The Geometry of Sisters (20 page)

“As if that would ever happen,” Stephen said. “This is for J.D., Angus. I'm doing this for him, okay? You know that.”

Angus's eyes burned, and his mouth was tight with disapproval. But turning away, he let them pass. Maura watched him climb into the van, start it up, and pull down the long driveway.

“Angus is loyal to the Blackstone family,” Stephen said. “He worked for J.D.'s father and grandfather on the docks. His greatgrandfather worked for James Desmond. Their families go way back….”

But Maura wasn't listening. She knew that Stephen was just making conversation, wanting to distract her. She stared at the barn doors, at the wrought-iron latch. Stephen lifted his hand and knocked.

“Who is it?” came the voice.

“Me,” Stephen said.

Maura heard rustling behind the heavy door. The iron hinges creaked as the door opened. And her heart turned over.

He was strong, powerfully built. Anyone could see that he worked out—he wore a thin gray T-shirt, just as he always had, and his upper body was lean and muscular. His graying brown hair was very short, almost a buzz cut. His blue eyes were as bright as ever, full of humor as they looked at Stephen. That changed when they swept over Maura.

She felt every minute, every year disappear. His eyes were the
same, and when he looked at her she felt loved in a way that didn't come with words or sense. He knew her then, and he knew her now.

“Maura,” he said.

“J.D.,” she said, crouching down to look him straight in the eyes. He touched her cheek. The contact was light but so intense she couldn't breathe. If she focused on his face, she wouldn't see the chair. Metal glinting, surrounding him. But she had to look, forced herself to see the wheels, the armrests. She fumbled to take his hand.

“You came to see me,” he said.

“It took me a long time,” she said. “I'm so sorry.”

“I didn't want you here.”

She heard Stephen slip out the door, the latch close behind him. J.D. and Maura held hands. He had workman's hands, even now. They felt strong, lean. She stared at them.

“I'm so sorry about what happened to you,” she said.

“It was a long time ago,” he said.

“I should have…” she began.

“Maura, don't start that, okay?”

A lifetime had passed; their lives had unfolded without each other. From the minute they'd met, something had been set in motion. Passion, the inability to regulate anything at all. Feelings, behavior, kisses, despair. The realization disturbed her, and she pulled away. Withdrew her hands, stood up, and looked around.

The garage had been transformed into an apartment: paintings on the wall, books on shelves, a bed, an old sofa, and a desk. Curtains were pulled across the windows, and a burgundy drapery blocked off the far end of the room.

“You always lived in unusual places,” she said.

“The warehouse,” he said.

“Yes. I went down there as soon as I got to Newport. But you weren't there….”

“No,” he said.

“You're not at your parents' house,” she said.

He gave her a smile that asked if she knew him at all. Wheeling himself to the window, he opened the curtains to a glint of mist. He gestured toward the sofa, and she sat down. He moved closer. His face was angular, almost gaunt; he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. He had high cheekbones, widely spaced eyes, a gentle mouth.

“It's good to see you,” she said.

“You really went looking for me at the warehouse?”

“Of course,” she said. “It's where I've been picturing you all these years.”

“It's where I've lived most of them. Just, right now, I'm recovering from an operation.”

She nodded, holding back, the questions ready to pour out. She looked at his legs, and he saw. “I don't want you to see me,” he said. “I never did.”

“I feel as if I did this to you.”

“You didn't.”

“J.D.,” she said.

He stared at her for a very long time. Was it too painful to talk about? Was he afraid of reliving it? She had the strangest feeling he was weighing what details she could handle.

“I did something stupid. I guess you've heard the details, but I'll tell you myself. I climbed the bridge again, but this time I fell. I was over the redline—forty feet off the ground, I should have died. I fractured my spine. The vertebrae were compressed, the spinal cord nearly severed.”

She listened to the clinical description, the lack of emotion. But she saw the strained weariness in his eyes.

“Katharine called me when it happened.”

“I know she told you. I told her to keep you away.”

Maura stared at him. “She didn't agree,” she said.

“There was only one reason I wanted you to come,” he said. “And
it wasn't to feel sorry for me. There's been improvement, the nerves are regenerating.” He paused, looked at her. “Ted told me what he did, getting you to apply to teach here.”

“Your friends love you,” she said. “That's obvious.”

He stared at her, so close and present it felt as if there was no space between them at all. His eyes were ice blue. “I know about what happened last summer,” he said. “To your husband. I'm sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“And Carrie was on the lake with him,” he said.

Just hearing him use her name filled Maura's eyes with tears. “She was,” she said.

“Tell me,” he said, staring hard into her eyes. “I want you to tell me what you wouldn't admit the night I drove to see you. Tell me I was right.”

“You were right.”

“We had…”

“We had a daughter,” she whispered.

His hands rested easily on the handles of his chair, but she saw tears pool in his eyes, his jaw muscles twitch.

“Why didn't you tell me then?”

“When I decided to go back to him,” she said, “I shut everything else out. I had to. If I told you she was yours, you'd have wanted to be part of her life. Andy and I couldn't have withstood that.”

He didn't respond. She could hardly sit there, knowing what a terrible thing she'd done. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but the words seemed so inadequate. With one lie, she'd ruined his life—and Carrie's and Andy's.

“Did he ever find out she wasn't his?”

“Two and half years ago she was in a car accident. She was badly injured, and Andy and I went to give blood. Neither of us was a match. So he knew….”

“What did he do?”

“He was going to leave me. He told me the day he died, just before he and Carrie went out in the canoe. We'd made it through the shock of him finding out, and we tried counseling for a few sessions—the kids had no idea. I know they'd sensed trouble between us, the first time ever. But they didn't know why.”

He took her hand. “I let you go. I had to because you wanted me to, but I never stopped thinking of you. I knew the minute I heard you were pregnant. I should have…” The words tore out of him, and he shut down hard to keep from saying what would hurt them both even more.

“I wish you could have known her,” Maura said. But was that true? She had built a fortress around herself and her family. J.D. was right; once she'd decided to cut him out of her life, she had done it completely.

“I feel as if I do know her,” he said.

“Really?”

He nodded. “I think she knew about me,” he said.

Maura felt startled. Why would he say that? “I never told her. It's killing me, to wonder if she somehow found out. See, she hasn't come home, J.D. She ran away that same day. I haven't seen her since.”

“Do you have any idea where she'd go?”

Maura shook her head. “It's all I think about. She sent a couple of postcards, it seemed she was heading out west. I keep thinking maybe she learned what I did, and hates me for it.”

“I don't believe that. Tell me about her, what she's like,” he said.

“Beautiful in all ways,” Maura said. “Sweet, kind, funny, the smartest girl in her class. A good girl. Wonderful to her sister and brother. The best daughter anyone could have.”

“Were you close?”

“Very.”

“Do you have a picture of her?”

Maura took out her cell phone. She scrolled through, found a shot she'd taken of Carrie the morning of the accident. The lake was in the background, shimmering and blue. She handed J.D. the phone.

He stared at the small screen without saying a word. This was the closest she could come to introducing him to their daughter.

“When I first got to Newport,” she said, “this September, I used to drive down the alley looking for you.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why now?”

“Because I had to tell you about Carrie. I wanted to make up, somehow, for what I've put you through. And because …” she said, tears flooding. “She came from us. I kept you out of her life and I'll pay for that for the rest of mine. What I did was cruel, unforgivable. But she was yours. After she disappeared, I'd think of you. It all came crashing down. I was crazy, obsessed, thinking that you were my only connection to her.”

He nodded, and she saw that he was still staring at the picture. Carrie, Lake Michigan behind her, pine-studded islands dotting the horizon, the lighthouse rising up over her shoulder. She thought of the night J.D. had taken her up to the top of the Jamestown Bridge. They'd gazed down the dark, sparkling bay, toward Beavertail Light. That had been their beacon, their promise.

After a moment, he snapped the phone shut, handed it back. He turned his wheelchair away as if dismissing her, as if he'd had enough. She stared at the back of his head; her fingertips tingled, wanting to touch him. She had jeopardized everything she'd thought she ever wanted for that one summer with him.

“J.D.,” she said.

“Look,” he said. “I get tired. You'd better go.”

“Can we see each other again?”

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“You're obviously strong,” she said. “You get around. You swim—I
know, because Stephen told me they filled the pool at school for you. I've seen the lights at night. If you don't want me to come here, I'll meet you there.”

“No.”

J.D. and Maura stared at each other.

“J.D.?” she said.

“Go, Maura,” he said.

He backed his chair away, turning around, dismissing her. Everything seemed to have changed the minute he looked at Carrie's picture—Carrie with the lighthouse in the background.

She remembered the moment she lied. She'd been guilty and confused after returning to Columbus from Newport. She and Andy had just eloped—he believed the baby was his, couldn't wait to get married. Maura had called Katharine to tell her about the baby and the wedding, and the very next day J.D. showed up on her doorstep, completely wild.

“Maura, I love you,” he'd said. “Come with me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Come with me,” he'd said again.

“J.D.,” she'd said, feeling panicked. She'd stood there, staring at him, sweaty and windblown after riding his motorcycle all the way from Rhode Island to Ohio. He'd reached toward her, touched her face. She'd leaned into it, shaking.

“Maura,” he'd said. “I brought an extra helmet. Come on.”

“Are you kidding?” she'd asked.

He'd grabbed her hand. Their eyes had locked, and she'd felt electricity up and down her spine. All she had to do was grab her bag; there was nothing she needed, nothing she had to take. She could do this.

“Come with me.”

“I… I'm married.”

“Why'd you do that?”

“Because I love him.”

“No, Maura.”

She'd tried to nod, to tell him yes, she did, but she couldn't.

“Let's go,” J.D. had said, pulling her toward him. “Just leave. You can call him, write him, do whatever it takes. But come with me.”

“I can't,” she'd said. “He's my husband.”

“I don't care.”

And in that second, neither did Maura. She'd wanted him from their first night together. She was carrying their child. Her hand strayed to her belly, and she'd pulled it away before he saw. But he did see.

“Maura?” he'd asked, his eyes burning.

“The baby's Andy's,” she'd said. “Now you know why I can't— can't talk to you, can't see you ever again.”

“The baby's mine,” he'd said. “I know it—”

“No! It's not!” she'd yelled. “You have no idea!”

“Don't do this,” he'd said. “You know what we have, Maura. There's no one else for either of us. You care about Andy, don't want to hurt him. But staying will destroy him, because it's a lie. We're having a baby.”

“We're not,” she'd said, making her voice hard.

“You're lying,” he'd said. “Because you told me the truth all summer. When we were together… we love each other. Maura, I know you're having my child.”

Maura had stared at him. She saw his excitement and wildness, his bridge-climbing craziness. He'd shown her her own passion, taken her right to the edge and terrified her.

Maura knew Andy so well. They'd been together so long, all through college. She'd been drawn to him because he was so good and steady, nothing like her father. He was the Mr. Sisson she'd always dreamed of. Always wanted. She had stared up at J.D., saw those sharp blue eyes, his lean face.

“I feel safe with Andy,” she'd said, breathless.

She'd told him to leave her alone, never contact her again, closed
the door right in his face. She'd leaned against the door, feeling him standing there just on the other side, willing herself not to turn the doorknob. And then she'd heard his motorcycle start up.

He'd driven straight back to Rhode Island. He went to the Jamestown Bridge, started to climb up to the catwalk where they'd gazed out at the lighthouse and the dark sea beyond. Maybe he was exhausted from the ride. Maybe he felt rage or sorrow or both. But he'd lost his footing, fallen backward onto the ground.

Maura let herself out of J.D.'s garage apartment and hurried past Stephen Campbell without a word.