by Ann Gosslin
‘No wine? Nothing to eat?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t stay long.’
His smile faltered.
The waitress brought their order and clip-clopped away in her wood-soled sandals.
Too hot in her long-sleeved tunic, Erin was desperate to push up her sleeves and get some air, but the bruises on her arms would raise questions she had no wish to answer. Not yet. Let’s see what he had to say for himself first.
Ray raised his glass of sangria. ‘Salud. I like what you’ve done with your hair.’ He appraised her new look. ‘Very edgy. It suits you.’
The day she was released from hospital, she’d gone straight to a salon to have her hair cut. Shoulder-length and two shades lighter, she wouldn’t call it edgy, just fresher. She’d been long overdue for a change.
‘It was nice to get your message,’ he said, fiddling with his glass. ‘When I didn’t hear from you…’ He looked away. ‘I hope I didn’t do anything to upset you.’
Erin savoured the pleasure of the cold tea as it slid down her throat. When had it ever felt this good to be alive? Edges were sharper, colours more vivid, as if the thin membrane between her senses and the physical world had been ripped away. For a moment, her feelings towards Ray softened. She had lied about who she was, and he forgave her. For all she knew, he had a good reason of his own for hiding his relationship with Stern.
‘I have some bad news.’ She set her glass on the table. ‘Tim’s father is dead.’
The shock in his eyes was genuine.
‘I thought you’d want to know.’
‘Why would I want to…?’ He flushed and looked away. ‘What happened?’ His hands shook as he picked up his drink and abruptly set it down again.
‘He died from a fall. Two weeks ago.’
He ran his finger round the edge of his glass. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I imagined you would be.’ Erin reached into her bag for the photograph from Stern’s bedroom. Lydia had swiped it for her when she went to the house to collect Tim to drive him to the group home near Albany, where a place had become available at just the right moment.
‘This was in Warren Stern’s bedroom.’ She pushed it across the table. ‘It’s an exact copy of the photo I saw in your apartment, and I couldn’t help wondering why he would have a picture of you and your dad. But it’s not your father, is it?’ She studied his face. ‘It’s you and Stern.’
When he looked up at her, his skin was the colour of putty. ‘What were you doing in Stern’s bedroom?’
She nearly laughed, but then grew serious. ‘I was running for my life.’
He struggled to connect the dots. ‘Running…? I don’t understand.’
A stream of chatter from the crowd on the terrace drifted through the open window.
‘Tim didn’t kill his mother and sisters. When Doris Stern found out her husband was having an affair with another woman, she killed her daughters in revenge. When Stern discovered what his wife had done, he murdered her and made it look like Tim was to blame.’
In front of her eyes, Ray seemed to shrink, until he took on the shape of a sullen boy, angry at the world. ‘All this time, it was Stern?’
Erin looked at him, but said nothing. Around them, the air fell still.
He finished his drink, and when he spoke, his voice was hollow. ‘My father was a violent drunk. He used to beat the crap out of me when I was a kid. And my mother…’ He shook his head. ‘To escape the chaos at home, I joined a Little League baseball team, even though I didn’t like sports, just so I could get out of the house on Saturdays. Stern was one of the coaches. I was twelve and desperate for any sign of kindness. He took me under his wing, encouraged me to work hard at school. Kept telling me that good grades and a fine character would be my ticket out.’
He signalled the waitress for another glass of sangria. ‘By the time I was fifteen, I’d started to pull away from him. When I quit playing baseball, I could tell he was hurt. He’s the one who got me the job at the yacht club, though by that time I was a mess. Drugs, skipping school, petty theft.’ He paused. ‘Even, on occasion, arson.’ His crooked smile fell flat. ‘If it was bad, or against the law, it was like honey to a bee.’
Arson. A picture of Tim’s charred house rose in Erin’s mind. ‘A year after the murders, before he moved to California, Stern came to see me in New York. I’d gotten a scholarship to Columbia and was over the moon at the chance to escape Belle River. He said he thought of me as family, that with his wife and daughters dead, and Tim locked away, I was the son he was meant to have. It wasn’t always a welcome or easy mantel to wear, but we kept in touch. Cards at Christmas and on my birthday, and every couple of years, when he flew out here on business, he’d take me out to some slick restaurant.’
Ray picked up the photo. ‘This was taken about ten years ago. He’d remarried by then and the new wife wasn’t happy about him keeping up with the old Belle River crowd, such as it was. So, we drifted apart. The last time I saw him was about four years ago, when we met for lunch at a steakhouse in midtown. That’s when he told me his wife had cancer. About a year ago, I got a card saying he’d moved back east. Bought a house in Vermont and wanted me to come up for a visit. I never got around to writing him back. By that time, our relationship had started to feel a bit forced.’ His voice fell away. ‘I didn’t know he’d kept this picture in his bedroom.’
In the space of a few minutes, Ray’s face had aged ten years. The lines around his eyes were deeper, and his skin an unhealthy grey.
‘I called him once, but I never went up to the house. Always had some excuse. Work, travel, whatever. But the truth was, I didn’t feel like rekindling the relationship. It was fine when he was out on the West Coast, but with him living in Vermont, it felt like an obligation. It was like he wanted something from me I didn’t have to give.’ He reached for her hand, but she pulled away. ‘When you turned up at my door, asking about Tim Stern… it was a huge shock. The last thing I heard about Tim was that he’d been sent to a state asylum. Stern never mentioned him.’
His tone seemed sincere, but she wasn’t convinced. Something told her there was more to the story. Much more. ‘Okay, I get that you were surprised, but why lie about knowing him?’
‘Habit, I guess.’ He rattled the ice in his glass. ‘I learned to keep secrets as a kid. Safer that way.’
That she could understand. Two people with miserable childhoods. It should have formed a bond between them. But something didn’t ring true.
He tossed some bills on the table. ‘Do you mind if we go outside? I could use some air.’
*
They walked north along the river, where the swirls and eddies rippled in the light. On the other side, high bluffs cast shadows across the water.
‘When you started asking all those questions about the Sterns, I had the idea you might be a cop, or some kind of private investigator. And that new information about the case had come to light. It made me kind of jumpy, like I might be implicated, just by association.’ He touched her arm. ‘That’s why I lied about knowing him. Plus, all those questions… asking me if I knew Graham Marston. It brought the whole thing roaring back, my crappy family, my misspent youth, and it got me thinking about those cheques he’d been sending me over the years.
‘Stern was sending you money?’
‘Not in a regular way,’ he said, steering her towards a bench. ‘But every now and then, on my birthday, or for Christmas or college graduation, I’d get a card with a cheque in it. A big cheque. I’m not talking piddly amounts here. Two, five, sometimes ten thousand dollars.’ Ray shook his head. ‘Once, I tried to return the money, but he said he’d made some kind of investment in my name when I was a kid, back in my Little League days, and the money was from that. It did strike me as odd, though. I mean, why would he do something like that? But who was I to complain? I was a struggling student, and then trying to get by with a bunch of jobs that didn’t pay well. The money was a huge help. In f
act, it changed my life. I used it to buy my apartment.’
He turned to look at the boats on the river. ‘It was only when you asked all those questions about Stern that I started to remember… after so many years of trying to forget… about the night his wife and daughters were killed. The memories came rushing back, and those cheques began to seem a lot less like generosity from a man who’d suffered a horrible tragedy, and more like… hush money.’
Erin dropped onto the bench. ‘Hush money? Why would you think that?’
‘Because I saw him. That night. I was out with some friends, squashed into the back seat of someone’s car. We were just cruising around when I saw Stern sometime around midnight, driving on one of the back roads that cut through the forest. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. We never heard any details about what happened that night. It was barely mentioned in the local paper. Plenty of gossip, to be sure, but nobody really knew anything. Stern must have kept the more salacious bits out of the news. He had that kind of pull. Though I did eventually hear that Tim had been arrested and charged with the crime.’
‘But you never told anyone that Stern wasn’t in Portland where he claimed?’
Ray turned his back to the river. ‘Like I said, I learned early on it was safer to keep my mouth shut. I was an awkward, frightened child. My dad was violent. My mom was a mess, and just as scared of him as I was. It got worse in high school. I turned into this sad loner, a bit of a weird kid. Awkward, shy. Kind of like Tim, I guess.’
From her bag, Erin pulled out the copies of Ray’s yearbook pictures she’d printed off the internet. With a red pen, she’d circled the string of nonsense letters that had kept her mystified for months, having failed to see, until a few days ago, what they meant: eldu#QUEpasa? She passed him the photocopy. ‘Someone whose high school nickname was “the Duke” doesn’t sound like a loner to me.’
When Ray looked at the photocopy, his face paled. When he said nothing, Erin continued. ‘I knew my brother had a bunch of friends with a reputation for raising hell. Vandalising property, selling drugs, terrorising other kids.’ She watched his face. ‘They had these ridiculous nicknames. The Viking, the Enforcer, the Duke. When we first met, I was so charmed by you, it never occurred to me that you were one of them.’
‘I really don’t know what—’
‘It took me a while to make the connection. But your yearbook photo gave it away.’
‘Erin, listen…’ He tried to grab her hand, but she pulled away.
‘All this time… getting to know you, baring my soul. How could I have known I was falling for “El Duque” himself.’
*
That night she cried. Though the tears had been building for months, ever since that day at Ruth Davis’ flat, when she’d nearly fallen to pieces, it was Ray who broke the floodgates. The look on his face when she’d left him on the banks of the river sliced her in two.
Skilled at seeing through the mask people showed to the world, how had she failed to spot the moral deficiencies lurking below the surface? On the train back to Lansford, she tried to come up with excuses for what he’d done. Not only the cruelty of his teenage years – hadn’t they all done things they were ashamed of? – but the lies about the money and his relationship to Stern.
But however she tried to justify it, the facts remained. In the guise of ‘the Duke’, Ray had tormented boys like Tim and Jeremy. But that wasn’t the worst of it. If Ray had come forward about seeing Stern that night, the truth would have come out, and Tim’s name cleared. Twenty-seven years in a locked ward. There were no reparations for that.
Two nights later, while she was tucked up in bed at the country inn near Albany, where she’d checked in to rest before returning to work, Erin’s mobile pinged.
Can we talk? I’ll come to you.
She reached for the delete button. But it was only fair to hear him out.
Saturday 3.00pm. 79 Maple Street, Albany.
She pressed send and switched off the light.
*
Erin was waiting in her car in front of a three-storey house with a wrap-around porch when a taxi pulled up and Ray stepped out. Dressed in jeans and hiking boots, he looked prepared for a day in the countryside. He glanced at the house with a puzzled frown.
Be patient. All will be explained.
As he approached the driver’s side, she rolled down the window. ‘Get in. I don’t want anyone to see you.’
Ray slid into the passenger seat. His eyes were dull and his hands shook, as if he hadn’t slept in days.
‘I’m not here to make excuses or defend my behaviour,’ he said, looking straight ahead through the windscreen. ‘Not about the awful things I did as a teenager. Or lying to you about Stern, even though that information could have affected Tim’s situation.’ He turned to look at the house. ‘I was a screwed-up kid from a messed-up home, but that doesn’t excuse the way I treated Tim, or any of the stupid and vile things I did to hurt others.’ He took a white envelope from inside his jacket and handed it to her. ‘You can open it later when you’re alone.’
The air inside the car was warm, though the oak trees lining the street provided a welcoming shade. Earlier in the day it was cooler, with a hint of autumn in the air. Soon, the canopy of trees would change colour and burnish the countryside with great swaths of red and gold.
He turned to look at the house. ‘Is this where you live?’
She cleared her throat, wishing she didn’t feel so nervous. ‘No, but there’s someone who lives here I’d like you to see.’
At precisely three-fifteen, the front door opened, and a man in jeans and a brand-new green sweatshirt stepped onto the porch. From behind him, a dog barrelled past and charged down the steps, before turning to wait for the tennis ball in the man’s hand. As he threw it in a clean arc across the wide lawn, the dog barked excitedly and took up the chase, her russet coat shining in the sun. The moment the dog caught the ball, the man took off round the side of the house, while she chased him into the backyard.
When Lydia had called with a report on Tim’s progress, she had described this routine – out the front door, throw the ball, scurry round the back – as their new game. Under the care of a doctor, Tim was being weaned off the medication he’d never needed and was adjusting to his new home. With Lulu, a hit with the other residents, the star attraction of the house.
‘Is that…?’
‘Yes,’ Erin said. ‘That’s Tim, or Timothy as he prefers to be called. He seems to be settling in well.’
Ray fell quiet. But what could he say? An apology wouldn’t turn back the clock, nor would it give Tim the years he had lost.
He stared out the window, as if waiting for Tim to reappear, but the front yard remained empty.
‘Erin …’ He started to say something, then shook his head and opened the door. ‘It’s all in there.’ He nodded at the envelope on the dash. After shutting the door, he leaned through the open window. In Spanish, he murmured a few words about learning from one’s mistakes. ‘I repeat that quote to myself at night before falling asleep.’ His eyes were sad. ‘It doesn’t make me feel better. But perhaps someday it will.’
*
It was her last night in Albany, hiding out in her room at the inn. She hadn’t been ready to return to Lansford before, but it was time. In the morning, she would pay the bill and head back home.
She made a cup of tea and curled up in the window seat to read Ray’s letter. When she slit open the envelope, a square of stiff paper fell out. She picked it up and turned it over. It was a photo of her and Ray, snapped at that Cuban restaurant, Casa Habana. One of Ray’s waitress friends must have taken it. The camera caught them at the moment they’d lifted their glasses in a toast. May you live every day of your life. Her eyes shone in the light of the candle as he touched his glass with hers. She looked happy.
From the envelope, she pulled out a letter, handwritten on a single sheet of paper, and a document of several typed pages, printed on the letterh
ead of a New York law firm.
Dear Erin,
In the summer of 1978, after graduating from high school, I left Belle River for what I hoped would be the last time. The move to NYC was meant to be a fresh start, and a chance to put my demons behind me for good. But I don’t need to tell you that whatever demons hound us through life are inside, not out, and no matter how fast we run, we can’t escape ourselves or the shadows that haunt us.
I can’t make up for the things I did to ruin Tim’s life. The bullying and the drugs were the least of it. If not for my indifference to his fate, he would never have been locked away. Someone with more integrity would have gone to the police with what he knew. For the rest of my life I will have to live with the consequences of my cowardice and cruelty.
I can’t give Tim those years back, but I sincerely hope that a better future awaits. To my great surprise, and consternation, I was contacted by an NYC lawyer, who informed me that I was the beneficiary of Stern’s estate. Even though I turned my back on him in the end, apparently he considered me, much to my shame and regret, to be the son he’d always wanted.
Following probate, the entire value of Stern’s estate will be placed in trust for Tim. The enclosed document from Lear, Reinhardt & Barton contains all the details. Though it won’t change the past, I hope the money will allow Tim to live in comfort and safety for the rest of his life.
As for me, I’m taking a six-month leave of absence from work and heading to a village in Galicia. In the winter months, storms batter the coast, and the villagers huddle in their homes against the elements. With not much to do and little to see, I plan to walk the hills and tally my debts.
It is unlikely you will ever want to see me again, but I do hope when I return it will be as a better man, and perhaps, should you ever think of me, I will somehow receive your thoughts like a beam of light through the darkness.
Yours ever, Ray
She placed the letter on the table and scanned the document from the law firm. It was all as Ray had written. The money from Stern’s estate would be placed in trust for Tim’s care for the remainder of his life. He had ended his letter with a quote in Spanish. Something about how the honourable man shall arise one day from the ashes of his mistakes. She could only hope Ray was right.