Adam's Woods (20 page)

He thought about calling his parents, but what good would it do? Just cause them sleepless nights and new tears. If the police arrested someone, then he would explain everything and buy plane tickets for them to fly up, if they wanted.

When he had called Mary to explain his choice to go back to Pittsburgh, she had surprised him by asking to go along. And now they drove - the sky brilliantly blue and the colors of autumn overtaking the summer greens - but silently and with the space between them filled with what they'd seen, as by unearthing the bodies they had disturbed their spirits as well, and they journeyed in the car with them. And Eric knew that this was almost the truth of it.

Looking at the single innocuous cloud within his field of vision, he found it somewhat amazing that evil could exist on beautiful days like these. But he, and so many others, had learned to mistrust perfect skies through which airplanes could fly purposefully into buildings. He had known long before that, learned on a perfect August Saturday afternoon. And every perfect day failed to deliver on its promise to someone, a cerulean sky filling with storm clouds in the guise of billowing smoke visible from satellites or dark red mud at the edge of a swamp, or whatever personal form it took.

Eric turned his attention back to the road just in time to see their exit, and within a half hour they sat on the couch in his apartment drinking iced tea picked up at a convenience store just outside the city.

"I'm sorry I'm not much company, Eric," Mary said.

He slid over and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him and laid her head on his chest. "Don't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry about."

"Yes there is. When we were driving, I started getting angry with you. Because I thought that if you had stayed away, those kids would never have been found and life could have stayed normal for me and everyone else. And I know how selfish that is, and I apologize. Especially because it's not true. I'm glad you came back."

"No apology necessary. I understand. When Adam died, I started thinking of things like that, even got angry at my mom for making him shut off the TV and go outside with us. I think it's easier to find someone or something to blame than to accept that stuff like that...like this...can just happen and we can't do anything about it.""Maybe. But I'm still sorry. Sorry for those kids, most of all. And Adam."

He kissed the top of her head and leaned back into the couch. He heard Mary's breathing slow into a rhythm of sleep and didn't realize he had followed until knocking on the door forced open his eyes. Mary woke too and let him up to answer it. As he turned the knob, for a moment he was sure that Arnie Fisk had followed him here, and his greeting would involve a thick, angry finger stabbed into his sternum, or a right hook. He actually tensed for the blow when Harry smiled, stepped in and gave him a quick almost-hug and a slap on the back.

"Eric. Good to see you, man. Did you get in over your head in the casino in Erie? Looked like you expected a guy with a tire iron."

"Hello, Harry. No...well, it's...will take a little explaining. Come in."

Introductions were made, and Mary got up to soak in the bathtub after they made plans for dinner.

"Now this is a surprise. I assume you two are...?"

"I’m not sure yet. But it looks like it could be heading that way. A surprise to me too, Harry. But there's more."

They sat down, and Eric explained the events since his trip to Lincoln Corners. Harry listened intently, a quality that Eric had always liked in his agent and friend. He never interrupted, and waited for several seconds when Eric had finished speaking to make sure he was through. Harry was forty-five, and had gone to bat for Eric on signing him with complete faith and boundless energy. Eric knew his success depended as much on Harry's efforts as on his own writing. His agent’s hair had gone mostly gray, and the small black glasses he wore always reminded Eric of a little superhero mask, like Robin. He was fit and tall with a handsome face. His reserved demeanor could fool one into thinking him introverted, but in truth he seemed to reserve his energy for what he deemed important; once identifying that target, he flew into action and worked tirelessly until things had been decided, one way or another. More than once, Eric had mentally used the superhero analogy, the quiet alter-ego hiding the super agent, especially when presenting him with the excellent contract for the "Special Dark" series. But whether in business or elsewhere, there was no one he would prefer to watch his back than Harry.

He finished the story, and Harry sat back with a neutral expression, waiting to see if Eric had anything to add.

"I don't know quite what to say, Eric. That's beyond bizarre. What are you going to do?"

"Stay here for a few days, and then head back up there. I've been writing the story, so that's not an issue."

Harry leaned forward, a hurt expression playing on his features. "I don't give a damn about the story, Eric. I'm concerned about you. About being in the middle of all of this. If Fisk didn't like you coming back, how will he react to your presence now? How do you know he didn't kill those kids and his hostility isn't just an act to cover it up. And John Thomas, who I remember very well from Penn State, loved to watch him play. Could feel the hits through the screen. How do you know he's not playing you, setting you up for something? I wouldn't want to be in his sights, bum leg or no. Doesn't seem right to me. Maybe your brother's death and its possible connection to all of this is clouding your judgment."

Eric felt a stab of anger, but let it subside. He knew Harry might be right, that his emotional attachment stood in the way of seeing the larger picture. He knew the news would stun the town. But might it provoke more? Could he possibly be in danger?

"I don't know, Harry. I don't know what to do."

"Well, if my advice means anything to you, I'd stay put. Or go on vacation somewhere. Go see your parents in Prescott. Take Mary to meet them...again…I guess, just say you went to visit Adam's grave, ran into her, and one thing led to another. They don't need to know anything about these kids right now. Hell, take her to Paris. You know you can afford it."

"Yes, I know, thanks to you."

Harry smiled and said, "Well, so can I, thanks to you. I need to keep my cash cow alive, right?"

Eric smiled back, and felt a great burden lift. Harry had a point. It really wasn't his problem. If they caught the man, and if his deeds included Adam's death, then it wouldn't be because Eric Kane had come back to Lincoln Corners. He had paid his dues, was still paying them, would never get to that last stub in that payment book. He truly did feel terrible about how it would affect the people there. But they would have to deal with it. Leaving then hadn't been his choice, and if he had resided there all this time, though improbable even without the murder, it would be his lot, too. He possessed a career that he had worked hard for, and something of a life in Pittsburgh although it lacked any real depth of quality. But that's where Mary came in. She didn't have to go back either. If she still wanted to sell houses, why not here? He hadn't even thought of marriage, but who knew? He did know he wanted to keep her close to him. In the meantime, he could offer her an escape and give their relationship time to grow apart from cursed town of their birth. He did have the money, sitting in a bank account doing little but collecting interest.

He liked the thought of taking her to Arizona to meet his parents. They would love to see her. Although they had only visited Lincoln Corners several times to see Adam's grave over the years, they had dealt with the loss long term better than him. He could see a shadow passing over his mother's face when Mary stepped through the door of their home in Prescott, yet gone before offering a welcoming embrace.

He and Harry discussed the new project, a difficult author that Harry had signed and was now having second thoughts about, and other trivial matters until Mary appeared ready to go to dinner.

She wore a pair of jeans and a simple blouse, but Eric thought she looked stunning. Her skin was still pink from the hot water, and he smelled an inviting floral scent as he held the door for her and then locked it. He considered himself a lucky man as he walked down the stairs behind her, realizing with increasing cognizance how hard he was falling for her. He smiled at the word. Lucky. Certainly not a word he usually associated with himself. Maybe never had before. Perhaps his life really had turned a corner.

As they dined at a seafood and steak restaurant, Harry's treat, Eric suggested the trip to see his parents. Mary reacted with reservation, but didn't reject the plan outright. He had hoped for a little more enthusiasm, but it had been a long day and he knew she still struggled with the little corpses unearthed in the woods. So did he, but they were there and he was here. With the distance and some perspective, it could almost seem like an idea for a novel, if he let it, and he encouraged his mind to think in those terms. He thought after visiting his parents, they could go to Las Vegas. He had never been, knew Mary hadn't either, and it would be a great place to see if "lucky" applied to Eric Kane.

"I can't go, Eric. If things were different, if we hadn't found those kids, I would jump at the chance. But I just can't. I have to go back."

Harry had dropped them off at his apartment, and now he sat in his favorite recliner while Mary stood, as though already distancing herself from him, unwilling to allow herself to be comfortable in his home.

"But, why? What good will it do? You're already this upset about it. Going back will certainly make it worse. And I want you with me. Not just because of this, but because I...love you."

He heard the words come out, started to wish he could take them back, but knew they were the right ones. But they hung in the air unanswered. Mary stared at the floor as if she hadn't heard, and he feared he had misjudged her view of their relationship. Lucky Eric Kane. Sure. With his heart beginning to tear, he went into damage control mode, to try and salvage what he could and not let her see how much the rejection meant. He could probably even keep it from himself, just like with Adam, internalize the pain and add a new romance twist to his next book. Demons in love. He would have laughed out loud if Mary hadn't been here in the room.

"Mary, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"I love you too, Eric. At least I think I do. At least I feel more you than I ever did with Phil. But right now, there's too much to deal with to try and figure it out."

Her eyes left the floor and found his, and the pain he saw banished his own.

"I have to go back because it's my home. Those are my friends, the people I've known my whole life. I can't just leave, no matter how hard it is. And because I won't let some sick bastard have it. It's mine. Ours. If it turns out that this killer is someone I know, I want to look him in the eye, want him to have to look me in the eye. So he understands."

Her words held no condemnation, but he felt it just the same. Not because his parents had left, but because he had this time plotted his own escape. And without warning, her sentiment expressed something that struck a chord from long ago, something sensed by a child without the words to explain or the comprehension to understand. Something from his father that he now understood; a reluctance to leave Lincoln Corners. They had gone at his mother's insistence, in response to her increasingly fervent demands and finally threats. If she had followed through and taken him to Ohio when the house hadn't sold, would his parents' marriage have survived? Would his father have given in to her urgency with the distance between them, and therefore the abatement of the pressure? As he put what he sensed then with Mary's explanation now, they fit together without seam. His father had chosen his wife and surviving son. But he hadn't wanted to abandon the ground, to allow the murderer not only to take his boy but his home as well.

From Eric's research on the Civil War, he became convinced that the South had fielded the better commanders, and if in possession of the same resources as the North, the country would be a much different place, two countries. But with their men and supplies blown away and consumed, what did most of them fight for? For Lee, yes. They loved Robert E. Lee. But more they fought for their homes. Most of them didn't own slaves, and the ideals of the war had long been replaced with its reality of death and blood and shattered limbs, or had never mattered in the first place. And when the logistics said the war had been lost, they fought on, and would have continued if Lee and others hadn't stopped further senseless slaughter. And what about Vietnam? Fifty thousand Americans dead. Millions of Vietnamese. And still they fought. And held out long enough to win. Maybe not a military victory, ultimately, their opponent fractured by civil unrest and a government unwilling to allow its soldiers to finish it. But they won by continuing to fight. For their home.