In search of distraction, Adam and Teddy repeated a ritual of their boyhood, paddling a two man kayak across the Tisbury Great Pond.
They spoke little, preferring to enjoy the breezy early morning, still temperate as the sun began its ascent, the pleasant strain of their smooth but vigorous strokes propelling them through choppy waters toward the stretch of sand that separated the pond from the Atlantic Ocean. Arriving, they beached the kayak and walked barefoot toward the pounding ocean surf. Teddy preceded Adam, standing where the dying waves lapped his calves and ankles, wind rippling his curly brown hair. For a moment, he reminded Adam of the gangly teenage older brother he had always loved and defended to Benjamin Blaine. But now the first strands of silver had appeared in Teddy’s hair—overnight, it seemed—and his sensitive face, evocative of Jack’s, seemed careworn. Adam guessed that he was still not sleeping well.
Quiet, Adam stood beside his brother, leaving Teddy to his thoughts. Then he asked, “Still worried, Ted?”
Narrow eyed, Teddy gazed at the horizon as the water became a brighter blue. “Wouldn’t you be?” he asked, then added pointedly, “And aren’t you?”
“Sure. I still think you and Jack are okay, and that they’ll decide to let the death of a dying man alone. But we won’t breathe easy until the judge and Hanley announce their decision.”
Ted frowned, regarding Adam with curiosity and concern. “This isn’t just about Jack and me, is it? Or, for that matter, Mom.”
“It’s certainly not about me,” Adam rejoined with a casualness he did not feel. “Unless wishing someone dead from ten thousand miles away is a capital offense.”
“Stop bullshitting me, Adam. I don’t know what you did, but I’m damn sure you were looking out for me in ways George Hanley wouldn’t appreciate. Every piece of advice you gave me suggested that you knew what George and the police were doing and thinking.” Teddy dug his feet in the sand, looking stubborn and discomfited. “Have you ever met with my lawyer?”
At once, Adam felt on edge, though the answer he framed was truthful. “Richard Mendelson? I only met Richard at the hearing, when you were being questioned.”
Though Teddy nodded, the concern in his expression was unchanged. “That’s what Richard told Hanley yesterday, when George called to ask the same question. But Hanley made a date to meet with him in Boston. He also wants to interview Richard’s secretary.” He paused for emphasis. “Richard doesn’t think it’s about me—what could my lawyer tell him, after all? He believes that, for whatever reason, Hanley is sniffing around you.”
Adam shrugged. “Let him, Ted. There’s nothing for George to find. I’m leaving here as innocent as I came.”
To shut off the conversation, Adam began walking along the water’s edge, as though intent on savoring the day. Teddy fell in beside him. “Why don’t we go out to dinner tonight?” he proposed in a lighter tone. “Like normal people. It’s been a while since we showed our faces in public, except to answer questions, and some fresh fish at L’Etoile might go well with a crisp white wine.”
“Sounds good. But it’ll have to be tomorrow—I’ve got dinner plans tonight.”
Teddy looked at him askance. “Carla? Again? I understand you’re serving as a bridge here, protecting the family’s interests. But isn’t this becoming a tad incongruous?”
Smiling, Adam put a hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “Why would you say that, Ted?”
Walking from his mother’s house to the guesthouse where Carla was staying, Adam could not help reflecting on the psychic distance he would cover in ten minutes. From Benjamin Blaine’s wife to his ex-lover; past the promontory from which Ben had “fallen” in his family’s account, the scene of a homicide; to the spacious grounds where Rachel Ravinsky’s mother and his own, had spent countless hours as girls and young women before something—quite possibly Ben—had come between them. But his mind kept returning to all he had done to protect Teddy. Most worrisome, that he had mailed stolen documents to Teddy’s lawyer, leaving himself vulnerable to George Hanley’s suspicions and Amanda Ferris’s malice and resentment.
He had been as careful as his training demanded. After printing out the documents he had photographed in Henley’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. Farther 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 guest house, 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 savory 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 SUV 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 cruelest 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 decide 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 favorite 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 centered 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 program.”
“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 the kitchen window at the ocean glistening with moonlight. He remembered passing by this guest house 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.” His 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.