ZOEY HAD SPENT THE DAY with Lucas, walking the beach, climbing the winding paths up the ridge, strolling along Pond Road. They’d covered nearly every square foot of the northern half of the island.
Lucas was saying good-bye, again, to his home.
They talked of everything under the sun, of his plans and hers, their hopes and dreams. He talked about his mother, how sorry he felt for her, a shadow in her own home. And he talked about his father, how he admired him, despite everything, for his moral code, his ability to work without complaining, even his determination.
And Zoey talked about her own family, the way she felt her parents had never really grown up, the way they both felt somehow guilty because Benjamin had lost his sight. But the more she talked, the differences became so clear. Yes, her father still had one foot in the past, still played Grateful Dead records and wore a ponytail. And yes, her mother flirted too much with the guys who came into the restaurant’s bar, and was, by her own admission, not into “all that parental stuff.” But what was so clear was that in her family she was loved. And despite her parents’ almost daily arguments, they loved each other passionately.
She had so little to complain of, really, and Lucas had so much. Without her, Lucas was utterly alone.
They had cried, and kissed, and hugged each other till it hurt. But they had not found a way to put off the deadline that seemed now to be racing toward them at a terrible speed.
They vowed to spend every last minute they could together. They also vowed they would never give up, that they would find a way to be together.
They said good night easily at midnight, knowing that it was only a rehearsal.
Zoey went through all the motions of going to bed, lying awake in her bed until she heard her parents come home from closing the restaurant and go to sleep. At two thirty she dressed silently, stole down the stairs, and crept out the back door.
The moon was still in the sky, turning the dew that had settled in her backyard silver. She made her way up the path. She saw Lucas in his window, waiting. He held up his hand and disappeared. Seconds later the front door opened silently and she flew into his arms.
They walked at a snail’s pace up the stairs and into Lucas’s room.
“I knew you’d come,” he whispered.
“Of course. Nothing could stop me.”
They kissed passionately, hopelessly, lying on his bed, a tangled mess of arms and legs and twisted sheets.
Zoey knew he wanted to make love to her. And she didn’t know how she could refuse. In five hours they would have to catch the ferry. In nine hours he would be on a plane. In less than eleven hours she would be back on the island, alone.
Alone.
He lay on his back, she lay on him, looking down at his dark face, knowing that her tears were falling to mingle with his. Sadness swept them both up, dampening the passion that had threatened to carry them away.
They lay together in each other’s arms, saying nothing. After a while Zoey felt she might even be sleeping, as dream images floated through her mind. Images of them together, happy in sunshine.
She even smiled, the first time in so long, as she constructed fantasies of how they could find each other again. Then her bleary, swollen eyes focused on the blue numbers of his clock. Four o’clock. Their time together had shortened by another hour and a half.
She stirred, and her lips found his in the darkness. Her fingers unbuttoned his shirt. He seemed to have stopped breathing, and then, his fingers, nervous, fumbled at the front of her blouse.
“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.
“I know,” she whispered back. Was she? Was she really going to do this? Or was this just another part of her fantasy of happiness?
There was a heavy clumping on the steps and Lucas froze.
“My dad. He’s going to work.”
“At four in the morning?” Zoey asked.
“Lobstermen start early,” Lucas said.
They heard the sound of the front door closing and footsteps crunching on the gravel driveway. He had not bothered to say good-bye to his own son, Zoey realized. And with Mr. Cabral gone, any last hope for a reprieve was gone, too.
Suddenly a voice came from the front yard. Not Mr. Cabral’s deep, accented voice. They hesitated only a split second, then they raced to the dormered window, both half-dressed.
The sky was still dark and the moon had set, but the porch light showed them clearly—Mr. Cabral, standing, smoking a cigarette.
And Claire.
Zoey looked at Lucas questioningly and saw the trace of a smile on his lips.
“I’ll be damned,” he said softly.
They dressed quickly and went down the stairs, no longer caring what anyone thought, and emerged as Mr. Cabral was walking away.
Claire had her back to them. “Mr. Cabral,” she called out. “You have to do it. You know it’s the right thing.”
For what seemed an eternity, Mr. Cabral stood, his cigarette burning away in his mouth, staring down toward the distant dock. At last he half turned, looking over his shoulder at his son. “Lucas,” he said, giving the name an odd pronunciation. “Lucas, you better stay.”
For a moment it looked as if he might have something more to add, but then, grinding the butt of his cigarette out underfoot, he set off again, rounding the corner and disappearing down Center Street.
Claire turned to face them, her mouth set in a grim line. “I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here at four in the morning,” she said, her attempt at humor falling flat.
“What are you doing here?” Zoey asked.
Claire ignored her, focusing on Lucas. “Look, Lucas, there’s something you have to understand. I really didn’t remember. After the accident I really did not remember.”
Lucas nodded and remained silent.
Claire drew in a deep, shaky breath. “I just remembered a week ago. Things just started coming together. Mostly I guess because you returned. I guess it jarred my memory. Anyway, I’ve known since then. I didn’t speak up because of my dad . . .”
Lucas nodded again. “I understand.”
“I don’t,” Zoey said.
Claire looked surprised. “You didn’t tell her?”
Lucas made a dismissive noise. “One thing you learn right away in jail—everyone in there claims to be innocent. What was the point in one more convict running around claiming he got screwed?”
“Innocent?” Zoey said, trying to piece together some understanding.
“Lucas wasn’t driving the car the night Wade McRoyan was killed,” Claire said wearily. “I was.”
Zoey rocked back on her heels and put a hand over her heart. “You?”
“No one knew the truth but Lucas and my father,” Claire said. “Not even me. Lucas took the rap because . . . well, we were good friends.”
“I loved you,” Lucas said simply.
“And then my father got into the act. He helped Mr. Cabral out with a loan he needed to keep his boat. He wanted to make sure Lucas wouldn’t change his mind and recant. Especially after everyone realized they were actually going to send Lucas to jail.” Claire took another deep breath. “My father knows I know,” she said. “I told him I’d keep it quiet. He says people might think he’d broken the law himself. The loan to your father might look like he was paying you to confess.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone about that part of it,” Lucas said.
Claire sagged in relief, but Zoey was outraged. “Why would you protect Claire’s father?”
“I wouldn’t,” Lucas said. “I’d protect my dad, though. He doesn’t know why Mr. Geiger arranged that loan. I know my old man’s a bastard, but he would never sell me out for money, and it would tear him apart if he knew the whole truth. From here on out the story will just be that I was a dumb kid, so madly in love that I confessed to protect Claire. That’s ninety percent of the truth, anyway.”
Claire nodded. “That’s a better percentage than we’ve had around here lately.”
“Have you told Jake yet?” Lucas asked.
Claire hung her head and answered in a whisper. “That’s next.”
“Poor Jake,” Lucas said sincerely.
“Yeah,” Claire said. She looked at each of them, her dark-in-dark eyes almost lifeless. She tried out a smile that quivered and collapsed.
“You say you’ve remembered for a week, at least,” Zoey said. “But you kept it a secret till now. What made you change your mind?”
This time Claire did manage a soft, sad smile. She sighed deeply. “I don’t think Lucas ever had any illusions about me being perfect, back when we were together. And I know Benjamin didn’t. But Jake . . . Jake thinks I’m like him. He thinks I’m sweet and honest and fundamentally decent. The more he trusted me, the worse I felt. The more he accepted my deception, the more I couldn’t stand myself.”
“You felt guilty,” Zoey said.
“Yeah. It took me a while, but then I realized that was it.” She made a sour face. “Nasty feeling. I’m going to have to learn how to get over it.” She turned away and took several steps before calling over her shoulder, “You two can get back to whatever it was you were doing.”
Lucas grinned and took Zoey in his arms. “Can we?”
Zoey gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then firmly pushed him away. “I’m very, very sleepy. I think I’ll head on home.”
“Will I see you tomorrow? I mean, later today?” Lucas called after her.
“Yes,” Zoey said, twirling around in sheer happiness. “Actually, you will.”
She tapped at the sliding glass door for a long time. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, a faint glow that threw the ridge into relief, black against a pearl gray sky. Claire was exhausted. She hadn’t slept at all this night.
She had tossed and turned in her bed, arguing one side and then the other. Concern for her father, fear of losing Jake, versus the sense that either way she would lose Jake. How could she ever really pretend to love someone when their entire relationship was built on deception?
And as much as she tried to dismiss it, the image of Zoey crying, having to say good-bye to Lucas, and even the image of Lucas, whom she had once loved, suffering yet again for a crime he didn’t commit, kept coming back.
She tapped again at Jake’s door. Sooner or later he would wake up. It wasn’t even five yet, a ridiculous hour for a visit. But Claire was determined to get it all over with. She couldn’t let Jake learn the truth secondhand. She had to tell him herself.
A memory popped to the surface of her mind. Benjamin, of course, just a few days earlier . . . had it really been only a few days? It seemed like forever. He’d pointed his sunglasses at her and said, “In the end, as self-serving and ruthless as you are, Claire, when the line is drawn between right and wrong, I think you’ll do the right thing.”
The memory brought a smile. Benjamin would feel so smug, being proved right.
The door slid open quite suddenly. Jake stood there blinking sleepily, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. “Claire?”
“I’m afraid so,” she said.
“Is something the matter?” Then his face brightened as he thought of another possibility. “Or are you just here to—”
“I have to talk to you,” she said. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” He was fully awake now and obviously puzzled.
She entered the dark room. He offered to turn on the light, but she said no, the darkness was fine. They sat together on the edge of his bed.
“What’s up?” he asked.
She took his hand in hers. Then she leaned over and kissed him, not a passionate kiss. Closer to a farewell.
“I don’t know any easy way to say this,” Claire said. “For a long time I didn’t remember the details of the night Wade died.”
She felt him stiffen, but she maintained her grip on his hand. “But now I do remember. We had all been drinking. Lucas and I and Wade. All of us.”
“I know you were all drunk,” Jake said. “But only Lucas was driving drunk.”
Claire felt a tear trickle down her cheek. Damn. She didn’t want to do that, but she was just so tired. “Lucas wasn’t driving,” she said.
For a moment Jake froze. Then, slowly, he pulled his hand away.
“Lucas was in the backseat,” Claire said. “In fact, he was saying we should pull over and walk home. But I wouldn’t listen.”
“You?” he whispered.
“I was the one driving the car, Jake. And the more Lucas complained, the more I would swerve around, making a big joke of it. Until that last split second when I realized we were going to hit.” She took a deep, shaky breath and forged ahead. “And just so the whole truth is out, once and for all, I saw the tree, and I knew we would hit it. And at the very last second I yanked the wheel over so that it wouldn’t hit my side of the car. I saved myself. And I killed Wade.”