Adam felt his chest constrict. ‘That I’d love her, and take care of her. That someday we’d have a family. A better one than mine.’
Charlie gave him a grave look. ‘So you thought you could rescue her? That she’d be devoted to you, and you to her?’
‘Something like that. I was young.’
‘When you left the island, you were twenty-three. I think something terrible happened that summer. Not just with Ben, but with Jenny.’
Mute, Adam nodded.
*
Late that summer, Adam had driven to New York.
His second year of law school would start in two weeks. In the spring, Adam had found a new apartment in Greenwich Village with two friends from his class; now he moved his stuff – P.C., television, C.D. player, winter coats and jackets – looking forward to another year in the city, on the way to his chosen career. His mission completed, he met up with Teddy and took in Village life.
Teddy was living with a guy, and seemed to be pretty good – Adam had missed him, and was glad they could spend time beyond Ben’s shadow. But after a couple of days, he found himself looking forward to Jenny’s first visit to New York, and then thinking about her pretty much all the time. On impulse, he decided to return to the Vineyard, intent on spending his last free days with her. His life in the law would resume soon enough.
He drove back in five unbroken hours, high on images of the time ahead. He loved the Vineyard and, he decided, loved Jenny Leigh. Whatever she struggled with, they would be okay.
Driving fast, he caught the noontime ferry from Woods Hole to Vineyard Haven, then sped down State Road toward his parents’ place. His mother was gone, visiting a cousin. But if his father were not writing, he would share with him some stories of the Village, renewing a bond frayed by the racing season and Ben’s hatred of defeat. Then he would go find Jenny.
The house was empty, including his father’s study. But Ben’s truck and car were there. Perhaps he was on the promontory, or walking the beach below. Eagerly, Adam went to look for him.
His path took him past the guesthouse. Through its open window he heard a male voice. Though he could not make out the words, they carried a rough, sexual urgency that stopped Adam in his tracks.
For a moment he stayed there, torn between anger and revulsion. The man could only be his father, once again slaking his relentless desire for other women. But this time was a terrible violation – a betrayal of his mother, committed within sight of the house she had loved since childhood, the home they now shared as husband and wife. Inexorably, Adam found himself drawn to the window, his footsteps silent on the grass.
There was a bottle of Montrachet on the bedside table, Ben’s signature. Adam turned his gaze to the bed and saw his father’s naked back, the woman beneath him lying on her stomach, moaning as he thrust into her with brutal force. Then Adam took in her long blond-brown hair and long slender legs and felt himself begin to tremble.
An animal cry erupted from his throat. Wrenching open the door, he saw blood on the sheets. His father turned his head, eyes widening at the sight of him. As Adam grabbed his hips and wrested him from inside her, Jenny Leigh cried out in anguish.
With a strength born of adrenalin and primal hatred, Adam threw his father on the stone floor, the back of Ben’s skull hitting it with a dull thud. Gripping the wine bottle by the neck, Adam mounted his father’s torso, knees pinning the older man’s shoulders as Ben’s eyes rolled, unfocused by shock and blinding pain. Then Adam clutched his throat with his left hand and shattered the wine bottle on stone. Holding its broken shards over Ben’s eyes, Adam saw the wine dribbling across his face like rivulets of blood.
Shuddering with each convulsive breath, Adam lowered the jagged glass closer to Ben’s face. His stunned eyes widened, the look of a trapped animal. Adam could smell the alcohol on his breath.
He raised his weapon in a savage jerk, prepared to blind this man for whom no punishment was enough.
‘No!’ Jenny cried out.
His hand froze. Beneath him, Ben began writhing in a frenzied effort to escape.
Adam dropped the bottle, glass shattering on the floor. Then he took his father’s head by the hair and smashed it savagely against the stone. The groan that escaped Ben’s lips made Adam slam his head again, the other hand pressing his Adam’s apple back into his throat.
‘Please,’ his father managed to gasp.
Adam forced his own breathing to slow. In a near-whisper he spat, ‘I could kill you now. Instead, I’ll spend my life regretting that I didn’t. And you’ll spend yours remembering that I know exactly what you are.’
Legs unsteady, Adam stood. He stared at his naked father, then faced his girlfriend as she knelt on the bed, tears running down her face, hands covering her breasts as if he were a stranger.
Turning his back on both of them, Adam walked blindly from the guesthouse. By the time he heard its door closing behind him, he knew that he would never speak to his father as long as they both lived, or disclose his reasons to anyone. Only the three of them would know.
Without leaving a note for his mother, Adam left the island the way he had come – Vineyard Haven, the ferry, the long drive back to New York. But he did not go to law school; never again would he take money from Benjamin Blaine. Adam Blaine, no longer his son, would find another life.
*
Until Adam finished, Charlie watched him fixedly, his face expressionless. For a moment, he regarded the polished floor of his boat. Then he said, ‘No wonder you wished Ben dead. But damaged or not, Jenny betrayed you, too.’
Adam expelled a breath. ‘I understand her much better now. When I first came back, I saw her several times. She’d always wanted to be a writer, and idolized the man she thought was my father. What no one knew was that her own father had molested her, making her the perfect victim.’ His voice softened. ‘After I found them, Jenny tried to kill herself. Perhaps that’s why Ben left her a million dollars, one of the few good things he ever did. So she’s entered the creative writing programme at the University of Iowa, something she always wanted. I hope it helps her. I know now that I can’t.’
Charlie nodded. ‘Nor could she help you. So you went undercover, both literally and emotionally. Does that sound right to you?’
Adam looked away. ‘I guess it does. I’m with a woman, and suddenly I feel myself split off.’
‘A form of self-protection, perhaps, which metastasized when you found your “father” sodomizing the young woman you loved. But is there even more going on than that?’
‘Such as?’
‘One possibility is that you feel repressed anger against all three parents: Jack, who never claimed you; Ben, who betrayed you; and Clarice, who deceived you and failed as a mother. Then throw in Jenny …’ Charlie gave him a look of compassion. ‘I do think you’re still grieving over all you’ve lost. Which, for me, raises why you’re drawn to Carla Pacelli.’
‘I wouldn’t think that’s a hard one. I don’t require a seeing eye dog, Charlie.’
‘That,’ Charlie said pointedly, ‘is hardly an adequate response. Your mother is damaged. So was Jenny. Carla is a recovering alcoholic and drug addict who’s pregnant by a man you loathed. And her choice of Benjamin Blaine begs the question of whether the attraction you both feel is equally unhealthy.’
‘I get that much,’ Adam retorted. ‘But every instinct I have tells me that Carla is better than that.’
‘Quite possibly she is. But you know all too well what your mother, Jenny and Carla have in common – Ben Blaine.’ Charlie’s voice softened. ‘When you make love to another woman, do you flash back to Ben with Jenny Leigh?’
‘Of course not,’ Adam snapped. ‘This isn’t like P.T.S.D.’
‘But when you look at Carla, do you imagine her with Benjamin Blaine?’
‘I can’t help that. And there’s always the pregnancy to remind me.’
Charlie steepled his fingers. After a time, he said, ‘Do you still want to get
back at Ben, Adam? By doing to Carla what he did with Jenny?’
All at once, Adam felt sick. ‘If that’s what I’m feeling, God help me. And Carla.’
‘I’m not saying that it is,’ Charlie responded gently. ‘But you need to figure it out, don’t you? For Carla’s sake, and for yours.’
SEVEN
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. Further 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 Enquirer, 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 lookalike 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 I you, 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 that – 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 worst, 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 guesthouse 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 candlelight Carla resembled a woman in a daguerreotype from the nineteenth 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 enquired.
‘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 D.E.S…’
‘Didn’t they start banning that?’
‘Only after I was born. To be blunt, D.E.S. 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 I.U.D.
‘Bad to worse, it turned out. The I.U.D. 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.’
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