Two days before Adam was to leave, a violent hurricane swept past the mid-Atlantic states headed toward Martha’s Vineyard.
Getting up at first light, Adam found Jack fitting the boards Ben had designed into the windows of the house, a precaution to prevent the projected hundred mile an hour winds from shattering the glass. Silent, Adam picked up a board and placed it in the window he recalled Ben expanding to brighten his writing den. Farther down the deck, Jack spoke without turning from his task. “Are you ready to go back?”
Adam forced a hinge into place, locking in the board. “It’s not like I have a choice.”
Jack glanced at him, the worry surfacing in his eyes. “Then I hope you’ll watch out for yourself. It sounds like things over there are getting worse.”
Glancing around to make sure his mother or Teddy were not within earshot, Adam faced his father. “I’m more concerned about keeping things buttoned up here. George Hanley is still taking an unwholesome interest in our family—including a highly imaginative sense of my activities for the last few weeks. If you hear anything about him or our friend from the Inquirer, go straight to Avi Gold.”
Jack put down his hammer. Quietly, he said, “Do you have any idea how miserable this feels?”
“That depends on what ‘this’ is.”
“The distance between us. Watching you try to take care of us despite everything you’ve learned, feeling your anger and resentment.” Jack paused, lowering his voice. “Sharing this secret, knowing the burden you carry for what I did.”
In the confusion of his feelings, Adam could find no words. At length, he answered, “As John F. Kennedy once said, ‘Life is unfair.’ Anyhow, killing him was the least of it. In your place, I might have done it myself.”
The cool response made Jack wince. “You really do despise us, don’t you?”
Adam faced him. “I can’t sort out everything I feel, so don’t expect me to. All I know is that this family makes me tired, and unspeakably sad. Maybe I’m tired, period. But that’s nothing you can fix.”
Turning, Adam picked up another board and walked to the next window.
Finishing his work, he entered the house, and saw his mother in the kitchen, taking stock of what they could eat once the power blew out and plunged the island into darkness. He passed her without speaking, went to his bedroom, and called Carla Pacelli.
Without preface, he asked, “What do you know about preparing for hurricanes?”
Carla laughed. “Nothing—I never made that movie. So what should I do?”
“Wait for me. I’ll be over in an hour to give you a short course.”
The grocery store was jammed with Islanders buying food and candles and flashlights and extra batteries. Adam did the same, adding bottled water and first aid provisions. Even in their hurry, other shoppers stopped to glance at him—he was, after all, a Blaine, the look-alike son of a famous father who had died in murky circumstances.
When he emerged, the gusts of wind had stiffened noticeably, rattling the trees at the edge of the parking lot and lending the air an eerie crispness that was the harbinger of destruction. Glancing at his watch, Adam saw that it was four o’clock. In one hour, a curfew would bar all traffic from the roads. If he went to Carla’s, he would be with her until the storm passed.
Amanda Ferris was standing by his truck.
Stifling his surprise, Adam said, “Still here? Were you I, I’d have taken this storm as a sign from God.”
She gave him a rancid smile. “I would’ve thought you’d be hearing my footsteps. George Hanley has become a friend. Once this blows over, your problems will only get worse.”
Adam opened the rear door and began loading groceries inside. “Someone’s will,” he said over his shoulder. “Monomaniacs always end up flying too close to the sun.”
She touched his sleeve. “Tell me what you did, and I’ll let your family off the hook. Or you can bring them down with you.”
Adam knew better than to believe this—she had already set the wheels in motion, spurring Hanley’s call to Teddy’s lawyer. He turned to face her. “There’s no story here. So you’ll have to take your chances.”
The vulpine smile returned. “You’re forgetting Carla Pacelli. There will always be a story there, and someday she’ll want to help me. There are only so many people you can lie to, and only so many lies even a man like you can tell.”
Without more, she turned and walked away.
When Adam arrived at Carla’s place, he struggled to push the car door open against a heavy gust of wind. The skies were darkening; the forecasters were still uncertain about whether the hurricane would veer, sparing Martha’s Vineyard the worse, or visit the level of destruction that toppled telephone poles and power lines, beached ruined boats, and turned homes into junkyards of wood and waterlogged furnishings. It was fortunate that the guest house was in a clearing; there were no trees which, torn from their roots, were large enough to come crashing through the roof. But soon the massive power outages would start, taking with them the running water supplied by wells and pumps. This was no place for a pregnant woman alone.
Head down, Adam lugged the bags full of supplies and groceries toward the house.
Carla had left the door unlocked. When he came in, she rose from the couch with noticeable care, coming over to take a bag from his hand. “You’re good to do this,” she said. “I can guess at how to cope, but this isn’t what I’m used to.”
Adam smiled. “No, it isn’t. In Hollywood, the toilets might still work.”
“And these won’t.”
“Nope. You don’t have city water here. Let me show you what to do.”
He hurried to the bathroom, filling the tub and sink with water. “Do this everywhere you can. In a while, it’ll be the only water you’ll have to boil eggs or flush the toilet. There are ways in which you really wouldn’t enjoy living with yourself.”
Carla gave him a droll look. “I can imagine.”
As she filled the kitchen sink, Adam laid out bottled water and cans of soup and vegetables. “With luck, the propane won’t go. You’ll have gas to heat those with.”
A burst of wind rattled the windows. Apprehensive, Carla asked, “How long could this go on?”
“Unless this thing veers, the power outages will last for days. I brought a transistor radio so we can follow the reports.”
As he said this, the kitchen light flickered and went out. The lowering skies cast the pall of evening through the windows.
Walking carefully, Carla placed candles on the table and lit them. Adam watched her for a moment. “Are you feeling okay?”
Carla hesitated. “I felt some cramping this morning. I know that can happen, but it scared me a little.”
She was paler than before, Adam realized. “Then sit down. I’m staying here until this is done. I’ll take care of whatever you need.”
With palpable relief, Carla sat on the living room couch, resting her head as she closed her eyes. Amidst the antique furnishings Whitney Dane had used to decorate, in the flickering candle light Carla resembled a woman in a daguerreotype from the 19th century. For an odd moment, Adam thought of Rachel Ravinsky, who would soon be living in the main house, and felt relieved she was not here. Then he turned on the transistor radio, hearing the crackling voices of forecasters speculating about the hurricane’s path. “Would you like a cup of soup?” he asked. “It looks like you can stand to eat.”
Appreciative, Carla nodded “I’m usually not this much of a wimp.”
“You’re not a wimp, Carla—you’re performing a storage function. So take it easy. Believe it or not, I can weather this without your help.”
He turned on the gas stove, pouring the minestrone in a pot and stirring with a wooden spoon. Neither of them, he realized, wanted to broach the last time they had seen each other—the kiss, and the confusion that had followed, bringing the evening to a close. Then he noticed Carla watching him with a look of contemplation he could not quite read. He filled two mugs with soup and sat on the couch, handing one to her. “How are you feeling now?” he inquired.
“Grateful.”
She bit her lip, as though struggling with an emotion he did not comprehend. Setting down his mug, he looked at her inquiringly. “It’s not just the cramps,” she confessed. “I’ve got good reason to be afraid of losing this baby, and never having another.”
Adam nodded. “I’d guessed that. What’s the problem, exactly?”
Distractedly, Carla smoothed her dress. “Heredity, to start. Before I was born, my mother had a string of miscarriages—much to the displeasure of my father who considered her defective. He never did get the son he wanted.” Briefly, she glanced up at Adam. “Mom got pretty desperate. To prevent any more miscarriages, she started taking a drug called DES . . .”
“Didn’t they start banning that?”
“Only after I was born. To be blunt, DES babies grow up with abnormally shaped uteruses. That further decreased my chances of getting pregnant, and increased the likelihood of miscarriage if I did.” Carla resumed picking at her dress. “Not that I counted on that for birth control. But when I started taking the pill, I developed blood clots. So I had to use an IUD.
“Bad to worse, it turned out. The IUD led to pelvic inflammatory disease, which makes it still harder to get pregnant, and can lead to an ectopic pregnancy. I always found it ironic that someone who men purported to find so sexy felt like an extinct volcano. Imagine my surprise that—at least this once—I wasn’t.” She gave him a fleeting embarrassed smile. “So now you know more about my plumbing than you ever wanted to. But you can also understand how precious this baby is to me. However awkward the circumstances, he may be my only chance to become a mother.”
Instinctively, Adam felt for her. “What does the doctor say?”
“To rest, and be careful. That’s why I’ve been tiptoeing around today.” Briefly, she touched the back of Adam’s wrist. “You can’t know how worried I was before you called.”
“My family can do without me,” he said carelessly, “and me without them. So why don’t you finish that and go get some rest. If we’re about to get blown away, I’ll let you know.”
Carla looked relieved. Sipping the last of her soup, she slowly stood and rested her hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Go,” he said in mock sternness.
In the doorway of her bedroom, she turned to glance at him, then closed the door behind her. Outside the wind howled and whistled with new ferocity.
Adam lay on the couch, listening to weather forecasts cutting through the static. Near midnight, it became clear that the hurricane would veer toward the mainland, sparing Martha’s Vineyard. As the wind buffeting the windows became more fitful, he allowed himself to sleep.
Deep in the night, Adam awakened with a start, reaching for the gun he did not have. Disoriented, he stared into the darkened room, then felt his pulse racing and the sweat dampening on his forehead. Breathing in, he tried to relax, even as he cursed his dreams. But when the bedroom door opened, he started.
In the candlelight, Carla crossed the room to kneel beside him. “What was it?”
“Nothing,” Adam said tersely. “Go back to sleep.”
Carla did not move. “You called out, Adam—not to me. You were somewhere else.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Carla grasped his wrist. “I think you do.” She hesitated, then said bluntly, “Ben had nightmares—bad ones. When he awakened, he knew exactly where he’d been. Back in Vietnam, reliving horrors that had stayed with him for forty years. All he would tell me is ‘there are some things men aren’t made to outrun.’” She placed the back of curled fingers against Adam’s forehead. “So be fair to yourself, please. Whatever they’ve taught you, you’re not a stone.”
Adam released a breath. “No, I’m not. But these are new.”
“Can you tell me about them?”
Adam hesitated, caught between the iron rules he lived by and his desire, this once, not to feel alone. At last he said, “I’m either about to kill someone, or about to be killed. Christ knows why I’m having them now.”
“Maybe because you’re going back. This job you have—it’s more dangerous than the one you described, isn’t it?”
For a time, Adam was mute, the words caught in his throat. “Much more.”
Carla nodded. “Can you quit?”
“No. If I quit now, other people who rely on me might get killed.” His voice hardened. “The Benjamin Blaine I knew was a heartless, selfish bastard. No way he wanted to go to Vietnam. But he didn’t run away to Canada, or weasel out of the draft.
“In almost every way, I pray to God I’m nothing like him. But I signed on for this one, whatever the risks, and now I have to see it through. These nightmares are the price of self-respect.”
To his surprise, he could feel her irritation even before she said, “Too bad that I’ve quit acting. That line would come in handy in a war movie.” Catching herself, she said swiftly, “Sorry. But it actually matters to me what happens to you, all right?”
Adam tried to smile. “Then I’ll remember to avoid any clench-jawed heroics. At least when I’m sleeping on your couch.”
Carla retrieved a candle, placing it so that she could see his face. After a time, she asked, “Once this job is over, will your ‘company’ send you somewhere else? Or will you actually make a choice?”
Adam had no answer. At length, he said, “Ten years in, I’m not sure what else I’d do.”
“Maybe live a normal life,” Carla responded with renewed gentleness. “That’s what I’m trying to do, and some days it feels okay.”
“You were always a good actress,” Adam responded, “because you inhabited your roles. I may not be quite as gifted. Anyhow, go back to bed. I’m fine now, and your current role requires resting for two.”
When Carla emerged again, the kitchen clock was working again, and Adam was gazing out the window at a crystalline morning cleansed by the storm. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Better.”
“Then we got off light.”
He saw Carla begin to say something, then think better of it. “Need to shower?” she asked. “If you’re feeling grungy, you can always borrow my Lady Remington.”
Adam smiled. “Unless you have fresh clothes for me, I probably should get going.” Then he realized that she might have men’s clothes there because of Ben.
She seemed to read his expression. “Anyhow, thanks for coming. And for staying.”
“Sure.” He hesitated. “If you run into a problem, are there people who can take you to the doctor?”
Carla nodded. “Friends from AA, if I need them.”
“What about when the baby’s born? Is anyone going to be there with you?”
Carla looked amused. “You mean like there, there? Back in the dark ages, I’ve heard, women had babies alone.”
Adam shrugged. “My mother did, I’m told. I guess Ben didn’t want to be there. Understandable, I suppose. But not ideal.” He paused again. “Maybe I’ll be back by then. I can’t imagine why mere childbirth would faze me.”
Giving him an incredulous look, Carla shook her head emphatically. “I won’t be at my most attractive, so don’t even dream of it. Besides, you’ve missed out on all the birthing classes they’ve cooked up to make fathers feel useful. Given everything that will be going on, I don’t feel the need to keep you entertained.”
“I get that. But maybe you could draft a girlfriend. Given ‘everything,’ as you put it, I don’t like to think about you being alone.”
Her expression became more serious. “Thank you for that. But in a lot of ways, except for the months with Ben, I’ve always been alone. I’m not feeling sorry for myself, just saying I’ll be fine.”
For a moment, Adam searched for what he wanted to tell her, then stood to leave. “Call me if you need anything, Carla. I’ll come by before I go.”
She hesitated, then came to him, giving him a swift, surprising kiss. “I’ll take that as a promise,” she said softly. “Both of us will.”