Tainted (16 page)

Henry took the Ping-Pong net off the dining-room table, put it in a chest in the hall and went to his living room, where Katy was lying on the rug in her pajamas, curled up alongside Bones. She looked so adorable, he hesitated for a few seconds before telling her it was time to go to bed.

“Can Bones sleep on my bed with me?” she asked.

“I don't see why not. But go and brush your teeth first. Bones and I will come up after you've finished.”

She scrambled to her feet and ran off toward the stairs. He heard a thud and then “Ouch!” and when he ran to the hallway, he saw her little body sprawled on the floor.

“Katy!”

“I tripped,” she said, as he picked her up. “I'm sorry, Henry.”

“It's not your fault, bumblebee. I'm sorry you tripped. Does it hurt?”

“I promise I won't cry.”

He carried her back into the living room, sat down with her on his lap.

“You can cry if it hurts.” She was rubbing her knee; her mouth was quivering. “Go ahead. Cry. Let the hurt out.”

“No!” It was a wail, this “No!,” a terrified wail. “I can't cry.” She wriggled out of his arms and rushed over to Bones, burying her face in the dog's neck.

“Katy. It's all right.” He wasn't sure what to do, how to make her feel better. “Honestly. Come back to me and I'll give you a hug.”

Her hand went up to cover her mouth, and her body heaved in spasms.

“Katy? Come over here.”

When she didn't move, he rose from the chair and picked her up again. She hurled her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his chest. Her heart was thumping wildly.

“Katy? Sweetheart. What's wrong?”

“Jack hates it when I cry. I can't cry ever again.”

“Jack's not here, sweetheart.” He patted her back. “He and Mommy have gone on their honeymoon. I'm here, though. And I say it's fine to cry.”

Lifting her tear-stained face and looking up at him, she said, “I'll stop now. It doesn't hurt any more. Don't tell Jack I cried. Please. Promise?”

“I won't.” He frowned. “I promise. Let's get you up to bed.”

He carried her upstairs to the bathroom, watched as she brushed her teeth and then took her hand and led her into her bedroom.

“Hop into bed,” he said, and when she did, he pulled the covers up and tucked her in.

“I want Bones.”

“Bones will come.” He sat down beside her. “But first, Katy, will you tell me why you're so afraid of Jack finding out you cried? Is he mean to you when you cry?”

“He leaves.”

“Leaves the house?”

“Yes. He hates noise.”

“I see.” Henry paused. “Are you frightened of him?”

“Only when I cry. It's my fault he leaves.”

“And the rest of the time. When you're not crying. What's Jack like then?”

“He's fun. He's good at games. Like you are.”

“What kind of games?”

“Like catching games and hide-and-seek games. Fun games.”

“No scary games? No games you don't like?”

“I like them.”

“And you understand them?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means are they games you would play with anyone else if they asked?”

“Yes.” Her hair was splayed out on the pillow; her face was pale and questioning. “Why are you asking about our games?”

“Does Jack tell you to keep any of the games you play a secret?”

“Only the catch game—so we can show Mommy how good we are when we get up high enough.”

“Right.”

“Can Bones come up now? I'm tired.”

“OK. I'll bring him up.”

Henry trudged downstairs, mulling over what Katy had told him. Jack wasn't used to children crying—that made sense. But to leave? And to make Katy so damned terrified of her own tears? It wasn't right. And these games they played. He'd asked the leading questions and had no responses which pointed to the unseemly, but there was still that image of them on the beach in the moonlight in his mind. He'd gone down a few nights since then to check and the beach had been empty, yes. But he'd been remiss about following up: he should have asked Jack if he'd told Holly about his sister dying. He should have found out if Holly knew about the late-night game of catch.

The wedding had taken his mind off Katy; he'd been concentrating on Holly, and her happiness had been so contagious, he had allowed himself to bask in it with her.

I'll have a word with him when they get back. He has to understand he can't scare Katy like that. Poor little thing was in a state. It's not right. He just has to get used to noise, whether he fucking hates it or not. And I'll talk to Holly too. I'll talk to Holly first.

By the time he'd led Bones upstairs and placed him on the foot of Katy's bed, she was fast asleep. He didn't turn out the light because he knew she liked to have it on. Patting her sleeping head and Bones's head too, he left them.

It had been an eventful, emotional day. Holly was now no longer only his responsibility. She had a husband to look after her—and that both pleased and saddened him. As anxious as he was for her to move back into the world and find in de pendence, he couldn't help but feel a loss.

At least they hadn't moved away: another man might have preferred living in a different place, a different state even. He had to admit that he would have hated not having them nearby.

Had that fact, too, skewed his thinking about Jack? Had he been loath to question him further or take him to task in any way because he was so relieved that Jack was happy to stay in Birch Point?

Deciding to make a cup of tea and sit at the computer for a little while before going to bed himself, Henry headed for the kitchen. When the phone rang, he had just settled down at his desk, with the tea in easy reach.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Henry. It's Billy.”

“Hello, Billy.”

“I'm sorry to bother you, but I have to tell you something. It's Jack. There's something wrong with Jack. I'm not talking about the whole waiter business. He doesn't have any friends. Or any family—supposedly he doesn't. Except he called someone in England. And I called her and she says she doesn't know any Jack Dane. Which is bullsh—I mean I memorized the number from his phone and I know I got the right one. So who is she? That's what I want to know. Who is she?”

“Billy, you're not making any sense.”

“I looked at his phone. When I went over there. There was a number he'd dialed and I called it. And this woman, Eliza McCormack, answered and said she didn't know him. Which is crap but no one will believe me, will they? You don't believe me, do you? Do you believe me?”

“Young man—you're drunk.”

“Yeah, OK, whatever. I've had a few beers but I'm telling the truth. There's something wrong with him. He made Holly cry today. I heard them when they came in and I was in the kitchen and they didn't know I was there. She was really upset. Who makes his wife cry on their wedding day? There's something wrong with him.”

“There's something wrong with you, William. Are you telling me you stole Jack's phone?”

“I looked at it. That's all, OK? I didn't steal anything. I broke a picture. That's all I did. But don't tell her. I threw the glass away.”

“This behavior of yours is bordering on the obsessive. What are you doing? Stalking them? Your legal career will be in jeopardy if you carry on like this. Looking at other people's phones. Calling people randomly. Breaking pictures. It's unhealthy. And now, on top of it, you're drunk as a skunk.”

“I knew you wouldn't believe me. I'm going to find a lawyer. I'm going to find out exactly what my rights are.”

“Fine—you do that. But meanwhile I suggest you leave them alone.”

“Do you know anyone else who doesn't have one single friend, Henry? Not one? Who won't ever talk about his past? There's something wrong and no one will believe me.”

“Tell it to your lawyer, William. You should go to bed and sleep it off.”

“He smokes, too. He shouldn't smoke when there's a child in the house. You know, when he went to get his cigarette I thought he was getting a gun. I'm not kidding, Henry.”

“And I'm hanging up now.”

He placed the receiver back on its hook and reached into his pocket for his pipe.

Billy was crazy. Stark raving mad. And drunk. Stuffing the bowl of the pipe with tobacco, he leaned back in his chair.

“Do you know anyone else who doesn't have one single friend, Henry? Not one?”

No, I don't. But that's not a crime. It doesn't mean that something is “wrong” with Jack.

“Don't tell Jack I cried. Please. Promise?”

All right, Katy. But I'll promise you something else. I'll find out more about Jack. I'll make it my job. If he really made Holly cry on her wedding day, he has a lot to answer for—and he'll have to answer to me.

The back porch of the Woodstock Inn looked out over a lake. Rocking chairs, a hammock and some tables were scattered on it in a seemingly random fashion, inviting guests to sit and relax in a comfortable, casual setting. Everything about the inn was informal and cozy: catering for all seasons. As soon as she and Jack had walked in, Holly pictured how beautiful it would be in the autumn, with the New England foliage in full flow, or in the winter, with gently falling snow and a big fire crackling in the sitting-room fireplace.

She'd found it online and was thrilled to see that it lived up to the pictures and the happy reviews from satisfied customers. They'd arrived in time to have a nice supper in the small dining room; and though the other eight tables were all occupied, no one was talking too loudly or interfering in any way with the intimate atmosphere.

They'd taken their coffees outside and were sitting in two rocking chairs, watching the moonlight bathe in the lake.

I'm a married woman. I have the best, most wonderful husband in the world and the best, most wonderful child in the world. I never thought I'd be so happy. I never thought I'd be so lucky. How did I get so lucky?

“The lake's nice, but it's not the sea, is it?” Jack asked in a low, hushed voice.

“I've always thought there were mountain people and water people and I'm a water person. A lake's not the sea, you're right, but it's still water. It has the same effect.”

“There's no endless horizon, though. That's what I dream about—an infinite horizon. I wouldn't mind dying if I could look out over the sea when I did.”

“Please don't talk about dying.” She reached out and grabbed his hand. “I can't stand it if you talk about dying. My dream is to live forever, as happy as I am now, with you and Katy. Nobody's going to die. We're going to live happily ever after and ever after that.”

He laughed and squeezed her hand.

“You're a hopeless romantic, you know that?”

“And you're not?” she shot back. “You're the one who loves old-fashioned, and there's nothing more old-fashioned than a happily-ever-after ending.”

“True.”

“You know, I thought when you first called me old-fashioned on the bus, you meant it as a criticism.”

“You couldn't have been more wrong.”

“Sometimes I think about how lucky we were—I mean, I don't think we would have gotten together again if Henry hadn't tricked you into coming to his house.”

Jack stopped rocking.

“I have a confession to make. As soon as we landed on the beach and started walking up to his house, I figured out where we were and who Henry was, so I guessed I'd see you again. I
hoped
I'd see you again. We would have found each other again without him—he just made it easier.”

“Really?” Holly smiled.

“Really. We were made for each other, Holly Barrett Dane. Don't you know that?”

“I guess I do—now.”

He began to rock again, and she timed her own rocking so it matched his. Their hands were still entwined; his was warm and strong and comfortable. An elderly woman came out onto the porch, looked over at them and went back in.

“She's very tactful, leaving the honeymooners alone,” Jack stated.

“Do you think she knows we're honeymooners?”

“I think we have ‘honeymooners' written all over us. We're a walking ad for honeymooners. We radiate honeymooners.”

“I love the way you always make me laugh.”

Again, he stopped rocking.

“But I made you cry today. You didn't love that.”

“Let's forget that. It doesn't matter.”

“But it does. It matters hugely. I hate hurting you, Holly. I hate upsetting you. I want you to know that. You have to know that.”

Unaccountably, the seriousness with which he said this scared her slightly.

“I thought the English didn't like to talk about their emotions. Watch out or you'll be on Oprah soon.”

Why was she trying to lighten the mood when he was doing exactly what she'd always hoped for—airing his feelings? On the car trip, she'd been walking on eggshells, careful not to bring up the scene with Billy or even his desire to adopt Katy. She'd kept on safe territory, fearful that she might set off his anger again if she said the wrong thing, or said the right thing in the wrong way. Now that he had broached the subject of that terrible sailing trip, she should have felt relief. Instead, she wished she could put it off, defer discussing anything too serious until they'd had a few days all on their own. They'd never been together like this before; they'd always had Katy with them. She wanted to wallow in this feeling of being a young couple at the center of each other's universe before she let the world in again.

He sat forward, his elbows on his knees, his arms crossed. “Wolves mate for life, you know. Once, there was a male wolf who'd been caught in a trap. His mate, his wife, came every night to see him. Every night for weeks. He was becoming weaker and weaker and she was more and more distressed. Until she finally lay down beside him and stayed there with him and they died together.”

“I asked you before—please don't talk about dying.”

“I'm not talking about dying, Holly. I'm talking about enduring love. About sacrifice.”

“Do you feel you've sacrificed a lot for me?” A different fear hit her. “Too much? Do you want to go back to England?”

“No.” He shook his head. “No. And I haven't sacrificed for you, you've sacrificed for me. I know there are times you're not sure about me, times when you don't understand me—and that's my fault.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying the past always catches up. You think you're beyond it, that it's behind you. But it's not. I hate it.”

“I don't understand.” Holly stared at him. “You always talk about the future, about not looking back. We're going forward, aren't we? You said you wanted to adopt Katy today. You meant that, didn't you? That's a huge step forward.”

“I can't adopt Katy.”

“Jack?” She didn't want to cry—not again. But he was looking so sad, so wistful, and she was feeling so lost, tears started to form. “I thought you wanted to. I don't understand.”

“Holly, listen to me. It's not that I don't want to. I do. But it would be too complicated. Too many people would have to get involved. People who ask questions. People like Billy.”

“What questions?”

“I should have told you before. I should have told you and given you the choice.”

“What choice?”

“The choice to stay away from me. I was selfish—and frightened that if I told you the truth, you'd leave me. But we're married now. We're going to spend the rest of our lives together—I hope. You need to know about me. And I need to tell you.”

“Tell me what? Jack, you're scaring me.”

He got up, picked up his chair, moved it so that it was facing hers and sat back down.

“Put your legs up on my knees.”

When she did, he put his hands on her ankles and began to rub them.

“Don't be afraid. Never be afraid of me. It's a long story, though. So get comfortable.”

“Does it have a happy ending?”

“I hope so.” He nodded. “If you love me enough, it does. That's all I want, Holly. I want us to be all about a happy ending. I want ‘happy ending' to be written all over us.”