I wanted to be that mother, and in this fleeting, pointless moment of envy, I imagined that her husband was the kind of dad I’d longed for but never had. Then I realized that I could never be anyone in that picture, and turned away.’ She shook her head dismissively. ‘Maudlin, I know.’
‘Human,’ Adam demurred. ‘Any thoughtful person from a difficult family understands one of its cruellest aspects – the distance between the archetype people long for and the reality they face. So maybe you start hoping that you can somehow press the reset button and replicate what you wished for, rather than what you lived.’
Carla nodded, and then her expression clouded. ‘True enough. Perhaps that’s made me superstitious.’
She had a more specific worry about her pregnancy, Adam sensed. But at the core, Carla Pacelli was a deeply private person, and, he intuited, a lonely one. ‘After I leave,’ he ventured, ‘would you mind if Teddy checked in on you now and then?’
Carla gave him a look of surprise. ‘I doubt he’d be that interested. And I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with someone suspected of killing my baby’s father. Not to mention his own.’
The bald statement made Adam feel foolish, an emotion at war with his fierce love of Teddy, his knowledge that his brother was innocent, his own father guilty. ‘Teddy didn’t kill anyone,’ he said flatly. ‘He’s a good soul – the best of us, really. The only reason anyone suspected Teddy is that Ben was a primitive homophobe.’
He watched Carla consider responding, then deciding to let it go. Instead, she asked, ‘Does Teddy know Ben wasn’t your father?’
‘No. Better that he not know that his father’s favourite son wasn’t his son at all, and that Ben knew it. Not that you should care, but it would also complicate Ted’s view of our mother.’ Not to mention, Adam did not say, that the truth would take Teddy one painful step closer to comprehending the reasons for Ben’s death.
Carla considered him. ‘You carry a lot of secrets, don’t you? That must make life difficult.’
This was uncomfortably close to home. ‘Thanks to Ben,’ he replied, ‘I share this particular secret with you. I’d appreciate it if you never enlightened Teddy.’
‘I didn’t enlighten you, did I? You’re not the only one who’s good at keeping secrets.’ Her gaze became curious and probing. ‘Are you ever going to tell me why you broke off with Ben?’
Adam met her gaze. ‘I can’t,’ he said simply.
‘Because it’s too painful?’
Adam chose not to answer this. ‘Among other things, because it involves someone else who’s still alive. I know you’re curious, but we need to let this go.’
Carla studied him another moment, then said simply, ‘I’m sure you have your reasons, Adam.’
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Adam searched for a change of subject, then asked, ‘Are you still hoping to become a therapist?’
She nodded. ‘After the baby comes, I plan on going to graduate school. The life I lived before was all centred around me. What I learned in recovery was that I can help other people, just as they helped me.’ She glanced at his wine glass. ‘By the way, you’re helping me complete a successful experiment. When I first met Ben, the smell of alcohol tempted me. But sitting here with you, it seems like drinking has lost its appeal. Good to know, given most of the people I’ll meet won’t be in a twelve-step programme.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ Adam assured her.
‘I intend to be,’ she answered firmly. ‘For myself, and for this baby.’
Adam felt a moment of disquiet, the fear of what might happen to Carla if her pregnancy went awry. ‘Don’t worry, Carla. I’m sure the kid will find other defects to complain about. Just be glad he’ll never be a teenage girl.’
She laughed. ‘I remember how I was, believe me. But I’d take one of those, too, if given half the chance. I was an only child, and it didn’t improve my character a bit. Having a younger sibling might’ve helped.’
Adam smiled. ‘If you ever speak to Teddy, ask him. Then you can decide what to wish for.’
*
After dinner, he helped her wash dishes, looking out of the kitchen window at the ocean glistening with moonlight. He remembered passing by this guesthouse at night, perhaps a month before, and seeing Carla washing dishes by herself, her face framed in the same window. Then, he had imagined her as an enemy, yet he had sensed the vulnerability of a woman alone with her losses and regrets. He had not known that she was pregnant, nor grasped her determination to stand on her own.
They went on like this, Carla handing him dishes, silverware or glasses before he dried and put them in a dish rack – a form of communication, no less companionable for their relative quiet. He was suddenly aware of how close they were, of all he saw in her now. She caught him glancing at her, and turned to face him.
Impulsively, he took the dish from her hand, putting it aside, looking into her deep brown eyes. Gazing back, she seemed neither welcoming nor fearful, as though somehow she had expected this.
Gently, he put his hand on the nape of her neck, drawing her face to his.
Her mouth was full and soft and warm. Their lips stayed where they were, gently pressing, and then his parted slightly, as did hers, the tips of their tongues touching, then more. He held her tight against him, their kiss deep and lingering until, at last, she drew back and, seeming to shudder, laid her head on his shoulder. He could feel the swell of her stomach against him, reminding him of her womanliness, yet all that kept them apart. But still he had wanted this.
‘Sweet,’ he murmured.
‘Yes,’ she answered softly, a trace of sadness in her voice as she raised her head to look at him. ‘What do you want from me, Adam?’
‘I hadn’t thought beyond this moment,’ he answered honestly. ‘I wasn’t expecting this.’
‘You shouldn’t have, for good reasons.’ Her eyes were filled with confusion. ‘There’s so much to this, isn’t there?’
Adam felt the pulse in his throat. ‘Yes.’
‘Then just hold me for a minute. Before you go.’
For a time he did this, silent, then murmured, ‘I won’t stop thinking about you, though.’
‘Nor I, you.’
She took his hand, walking him to the door. Opening it, he turned back again. He could not seem to stop looking at her.
‘Before you leave,’ she asked, ‘will you at least come to say goodbye?’
‘Of course.’
Bereft of words, he touched her face with curled fingers and walked into the darkness. The night felt warm, yet solitary, save for the shadow of Benjamin Blaine. Adam could still feel her behind him, in the shelter of the house where she and Ben had conceived their son.
SIX
Two mornings later, Adam sat with Charlie Glazer on his sailboat in Menemsha harbour. The boat was the Herreshoff Charlie had raced against Ben and Adam that fateful summer. The venue had been the therapist’s idea; Adam wondered whether this was meant to evoke feelings he preferred to repress.
For a time, Adam watched battered fishing boats labour through the mouth of the harbour. Charlie cupped a mug of coffee in his hands, wearing an alert but pleasant expression. ‘I’ve been reflecting on our last session,’ he began, ‘and what you want to accomplish here. Ordinarily, I don’t challenge my patients – especially at first. But I already know a lot about your life, and we don’t have that much time.
‘It’s obvious that over the years you’ve built up some very strong defences. So I’m going to push you pretty hard – because I may need to, and because I think you can take it. Are you okay with that?’
Adam met his gaze. ‘Sure.’
‘Okay. I’ve thought some more about the C.I.A. Both about the nightmares of your own death, and the choice you made to follow a path so dangerous and so consuming. Maybe we should talk about who you were before that, and what triggered your decision to leave here.’
Adam felt himself tense. ‘About the nightmares – sometimes a cigar is only a cigar. People wanting to kill you raises the possibility they’ll succeed. On that level, the dreams are simple enough.’
‘Sure. But you didn’t have them until Benjamin Blaine fell off a cliff, forcing you to confront your family’s past.’ Charlie leaned forward. ‘That you came to me suggests you’re grappling with some profound psychological and existential questions you may have entered the agency to avoid. I think they may have started with your parents. Perhaps Clarice most of all.’
The last statement took Adam by surprise. ‘If you say so.’
‘I don’t “say” anything. But let me ask you this: when you were a kid, did you believe your mother loved you?’
‘Come off it, Charlie. Why don’t you just ask if I owned a sled named Rosebud? I don’t think I’m suffering from maternal distaste for breastfeeding, if that’s what you’re after. She was my mom, and I took it for granted that I mattered to her.’
‘Then let’s move past early childhood. Was there a time when your feelings about Clarice became more complicated?’
Adam took a swallow of black coffee. ‘Maybe in adolescence, when kids begin to differentiate. Some of that had to do with Ben. He was tough on me, worse on Ted, and she let him do it. Then I started hearing rumours about other women.’ Adam paused, sifting uncomfortable memories. ‘As a teenager, I started feeling protective of her. But I also I began to wonder if she was willing to sacrifice her sons and her own pride to preserve her social status. And part of her simply felt unreachable. I remember describing her as “the most pleasant person I’ve never really known”.’
Charlie gave him a keen look. ‘To whom?’
Adam hesitated. ‘Jenny Leigh.’
‘Was Jenny the person you confided in?’
‘Yes. But she had problems of her own. So I tried not to lean on her too much.’
‘In other words,’ Charlie prodded, ‘you decided to be strong. Like you imagined that Ben was.’
Adam gave him a sceptical smile. ‘That implies I had a choice.’
‘I meant something more instinctive. By accident or example, your parents forced you to be capable and self-reliant. So you became the son who could make things turn out the way you wanted. The son in Ben’s own image.’
‘Think so?’
‘I do,’ Charlie said bluntly. ‘Not every man would break into a courthouse and steal police evidence to protect his mother, uncle, and brother. So why did you do that?’
Once again, Adam felt the weight of what he could not say. ‘I had the skills to do it,’ he answered. ‘Without me, Teddy might’ve been convicted for something he didn’t do. Into the bargain, I protected my mother from suspicion and insured that she kept the house and enough to live on. No one knows better than I how important that is to her.’
‘But do you resent that on some level? Once again, Clarice has reversed the role of parent and child, and now you’ve risked everything to save her and the rest of the family. How do you think that’s affected you?’
‘You tell me, Charlie.’
Charlie shook his head. ‘I’m a not a mind reader. But I’ve seen men with dependent, somewhat elusive mothers replicate that model into other relationships with women. How would you describe Jenny?’
Silent, Adam gazed out at the choppy wake of a grimy fishing boat. ‘She was fragile.’
‘Like your mother?’
‘No. Not like my mother at all.’
Adam saw Charlie consider pursuing this, and then decide not to. ‘Since you left the island, how would you describe your relationship to women?’
‘My job is pretty consuming, and my relationships reflect that.’ Adam’s tone flattened out. ‘I’m not like Ben, if that’s what you mean. It’s more like serial monogamy, with a high turnover.’
‘Don’t people in your business get married?’
‘Some do. But it’s hard for me to imagine.’
Charlie raised his eyebrows. ‘And yet you imagine yourself dead. Is it a fair guess that you don’t let women get too close?’
Adam shrugged. ‘If you’re suggesting I have “issues with intimacy”, I suppose you could make that argument.’
‘What do you get from these relationships?’
Adam paused, and then forced himself to be honest. ‘I like the pursuit, as Ben did. But then I find myself pulling back.’
Charlie cocked his head. ‘When you have sex, how do you feel?’
Adam looked down. ‘Detached,’ he responded tonelessly. ‘I’m sure that makes me technically proficient. That’s the virtue of not getting caught up in the moment. I never stop being aware of myself, and what I’m doing.’
‘Sounds lonely,’ Charlie observed. ‘For both of you. It also suggests an anomaly. You can have protective feelings toward women – as with your mother and, perhaps, Carla Pacelli – but you can’t let them in. Ever wonder if your cover story as a spy isn’t a cover for something deeper?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Your career requires you to conceal who you are. That doesn’t lend itself to enduring relationships, and any slip-up carries the distinct possibil
ity you’ll be killed.’ Charlie paused for emphasis. ‘To survive, you’re always changing identities and cover stories, keeping people at a distance. And you can abandon a woman before she abandons you.’
Adam mustered a derisive smile. ‘Is that really what you think?’
Charlie stared at him, letting their silence build. At length, he said, ‘I wonder if you realize how defensive you sound. And look.’
Adam felt his own stillness. More quietly, he said, ‘Do I?’
‘What do you think?’ When Adam said nothing, Charlie added, evenly, ‘I’m not a Taliban interrogator, Adam, or trying to be some sort of demeaning authority figure. I’m on your side, and you and I are in this one together. Can you try to remember that?’
‘All right.’
‘Then bear with me. What I just said about abandonment has a certain logic. Even as a boy, you must have been longing for someone you could trust. But you don’t trust a soul, do you?’ Charlie looked at him intently. ‘Tell me why you called Jenny “fragile”.’
Adam crossed his arms. ‘What I knew about her then? Or learned later on?’
‘Let’s start with when you were together.’
Adam tried to remember how he had felt. ‘She was very poetic and sensitive, I thought. But she had mood swings, was afraid of alcohol, and had to take medication. Her drunk of a father had bailed out on her, and her mother was weak and erratic. Even then, I sensed she was afraid of falling through a trapdoor.’
‘What did you think would become of her?’
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