It was almost an hour before Ethan came back into the cabin. By then, the sun had set and his body was visibly shivering, though not, Leah suspected, from the chill in the air.
Leah led him by the hand into the living room, sat him down in front of the fire, and wrapped him in a blanket. She served him the soup they’d bought the night before at the market in Bannock. She made him tea laced with honey and sat it on the table next to his chair. As she turned to leave, his fingers closed over her wrist.
“Don’t go,” he said, his voice stronger than she’d expected it to be. “Just sit with me for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” Leah sat on the hassock at the foot of his chair.
“I apologize for being such a lousy guest.”
“I’ll let you make it up to me some other weekend.”
Ethan smiled a weak half smile.
“Actually, I feel I’m the one who owes the apology,” she told him. “If I’d thought this through better, if I hadn’t been so single-minded, I’d have had a better appreciation for what this would do to you.”
“It hasn’t done anything to me, except maybe open my eyes.”
She turned to look at him. Ethan leaned forward, the afghan falling from his shoulders.
“We’re always so quick to grab at the guilt, aren’t we? You for ‘making me listen’ to Lambert’s tapes. Me for Libby’s death. Why is that, do you suppose?”
“I don’t know,” she told him honestly.
“Why do we allow ourselves to believe that it all starts and ends with us? That we are somehow at the heart of every turn of events, of every tragedy, everyone else’s fate?” Ethan stared into the fire. “It’s like parents not being able to resist wondering where they’ve gone wrong when their kid gets in trouble. Maybe it’s not us. Maybe it’s another force altogether. Maybe it has nothing to do with us and everything to do with them.”
“You mean maybe it has more to do with Libby and Ray Lambert and less to do with you? That maybe you weren’t part of the equation until he made you believe that you were?”
“Something like that, I guess.”
“I read someplace about survivors’ guilt. That if there are five people in an accident and only two survive, that those two people feel guilty about having lived while the other three died.” Leah drew her legs up under her. “I think maybe that’s what you feel, or a variation on that same theme. Maybe Lambert just used that and took it one level deeper.”
“Do you ever feel that way, about your sister?”
“You mean, do I ever wonder, why her and not me?”
Ethan nodded.
“Every day. After all, she was the smart one. The prodigy. The beauty and the brain. The girl who could do everything.”
“Did that bother you?”
“You mean, when she was alive?”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes. I guess it’s hard to grow up in the shadow of your younger sister.”
“Did you ever wish she would just go away?”
“I can remember watching our parents’ faces while Missy played the piano. They were just always so damned proud of her. So, yeah. There were times when I wished she’d disappear. I don’t think that’s abnormal among siblings, though, to wish at times that the other would just go away.”
“And when she did, did you feel responsible?”
Leah hesitated, thinking it through.
“Maybe on some level. And maybe there was a time that I believed that if I’d insisted that Missy fly home, or if I’d driven out to get her, nothing would have happened to her.”
Leah got up and moved the screen away from the fireplace, then poked at the burning logs to arrange them.
“Did you feel that way, about your wife? Were there times you wished she’d go away?” Leah asked without turning around, not wanting to see his face.
“I’m sure there were times when I could have used some breathing room. I’m sure Libby could have, as well. Every marriage has its ups and downs. But no, I never wished she would leave.”
“Are you still in love with her?” The words fell from Leah’s mouth even as she tried to stop them.
Leah’s face flushed, and she hoped that when she finally found the nerve to turn around, he’d think the high color was due to the fire. She concentrated her attention on stacking another log and getting its position on the top of the stack just exactly right.
Seemingly preoccupied, she waited, but still no answer came.
When she finally turned around, Ethan was gone.
Somehow, she wasn’t surprised.
Leah pulled the hassock closer to the fire to ward off the sudden chill. It had been an exhausting day, mentally and emotionally, for her as well as for Ethan. Now that the day was over, she felt that, together, they’d traveled a dangerous trail through a strange landscape and both had somehow managed to survive. But at what cost, she wondered.
Are you still in love with her?
She shouldn’t have asked. She should have forced the words back down her throat and refused to let them pass her lips.
Leah sat back on the hassock and stared at her stockinged feet. It was a question that had haunted her from the day she’d first looked into Ethan’s troubled dark eyes.
The question hung in the air. She wondered if she’d ever know the answer.
The smell of coffee brewing, wonderfully rich and aromatic, managed to drift through Leah’s closed bedroom door. She was half out of bed before she’d even opened her eyes. She pulled on sweatpants and an old sweatshirt and thick socks and padded down the hallway on soft feet seeking the source of the heavenly scent.
“Coffee,” she muttered as she reached the kitchen door. “I smell coffee.”
Ethan handed her a mug. “I found the coffee in the freezer and didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Mind?” She sipped gratefully from the mug. “Oh, it’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“You made the brownies,” he told her. “Coffee was the least I could do.”
“Oh, you found them.”
“Yes, and they’re delicious. Would you like one?” He held up the plate upon which he’d neatly stacked the cut brownies.
“For breakfast?”
“Considered by some to be the true breakfast of champions.”
Leah laughed.
“I think I’ll stick with something with a little more protein, like scrambled eggs.”
She turned and opened the refrigerator door, pausing with her hand over the egg tray.
“Did you want some eggs with those brownies?”
“Are you crazy? And ruin a perfectly good sugar rush?”
He made toast for her while she stood at the stove, stirring her eggs.
“Are you in a hurry this morning?” she asked.
“Actually, I am.”
“You know, you don’t have to wait with me while I eat,” she told him.
Ethan put his plate down on the counter.
“Why wouldn’t I wait for you?”
“I mean, you can leave. You don’t have to stay and watch me eat. I’ll understand.”
“What is it that you understand, Leah?” Ethan asked softly.
“Well, that after yesterday, you’ve probably had enough. I don’t blame you. It’s okay.”
“You think I want to leave now, because yesterday was tough?”
“Actually, last night was tougher.”
“I understand, Ethan.”
Ethan smiled. “I don’t think you do.”
“Am I missing something here?” she asked.
Ethan stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs exploring the spots where stress had forced her muscles into tight bunches.
“I had hours to myself last night, hours I spent thinking about things I’d spent years pushing to the farthest reaches of my mind. It was a long time coming, frankly. For so long, I’d done everything I could to avoid thinking about what happened. I was so afraid of what I’d feel. So afraid that it would hurt too much.”
“It did hurt you,” she said simply.
“Yes, it did. And I survived. It didn’t crush me and it didn’t kill me and I’m still reasonably sane.”
“‘Present fears are less than horrible imaginings.’”
Ethan’s fingers stilled, momentarily, on her spine.
“It’s from Macbeth,” Leah told him.
“Well, I suppose that sums it up well enough. But once you’ve faced your fear, it loses its power. And I have to thank you for that. I’d never have faced it on my own,” Ethan said softly. “Maybe now that I have, I can begin to move away from it. In any event, I can’t go back to where I was before we played the tapes, you know. So we just have to keep moving ahead with it. You’ve helped me to find my truth, Leah. I’ll try to help you find yours.”
Leah turned down the flame under the frying pan and turned around, looking up, her eyes questioning his.
“You were absolutely right about Lambert playing with my head. I, of all people, knew exactly what games he played with every one of his victims, with their families. Whatever made me think he’d ask only that I write his book for him? Maybe the book was of less consequence than knowing that he’d made me believe I could have stopped him. That I was, therefore, somewhat responsible for what he’d done to my wife. Which is irrational, at best, I realize that. But for many years, I believed that had I been there, I could have saved her.” Ethan paused, his hands lingering on Leah’s shoulders. “I came out and played the tape over again late last night.”
Leah turned and looked up at him. “Why didn’t you come wake me up? I could have—”
“No. I should have done this a long time ago. It was the first time I really heard what he was saying.” Ethan’s thumbs touched the sides of her face, and a tingle began to crawl the length of her spine. “You were absolutely right. Lambert wanted Libby. He’d have done anything he had to do to have her. I doubt there was anything I could have done to stop him. It must have delighted him to know that he made me believe I could have made a difference.”
The thought of Ethan sitting alone in the dark, listening to Lambert ramble on about what he’d done to Libby, brought back the memory of her unanswered question, and Leah felt the flush creep up her neck all over again.
As if reading her mind, Ethan said softly, “I want you to know that there will always be a place inside me for Libby. I loved her, Leah, and I had a child with her. I’ll never forget her, and how much we loved each other. But I’m not in love with her memory.”
Leah put her hands on his chest and he caught her wrists.
“I didn’t answer you last night because I needed to think it through myself, so that when I answered you, you’d know it was the truth. So that we’d both know the truth. And for now, we’ll leave it at that. We’ve a long way to go yet, to put the past in order.” He caressed her fingers gently. “Anyway, it’s been a hell of a weekend, and we’ve farther to go down this dark road with Lambert if we’re to find out what happened to Melissa. But I promise you, I will do my best to help you to find out what happened to your sister. And then … well, then we’ll see where we go from there.”
“Well, I was thinking too,” she told him, measuring her words carefully—oh so hard to do when he was standing so close to her. “You’re probably right, you know. Lambert probably never met my sister. The FBI agent, John Mancini, told me the same thing. Maybe we should just stop—”
“No.” Ethan shook his head, knowing what she was going to say. “No, we’re not going to skip the rest of the tapes, and we’re not going to bypass the notes. We’re going to find the truth, Leah. One way or another, we’re going to find the truth. Now, bring that plate of brownies into the living room, and I’ll bring the coffeepot. We might as well get on with it.”
Hours later, half of the tapes having been listened to, there was still no mention of a trip to Pennsylvania. By four o’clock that afternoon, with a full box of notes yet to be gone through, Leah suggested that they call it a weekend.
“You have a long drive,” she reminded Ethan, reluctant as she was to see him leave.
“So do you,” he told her.
“I’m used to it.”
“Maybe we should get together again next weekend,” he said, pointing to the box holding the notebooks. “We never even got to them.”
“Same time, same place?”
Leah nodded. “All right.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll just get my things together.”
Leah wrapped the rest of the brownies while he packed his belongings and carried the box containing the tapes and the notebooks to his Jeep. She was filling a Thermos with fresh coffee when he came into the kitchen to say goodbye.
“Ah, that’s nice,” he said, smiling, and she noticed that the darkness had gone from his eyes. “Thank you, Leah. That’s thoughtful of you.”
“It’s the least I can do.” She handed him the Thermos. “I’ll walk out with you.”
“The wind has picked up,” he told her. “You’ll need your jacket.”
She could feel his eyes on her as she walked to the closet and slid the heavy parka from its hanger.
“Ready?” she asked, and he nodded.
Ethan held the door for her and took her hand as they crossed the road to the little clearing where he’d parked his Jeep.
“Are you traveling this week?” he asked.
“No. I’m in New York all week. Catherine and I have a business dinner on Tuesday, and a gallery opening to attend on Thursday afternoon.”
“Sounds very corporate.”
Leah laughed, and the sound flowed through him like church bells.
“Actually, it will be a very light week,” she told him.
“Good. Then you’ll be all rested up for Friday.”
“Yes. I suppose I will be.”
Ethan leaned down and met Leah’s lips with his own, softly at first, then with a hint of demand she had not expected. Her arms entwined around his neck and drew him closer, deeper, her mouth opening to his tongue as it sought more of her and she gave, gladly, whatever he wished to take. His mouth drifted to the side of her face, soft kisses trailed to her chin. He held her close to him, rubbing the side of her face with his own. He cupped her chin in one hand and gazed down into her eyes, as if searching for something he’d lost. He kissed her at each temple, then once more on the mouth, a nerve-shattering, muscle-melting kiss that turned her inside out.
“I’ll call you,” Ethan whispered in her ear as he pulled away from her.
Leah nodded, unable to speak.
Ethan got into the Jeep and rolled down the window, suddenly uncomfortable leaving while she was there alone, though he could not say why. “Will you be leaving soon?”
“Yes, I expect within the next ten or fifteen minutes.” She stepped back from the car as he began to back up. “Give Holly a hug for me.”
“I will.”
“And your dad,” she called after him.
“Okay.” He waved out the window and started to pull out of the parking space, then stopped.
She walked over to the driver’s side window.
“Did you forget something?” She leaned toward the open window.
“Yes.” His arm reached out for hers and drew her close. He kissed her lips and looked deeply into her eyes for a long moment. “You’re cold. Go inside and lock the door.”
“We’ve never paid much attention to locking our doors up here. There’s never been anyone to lock out, but I have to admit that listening to the tapes has spooked me.” She held his hand between both of hers. “I’m thinking I should pay more attention to whether I really have or haven’t locked the door.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, just that when we went out yesterday, I could have sworn I had locked the door behind us.”
“And … ?”
“And, when we came back, it was unlocked.”
“It was?” Ethan frowned.
Leah nodded. “I’m sure I just don’t remember what I did, is all.”
“On second thought,” he said, turning off his engine, “let’s just go back inside and close off the lights and get your things. I don’t think I want to leave you here alone.”
“Ethan, that’s silly. I stay here alone all the time. You don’t have to wait for me.”
“For some reason,” Ethan got out of the Jeep and looked around, feeling a bit spooked himself, “all of a sudden, I just feel as if I do …”
Ethan spent most of the drive back to Maine playing CDs and singing along. He didn’t mind driving at night. The traffic was lighter than during the day, and besides, there seemed to be so much to think about that he hardly realized the same CD—an old Traffic album that had been rereleased—had played over and over all the way from Connecticut to Concord, New Hampshire, where he stopped to get a snack and stretch his legs. He replaced the CD with Pink Floyd’s The Wall and settled back for the ride.
He turned up the volume when he realized the steady stream of voices in his head was beginning to get to him.
Lambert’s voice. Leah’s.
Libby’s.
Ethan hadn’t heard Libby’s voice in years.
He sighed heavily, trying to sort out the rest of it.
The hours he and Leah had spent listening to the tapes had been grueling for both of them, there was no getting around that. But somehow, he felt cleansed, lighter, as if a burden had been lifted.
Well, perhaps it had been. Thanks to Leah.
And didn’t it all somehow come back to Leah?
Ethan had not wanted to become involved in this mess, had given himself every possible excuse he could think of that would relieve him from having to go through with this. As terrible as her own ordeal had been, she was, after all, a stranger. But there had been something about her that had endeared her first to his father, then to his daughter, and Ethan had known there’d be no looking either of them in the eye if he turned her down. He figured he’d just do what he had to do and be done with it. If nothing else, it was making him a hero in his daughter’s eyes.
Dad, her sister is out there somewhere …, Holly had pleaded.
In the end, he had given in, as he figured he would, telling himself it was for Holly’s sake. Even then he knew he was lying to himself.
Even when he saw Leah’s face every time he closed his eyes.
Even when he heard her voice on the phone and her gratitude caused his own words to catch in his throat.
Even when he opened the car door for her and she all but fell into his arms.
But everything changed when he kissed her.
He hadn’t meant to do that.
He’d tried his damnedest to ignore her on a personal level while trying to convince himself that he was only working with her to resolve a problem. That once she’d heard the tapes and come to the conclusion that Lambert had in fact been toying with her, Ethan would pack up his notes and his tapes and they’d shake hands before returning to their own little lives.
He knew now there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of that happening.
Not after spending hours watching the play of light and shadow across that finely expressive face. Not after seeing all the conflicting emotions, humor and sadness, change her eyes from warm dreamy chestnut to deepest brown in the space of a minute. Not after being close enough to catch her scent, to bask in her smiles, to track her tears. Not after tasting her and feeling her arms close around him.
All in all, it had been a pretty intense weekend.
Ethan had never expected there to be another woman in his life who would attract him so totally on so many levels.
He also knew that until this entire matter was resolved, there’d be no peace for either of them. With Leah’s help, he’d put his most tormenting demons behind him. He could do no less for her. And once they’d gone as far as they could go to find Melissa, perhaps then they could get on with their own lives. Maybe even together.
The Jeep turned almost by itself onto the old logging road leading up to White Bear Springs Camp. The night was very still and cold, the stars crowding into the midnight sky. He parked the Jeep where Leah’s Explorer had sat and gathered his gear. He slung his bag over one shoulder and paused, looking up. Out of habit, his eyes found the spot where Holly, at six, had declared Libby’s star to be shining.
“Is heaven in the sky, Daddy?” Holly had asked.
“Well, I don’t know that anyone knows for sure where heaven is,” Ethan had told her, “but some people think it’s up there someplace.”
“Then if Mommy is in the sky, can she look down on me, from a star?”
“I suppose that—”
“That’s her star right there!” Holly had exclaimed excitedly. “It winked at me! That’s Mommy, shining and blinking at me!”
Ethan had been too choked up to speak, and so had not replied. But Holly had looked for that star in every night sky since. And often, Ethan had, too.
Now he stood, looking up, and finding the star, thought maybe it was, in fact, winking at him. Wherever Libby was, on a star or not, Ethan hoped she had forgiven him, as he was beginning to forgive himself.
The cold night air closed in, borne on a breeze that swept through the pines.
She’s not a replacement for you, Lib. You had your own place, and nothing can ever change that. But she’s making a place for herself. And I guess maybe it’s time. I’m hoping you’re happy enough where you are, that it’ll be okay with you. I’ll never forget you, Lib, but she’s moving into my heart, and somehow, it just feels right.
Ethan stood for a minute longer, looking up, feeling as if he was saying goodbye and meaning it for the first time. As he started to turn away, a flash of light moved overhead, and he laughed as the shooting star danced across the sky.
“You always did have a flair for the dramatic, Lib,” Ethan said aloud to the night.
He traversed the frozen turf to the front door, entered so quietly that even Dieter, sound asleep in front of the long-extinguished fire, did not stir. Ethan paused in the hallway, then found his way in the dark to the kitchen for a snack after the long drive. He dropped his bag onto a chair and placed the box of tapes and notebooks on the table. He checked the cookie jar and found it filled with Holly’s favorite spice cookies, and he smiled. She must have made them for him as a welcome home. In the morning, she’d want to hear all about his weekend. How was Leah and what was her house like? Did she ask about Holly?
The top shelf of the refrigerator held several cartons of milk, and Ethan took one out and filled a glass. Idly, he flipped open the box he’d brought in with him from the car as he munched.
Maybe he’d go through the tapes during the week—he could face that now—and see if there was anything in them that Leah should know about.
The notebooks were neatly stacked in the box, but the tapes, which he was certain he’d placed on top, were not there.
Could they have fallen out of the box in the back of the Jeep?
With the lid closed over as it had been? Unlikely.
Ethan could have sworn that he’d put the tapes in the box. He remembered putting them in there. Could swear he remembered hearing them slide around inside the box as he slid the box across the backseat when he’d loaded up the car to leave that afternoon.
Well, he was wrong, he told himself as he closed the box over and tucked it under his arm. But no matter, he thought. I’ll be at the cabin again on Friday. With Leah.
It occurred to Ethan as he closed up the kitchen that he’d not had anything to look forward to in a long time. It felt better than he’d remembered. He planned to savor every bit of the anticipation.
On Friday, he’d see Leah again. At that particular moment, little else mattered.