When he opened his eyes, she was looking intently up at him, as though drawing his soul inside her. ‘That was certainly worth waiting for. I only hope—’
He cut this off by kissing her. ‘It was,’ he assured her. ‘I’m grateful for your patience; all ten years’ worth.’
She smiled with relief. ‘I thought so, too. Whatever happened with your father and my mother, it couldn’t have been nearly as good as this.’
*
Close to one o’clock, as happened often now, Carla stirred awake, her sleep broken by the awkward position in which she lay, the discomfort of her swollen limbs and belly. But then she felt the baby kicking, and was overcome by gratitude.
Please, she implored him, live.
She had not been to church since the first threat of miscarriage. Now she rose, putting on her robe, and went to sit at her kitchen table.
Her mother’s rosary beads were there. Fingering them, she bent her head, praying that her child be born safe and strong. She felt a deep vulnerability, a consuming love like nothing she had experienced before this – fighting with all her soul and body to bring this child into the world.
A beam of light struck her front window. Apprehensive, she struggled upright, and went to peer through the glass.
A familiar S.U.V. was idling in the driveway of the main house, motor warming in the cold. It’s Rachel, she thought, relief mingled with curiosity. Then she saw the man captured by headlights as he climbed into the passenger side.
It was only a few seconds. But she knew him at once. His frame and movements were so like Ben’s.
With a sudden sickness of spirit, she forced herself away from the window and sat back down at the table, shaken. There was only one reason for him to be there at this hour, with this woman. An alluring, talented woman, she amended.
Carla felt her eyes close. She had no reason to feel betrayed, as though Adam had deserted her. They had no commitment to each other, had never made love as he surely had tonight with Rachel. And that must be the least of it for Adam – Carla was known to be self-destructive, and she was pregnant with Ben’s child. She had no right to feel as though her heart had been ripped open.
Perhaps he was truly his supposed father’s son, as other people had experienced Ben – a predator, and Adam’s only model through the years of growing up. But, despite her fears, she had sensed a goodness in Adam, imagined an affinity he might feel as well. Perhaps he was a good man, needing only the fresh start she could not give him. Perhaps he’d find that him with Rachel Ravinsky.
But Carla was no judge of men; her life had made that all too clear. She felt jealous, confused, craving a certainty she could not find. And, most of all, afraid of Adam and herself. She had made mistakes too many times. All she knew for sure was that she wanted a life different than the one she had had, a man different than all the unstable and selfish men she had known as an actress.
Perhaps this was unfair to Adam Blaine. Perhaps that was why she found herself crying.
‘We’ll be all right,’ she promised her son. ‘Just get here, please, and I’ll be all right for you.’
*
Rachel dropped Adam at the head of the driveway. With feigned concern, she whispered, ‘Think she’s waiting up for you?’
‘Probably. It’s past my curfew.’
Adam still felt strange to himself, as though he had betrayed Carla. He could not shake this; the guesthouse was too close. In this way he was not Ben’s son.
Interrupting his thoughts, Rachel swiftly kissed him before leaning back to study his face. ‘I hope this isn’t the last time,’ she said softly. ‘I like being with you, Adam. It feels like there’s more to do, and to say.’
Perhaps there is, he thought. There was no reason, really, not to find out. ‘I’m getting my own place,’ he responded. ‘The next time, we’ll go there.’
Rachel looked at him, her expression briefly vulnerable, as though she had divined his thoughts. But all she said was, ‘I’ll look forward to it.’
SEVEN
Leaving to look at rental properties, Adam encountered Jack repairing a rotted corner of the front porch.
‘Termites,’ Jack muttered, then drove another nail into a new plank.
With nothing to say, Adam headed for the car before the hearing Jack softly call his name.
He turned to face his father. Still kneeling, Jack looked up at him, squinting slightly in a thin winter sun. ‘I hear you’re moving out.’
Adam nodded. ‘Better that way.’
Jack’s deep brown eyes were questioning and sombre. ‘Is it? Your mother doesn’t think so.’
Afraid of being overheard, Adam moved closer, speaking under his breath. ‘She might if she knew what happened between you and Ben that night. But I would think she knows enough. You and Mom should have whatever you both need – God knows you waited long enough. But the three of us can’t go back and rewrite history, playing Mom and Dad and son.’ He glanced toward the guesthouse. ‘Besides, there’s Teddy to consider. For everyone’s good, the less Ted knows about our family history the better, including that he’s only my half-brother. Which also makes us cousins, I suppose – sometimes I lose track.’
Jack winced, deepening the lines of age in his weathered face. ‘I wonder if you can ever accept me. Or who I am to you.’
Caught between sadness and fatigue, Adam sat beside his father. ‘What can you be? I make no judgment about what happened between my mother and you. And I’ll never forget what a good uncle you were to us both. But you weren’t a father to me when it mattered.’
‘So it doesn’t matter now?’
‘I wish it did, Jack. But nothing can change the past, or what we’re dealing with in the present. I contrived this cover-up so that neither you nor Teddy spends a life in prison for my quasi-father’s death – sealing my mother’s sadness in the bargain. But as long as I stay in this house, I’m living that every moment. It’s suffocating.’
Jack ran a hand through his dark, silvering hair. In a low voice he said, ‘God knows I’d like to go back to when you were a boy, tell you “I’m your father, and I love you”. I always felt I was watching you through a window – completely miserable, unable to make myself known. But I had to live by your mother’s rules.’
‘And Ben’s. So here we all are, living out the choices I had no part in making.’ Feeling compassion war with candour, Adam placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘I don’t hate you, Jack – far from it. I don’t want Mom or you or Teddy to keep paying the price for who Ben was. But I can’t pretend to feel things I don’t, or to forget what can never be forgotten.’
Jack looked down. ‘At least that’s honest. Far more than we could ever be with you.’
There was nothing more to say, Adam knew. He let his hand rest on his father’s shoulder for another moment, then went to find a place to live, still suspended between his past and future.
*
Driving to meet the rental agent, Adam reviewed yet again what George Hanley knew or believed – that Adam had broken into the courthouse, stolen files, and sent them to Teddy’s lawyer. The one piece Hanley did not have was Adam’s manipulation of Bobby Towle, once his teammate and friend. Adam’s deepest shame.
*
Shortly after Ben’s funeral, Adam had met Bobby at the bar of the Kelly House.
In ten years it was little changed – dim lights, wooden tables, and a bar jammed with tourists and islanders, the din of laughter and conversation bouncing off walls covered with old photographs and Vineyard memorabilia. His friend sat at a small table in the corner, looking bulky and awkward in blue jeans and a polo shirt big enough to double as a beach towel. In the instant before Bobby saw him, Adam had the affectionate thought that he looked like Baby Huey all grown up – a little bulkier, a lot sadder.
With a smile, Adam sat down. ‘So, pal, how’ve you been the last decade or so?’
Bobby mustered a smile of his own. ‘You know how this island is. Days pass, then years,
nothing changes much. Pretty soon that’s your life.’
But something had changed, Adam sensed. For a guy like Bobby, being a cop and married to the prettiest girl in their high school class should have felt better than it appeared. Bobby ordered two beers, then asked, ‘And you? Seems like you just disappeared.’
Adam nodded. ‘One day I woke up and decided to see the world. For me, everything changes, every day. I don’t know which is better.’
The puzzlement lingered in Bobby’s eyes. ‘Everyone thought you’d be a lawyer. Maybe marry Jenny Leigh.’
Adam felt the familiar ache, the memory of a life torn asunder. ‘So did I,’ he answered. ‘I found out that wasn’t me.’
A young waitress brought two beer mugs full to the brim. Hoisting his, Adam said, ‘To victory over Nantucket.’
Clicking mugs, Bobby replied nostalgically, ‘That was a game, wasn’t it?’
‘Yep. I’ll remember the last play on my deathbed. They’re two yards from the goal line, five seconds to go, a quarterback sweep away from beating us. He almost gets to the goal line. Then you knock the son of a bitch into tomorrow, and the ball loose from his hands—’
‘And you fall on it,’ Bobby finished. ‘Happiest moment of my life.’
‘Happier than marrying Barbara?’ Adam asked lightly. ‘Football games are sixty minutes; marriage is supposed to last a lifetime. Or so they tell me.’
Bobby’s face changed, his bewildered expression followed by a slow shake of the head. ‘That’s what I always believed.’ He stopped himself. ‘I don’t much like to talk about it, Adam. With what happened to your dad, we maybe shouldn’t even be having this beer.’
It was another sign, if Adam had needed one, that George Hanley and the state police thought someone had killed Benjamin Blaine, and had focused on a member of his family. Shrugging, he said casually, ‘This is the Vineyard, not Manhattan, and we’re old friends. That doesn’t entitle me to anything you don’t want to tell me. But if it helps, I’d like to hear more about you and Barbara.’
For a long moment Bobby looked down, then shook his head again, less in resistance than sorrow. ‘It’s all just so fucked up.’
Adam gave his friend a look of quiet commiseration. After a time, he said, ‘I guess we’re talking about your marriage.’
Bobby puffed his cheeks. Expelling a breath, he murmured, ‘Barb got mixed up with a guy where she worked. At the bank.’
This required no elaboration. ‘Sorry,’ Adam proffered. ‘That’s tough to take, I know.’
Bobby looked past him, seemingly at nothing. ‘You start to imagine them together, you know? Still, the unfaithful part I could have gotten past. But this douche bag was into crystal meth.’ His voice became almost hopeful. ‘I think that was what Barb was into, more than him.’
Keep telling yourself that, Adam thought, if it helps. Signalling for a second beer, he asked, ‘Did you guys break up?’
Bobby stared at the table, as though examining the wreckage of his own life. ‘She begged me to take her back. But by that time it had gone on way too long, and she was way too deep into meth. I had to put her in a treatment centre.’
It was the kind of thing Bobby would do, Adam thought – even in high school he had been a responsible kid, stepping up when a lesser person would not. ‘When did all this happen?’
‘She went away six months ago, to a treatment centre on the Cape. She’s still there.’ He frowned. ‘It sort of reminds me of the actress your dad got mixed up with. Except she had the money to get straight.’
‘Oh, it worked out fine for Carla,’ Adam said. ‘For her, this island became a profit centre. But I guess helping Barbara gets expensive.’
‘Like lighting hundred dollar bills on fire,’ Bobby answered resignedly.
When the waitress brought their second beers, he barely noticed her. Adam thanked her, then asked his friend, ‘How are you affording that?’
‘I’m not. Had to take a second mortgage on the place we fixed up together. Only reason I could buy it is my granddad left me a little.’ A look of bleakness seeped through Bobby’s stoic mask. ‘You haven’t been here for a while. I love this place, for sure. But us ordinary folks are getting squeezed out of the real-estate market by summer people with money. Not to mention we’re losing work to these Brazilians and day labourers from the mainland, and property taxes keep going up. Families who’ve been here since time began are barely hanging on.’ He looked at Adam, as though recalling the difference in their circumstances. ‘Your dad always had plenty of money. Still, you’re well out of all this. Except for what happened to him, I guess.’
‘More to my mother. I guess you heard about the will.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ The words were weighted with significance. ‘We’ve heard.’
‘I guess everyone has,’ Adam said resignedly. ‘How has it been, working with the state police?’
‘About what you’d expect. They send over this sergeant named Mallory – thinks he’s a hotshot, and that cops on this island are all buffoons. Not that he says that. It’s more the way he’s so patient and polite. Like when I was talking to Grandma after she got Alzheimer’s.’
Adam had to laugh. ‘From now on, Bobby, I’ll speak very slowly and distinctly.’
Bobby’s grin was rueful. ‘It really is like that, you know.’
‘So how long do you have to put up with these guys?’
‘As long as they keep digging.’
Adam shook his head. ‘I can’t believe that anyone killed him. I don’t know why they’d think so.’
‘Well, they do.’ Bobby looked away, then into Adam’s face. ‘Is anyone in your family getting legal advice?’
Adam feigned surprise. ‘They’ve got no reason to lawyer up. What with the will, they can’t afford to, anyhow.’
Bobby stared at his beer. ‘Maybe they should try,’ he said in a flatter tone. ‘I know where they can get a second mortgage.’
‘Not on a house that belongs to Carla Pacelli. I’m the only one with money, and not much at that.’ Adam paused, then asked quietly, ‘How much should I worry about them, Bob?’
Bobby considered his answer. ‘All I can tell you,’ he said in a lower voice, ‘is there’s a problem with the autopsy report.’
‘What kind of problem?’
For what seemed to Adam a painfully long time, Bobby concealed his thoughts behind half-closed eyelids. ‘How close are you to your brother, Adam?’
With difficulty, Adam summoned a look of composure, maintaining the same puzzled tone. ‘Teddy? We used to be very close.’
Bobby seemed to inhale. ‘If you still are, you might ask him the last time he was at the promontory. Depending on how you like the answer, tell him to get a lawyer—’
‘Bobby,’ Adam interrupted. ‘I know my brother. He hated that place.’
‘So he says. Problem is, he also hated your father.’
‘No more than I did.’
Bobby shook his head. ‘Maybe so. But Teddy stuck around.’ Pausing, he glanced at the nearest table, then continued speaking under the din. ‘Might as well tell you what Teddy already knows. Your brother used to have a boyfriend on the island, and Mallory and George Hanley went to see him. Seems like Teddy used to fantasize about giving your dad a shove, then watching him hit the rocks head first. Pillow talk, I guess.’
Adam’s skin went cold, and then a memory pierced his consciousness. The brothers had set up an old army tent to camp in the back yard. Teddy was twelve, Adam ten. The evening before, Teddy had refused to join the family picnic at the promontory, and Ben had mocked his fear of heights. ‘I guess you’re made for sea level,’ their father had concluded. ‘A metaphor of sorts.’ Lying in the tent, Teddy repeated this, then said, ‘Loves those sunsets, doesn’t he?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Ever think about giving him a shove?’
Teddy’s tone of enquiry had unsettled Adam badly. All at once, he had felt the difference between them, the line of demarcation th
at was their father. ‘Not really, no.’
‘Because I do, all the time. Sometimes it feels like the bastard is choking me to death …’
Facing Bobby, Adam shook his head, as if to clear it. ‘That sounds like something a kid would say. Even at that, it doesn’t sound like Teddy.’
‘People grow up,’ Bobby rejoined, ‘get serious about life. Maybe there’s a lot he hasn’t told you. Like that he called his ex-boyfriend the night your father died, leaving a message that he needed to talk.’
‘About what?’
‘The message didn’t say. But your brother sounded desperate, almost out of his mind. Not like I remember him from high school, this kind of gentle guy.’ Bobby stopped to stare at him. ‘You don’t know anything about this, do you?’
‘No,’ Adam conceded. ‘Nothing.’
‘That’s pretty interesting, don’t you think? Anyhow, I’ve made my point, and said way too much to do it. But ask yourself which neighbour of yours likes to walk that trail after dinner.’
Adam searched his memory. ‘Nathan Wright used to.’
‘Tell Teddy to see a lawyer,’ Bobby repeated. ‘That’s all I have to say. If you want to talk about old times, I’m happy to stick around. Or you can tell me about what you’ve been up to.’
Bobby’s misgivings were palpable, and in his last words Adam heard a plea – Help me make this a night with an old friend. ‘Then let’s switch to whiskey, Bob, and do it right.’
For the next few moments, waiting for two glasses of Maker’s Mark on ice, Adam spun stories about Afghanistan – in his telling, a strange and exotic place in which Adam was a seriocomic bit player. Over one whiskey, then another, they began reprising the Nantucket game, recalling key moments in a night that made them champions of their league.
‘You know,’ Bobby said in a thicker voice, ‘my dad always said that, next to Ben Blaine, you were the best quarterback we ever had.’
Adam laughed briefly. ‘Funny, Bob. My dad said that, too.’
At length, they got up, leaving crumpled bills on the table. Outside, it had rained; the night air had cooled, and shallow pockets of water glistened on the asphalt. The two men embraced, and then drew back, looking into each other’s faces.
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