The Book of James (45 page)

My thoughts tumbled. “Then what was it, Dylan? What?”

“My father sent it. Trying to make amends of sorts.”

I rubbed at my face. “I don’t understand. Make amends how?”

Dylan’s head was still down. “He realized that in giving Cora

your address and information, he had created a huge problem.

He’d betrayed Nick. And then feared for your safety. So he tried to warn Nick off. Help him resist his mother.”

“Too late. But how?”

“By giving him the one piece of information Nick always

wanted. Something he could use against his mother.”

My head pounded, but I desperately tried to put the informa-

tion together. “What?”

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“The files at my house. I went through everything. Every letter,

every note, every medical test. Bradford had DNA tests done—”

“DNA tests? To prove paternity? Please don’t tell me Harrison

wasn’t
Nick’s father. Bradford had fathered both boys?”

Dylan nodded. “It seems that way. So the letter that came that

morning? He told Nick the truth. That’s why Nick was so upset.”

“Out of his mind upset. This is unbelievable.” I rubbed my face

with both hands.

“After reading through everything, it’s the only thing that

made sense to me. And my father didn’t deny any of it. He said he made mistakes but did the best he could in a bad situation.”

I pulled the covers off and got up. My legs wobbled beneath

me. “God. I need to get out of this town.”

He grabbed my hand to steady me. “I didn’t know. I real y

didn’t know he was a part of this.”

Tears began to fill my eyes. “Cora made both children’s lives

ongoing torture. And then had James killed. For nothing?
For

nothing?
” I sat on the edge of the bed, letting my legs dangle. “Did your father know what happened to James?”

“He would never admit it, but I think he did. I suspect either

Bradford or Nick told him.”

I slid back into bed and pulled the covers over me again. “A

woman at the historical society told me a curse had been put on

that family long ago, for things done to the slaves. And that’s why this family has suffered for generations. But the truth is they’ve cursed themselves, caused every bit of misery themselves.” I looked up into his eyes. Part of him was destroyed. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I know this has to be hard for you.”

“I don’t even know who to blame. Cora? Her father? Nick?

Harrison?” He hesitated. “My father? It’s all twisted together. I feel like I’m going to throw up. James was beaten and killed for absolutely nothing. And my father knew.”

“Are you going to the police? Or what?”

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ELLEN J. GREEN

He studied the wal . “I can’t. It’s all speculation. And I’m not

sure if I would anyway, to be honest.”

“It would serve him right, though. Terrible person.”

“I know, but if it makes you feel any better, there is one thing

my father never counted on. Me and you.” He laughed. “It got him

so worried—me being anywhere near this. Now he’s just shocked.

And disgusted.”

“Wel , we’ll have to keep that momentum going, won’t we?”

He stood and leaned his elbows on the bed rail. “It’s going to

be real y weird and boring without you here. I mean, no knocks on my door at all hours, no lists to go over, no mysteries to solve, little Miss Nancy Drew. And I don’t want things to end just because

you’re leaving.” He took my chin and turned it so he was looking

me in the eye. “So what are we going to do?”

“How many miles is it from here to Portland? Four hundred?”

“Yeah. But that could be a good thing.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because it gives us both a little room. We can take things as

slowly as you want. No pressure.”

I nodded. “We can take turns commuting? See where it goes?”

I reached up and touched his hair. “You can come to Portland, I’ll take you around. You’ll love it. We can drive to Boston, maybe go to Cape Cod. I’ll come here; you can show me the rest of Chestnut Hil .” He laughed. “I just ask that you take the first five turns or so.

I’ve seen enough of this place for a little while.” I rolled a lock of his hair around my index finger. “But there is one thing I need to do if we’re going to take this any further.”

“And what’s that?”

“Do you think I could meet your mother?”

His face was serious. “My mother? Do you have any idea what

you’re asking? Take your money and go back to Maine. Leave

it alone.” I started laughing and pain erupted in my side, but I

couldn’t help it. Then there was silence. He leaned over to kiss me, THE BOOK
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but I turned my head. My lips felt as dry and rough as bark, and I didn’t think my mouth tasted any better. He caught me on the side of my eyelid. “So when are you leaving?” he asked.

“That, I don’t know. I hear they’re letting me go tomorrow

morning. I’ll probably head back sometime tomorrow evening.”

“We’ll have most of the day together, then?”

I nodded. “I’m all yours.”

I found Ginny’s room later that day. She was asleep when I went in, so I sat by her bed and held her hand.

“Ginny, I wanted to say good-bye,” I said when she opened her

eyes.She gazed up at me. “Good-bye?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow, and I wanted you to know that I think

you did the best you could, given the circumstances. I don’t blame you, and I know Nick never blamed you or else he wouldn’t have

kept that picture of you all those years.”

“I never told you the whole truth,” she said. “When I came to

talk to you and we went to the cemetery. If I had, this might not have happened.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Ginny? Did you know that Cora and

Harrison were involved even after she got married?”

“I suspected. But I didn’t know that Nick was Harrison’s son. It

makes sense, looking back. It just didn’t occur to me before.”

I was about to tell her about Nick’s paternity, but thought bet-

ter of it. This woman deserved a little peace of mind. “Why didn’t you say something? When all this was going on, you were right

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there. When the gardener found that coin, I think you knew that

little boy was dead.” I wasn’t accusing, I just wanted to know.

Her watery eyes squeezed closed and then opened. “You’re

partly right. In my heart I feared that James was dead; I’ve been tortured over that thought for years. But I had no proof. Harrison denied it. There was unshakeable loyalty between the three of us. I had to trust . . . Sometimes you just have to blindly trust. Or what is there?”

That simple sentence gave me the permission I needed to

forgive myself for all the ridiculous blind trust I had given Nick during our marriage. A bit of peace washed over me. I wasn’t real y so naïve or stupid. If you can’t blindly trust your spouse, the person you vow to spend the rest of your life with, then what is there?

“Nick killed James,” I blurted. “My husband was a murderer,

and apparently it didn’t bother him that much.”

Ginny shook her head. “You don’t know that, Mackenzie. It

ruined his life. He couldn’t get close to anyone, I bet. Not even you.

Did he have any real friends? Any at all? His mother followed him everywhere he went, even if not in the physical sense. Probably a day didn’t go by that he wasn’t aware on some level of what he was.

Don’t judge his soul by looking at appearances.”

I felt my eyes welling up, and I had promised myself that I

wouldn’t shed one more tear on Pennsylvania soil. I smiled and

squeezed Ginny’s hand. “So where are you going when you leave

here? Back home?”

She shook her head. “I think I want to live in one of those

retirement communities. I can’t live in that house with all those memories. Maybe I’ll put the house on the market in the spring.”

“Do you need anything? Are you okay financial y? I can help

you out. Nick would’ve wanted that, and I can’t think of a better way to spend his money.”

“No. I’m fine.” Her wrinkles moved as she smiled. “My family

left me money, so I’ll be just fine. You’re a good girl, Mackenzie.

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ELLEN J. GREEN

You deserve to be happy, get on with your life. Stay in touch with me?” she asked. I nodded.

—

I was discharged from the hospital the next morning. Dylan picked me up and brought me to his house, where I found Samantha

packing her things.

“I am ready for the leisurely drive back to Maine whenever you

are,” she said. “But right now I’m ready for a nap.” She winked at me before maneuvering her body toward the stairs.

I spent the rest of the day in bed with Dylan, which wasn’t as

exciting as it sounds. I was exhausted, emotional y and physical y.

Every muscle ached, and I was covered in splotches. My nose was

swollen, and deep black bruises spread out under each eye. We just lay there together, for the most part, talking and sleeping. I kept an eye on the clock. When it was time to get up, Dylan wrapped himself around me and asked for five more minutes. Then five more,

until I’d frittered half an hour away. Final y we got up, showered, and dressed.

I unzipped my bag, and there, on top of my clothes, were my

wedding ring and a thick white envelope.

“My wedding ring?”

“The police found it on Cora, and I know it means something

to you.”

I picked up the gold band and studied it in the palm of my

hand.“Thank you.” I put it back down and ripped open the envelope and stared. “Dylan?” I felt my eyes fil .

“Hey, come here. Sit down.” He pulled me to the bed.

“Mackenzie, it’s time. It’s your little slice of life. Don’t let anyone or anything take that from you. Not even the crazy thoughts in your

head.”

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The Red Sox tickets in my hand were blurry through my tears.

“But Dylan, all I see when I look at these tickets is the accident, Nick dead, and then my mother, in that order.”

“No, Mackenzie”—he put his arm around me—“what you see

are all those asshole Yankee fans in their Boston Sucks T-shirts, yelling and screaming. You see Justin Masterson on the mound,

the fans on their feet, stomping and yelling. It’s the top of the ninth, two outs. A man is on third. Yankees are at bat, one run down.

A-Rod is up, he swings—strike one. Red Sox fans are on their feet, the crowd is going crazy, he swings again—strike two! Here comes

the pitch. It’s high and outside, but Rodriguez gets a piece of it.

Yeah, it’s going. It’s going, Shane Victorino jumps for it, it’s just above his glove, can he catch it?”

I was so caught up in his scenario, I forgot everything else.

“Does he catch it?”

He tossed the tickets in my lap. “Go to the opening game in

April and find out. I had to make a deal with the devil to get them.”

I flipped through them. There were at least twenty sets of

tickets in the envelope—seats that were almost impossible to get.

“How did you do this? Do you have any idea . . . ?” I stared at him.

“I told you I made a deal with the devil. My father. He went

to school with one of the lawyers who represent the organiza-

tion. They’re still close, so I asked him for a favor.” At my raised eyebrows, Dylan said, “I can’t change who he is. But he owed me

something.”

Dylan shrugged. “Anyway, even the lawyer had some trouble

coming up with those. Check them out. Tickets for most of the big games are in there.”

I shook my head, amazed.

He pointed to the envelope. “So go to those games, because

you know Boston can’t win without you.” He kissed my cheek.

“And I know someone who would just die to go to the first game

with you. I mean, if you’ll have me.”

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ELLEN J. GREEN

We walked arm in arm to my car. It was a beautiful night. We

stopped and looked up. Orion was smack-dab in the middle of the

sky, looking down on us. It was so clear. His belt, his arrow, his two dogs.It got me thinking. Parents filled with such hatred that they were moved to kill—I could appreciate Dylan’s willingness to put

his father’s flaws into perspective. I thought about my own father.

Far from perfect. But I knew he loved me. I knew he had loved my

mother and couldn’t let her go. It was time for me to reach out to him and put the past to rest.

Dylan saw my finger go to my forehead in salute. I hooked my

arm in his. “There is a story behind that. Where to begin? Oh, yes.

Orion was once a mighty hunter who roamed the earth. He was

loved by the moon goddess—”

“Artemis,” Dylan said without missing a beat. “I remember

this story.”

“Yes, Artemis. She loved him so much . . .”

I hadn’t felt such peace in years.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to my mother, Edith Green; my grandmother, Emily

Glover; my sister, Rachel Green Huguley; and my daughter, Eva

Elizabeth. Your creative spirits inspire me.

To Shelley Brancato for tirelessly reading every incarnation of

this book. Your support pushed me to make this happen. Peter

Brancato, Dr. Brancato, for answering a myriad of questions about child psychiatry and PTSD that helped to shape my characters.

Lisa Field for giving me the fabulous title and for very last-

minute line editing.

Denise Gunson for generously donating many cases of wine

to my cause.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ellen J. Green was born in Washington Mil s,

New York, and was raised on a farm until she