Eden in Winter (13 page)

Though Charlie’s tone was musing, Adam sensed that he intended this observation as a message – that Adam could still seize the life that had been given him, and remake it for himself. Though Adam no longer believed this, some part of him – however sentimental or deluded – must have wanted to. Or why was he here?

He sat across from Charlie, ocean breezes cooling his face as the therapist passed him a cup of coffee. Crisply, Adam said, ‘Seems like we were talking about Carla.’

A trace of humour surfaced in Charlie’s eyes. ‘You remember.’

‘Hard to forget you asking if I wanted to fuck her to get back at a dead man. Is that what you really think?’

Unfazed, Charlie answered, ‘I was simply raising one possibility. Given all the other women you could be spending time with, it’s pretty hard to avoid the implications. What do you think?’

‘That I was with her during the hurricane, and it didn’t feel like that.’

Charlie watched his face. ‘What were you doing there?’

‘What do you suppose? She’d never been through one of these. My mother has Jack and Teddy, but Carla is pregnant and alone.’

‘And you’re also attracted to her, it’s clear. Can you tell me how that feels?’

Adam struggled to label emotions he could not quite grasp. ‘When I first met her, I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Because of Ben, it made me that much angrier or, perhaps, envious. More than that, she was my enemy – an extremely smart and acquisitive woman who had set out to steal my mother’s inheritance. But, even then, I realized there was something sexual in our hostility toward each other – or, at least, mine towards her. And, no, I’m not suggesting that was healthy.’

‘Or inexplicable,’ Charlie offered mildly. ‘I remember when I was young, seeing Jackie Kennedy at Logan Airport. As striking as she was in pictures, there was a vitality about her you could only feel in life. The next time I reacted to a woman like that was forty years later – when I saw Carla Pacelli leaving an A.A. meeting in Vineyard Haven.’ Charlie sipped his coffee. ‘So taking that as a given, what did you perceive about her over time?’

‘A number of things. There was this watchful intelligence that seemed to permeate each expression.’ Adam paused,
summoning images from their early encounters. ‘I’m used to observing people closely. I began to feel that Carla was somehow like me – that beneath the celebrity persona, gracious and superficially approachable, she had a guarded, elusive quality, the ability to control and channel her emotions.

‘At first, I thought it was because she was clever, and an actress. Now I think she’s extremely self-protective, and that her reasons for that go far deeper than having to cope with being face-famous. There’s something wounded about her, I think, which is where the substance abuse comes from. Even her sense of humour – which seems pretty good when she allows it to show – is shot through with irony.’

Charlie regarded him with a trace of surprise. ‘That’s a fair amount to grasp about a woman you haven’t known that long.’

Pensive, Adam nodded. ‘This may not say anything good about either of us. But sometimes I have this sense that I’ve met my own species. Right down to the sense that she’s afraid to reveal herself for fear that something bad will happen.’

‘Except that she’s not working undercover,’ Charlie observed. ‘At the core, who do you think Carla Pacelli really is?’

Adam considered this. ‘A survivor, with deep feelings she’s afraid to reveal – except about this child she seems to want so desperately. The one emotion she’ll admit to is how afraid she is of a miscarriage. For good reason, it turns out.’

Charlie sat back, cradling the mug in his hands. ‘In other words, the focus of her life is bringing Benjamin Blaine’s child into the world. What does that say to you?’

‘It’s complicated.’ Adam could hear his own reluctance.
‘As I’ve admitted, I don’t like thinking about them together.’

‘What about this baby she’s carrying?’

‘That’s easier. I feel sympathy for him.’

‘Hard to avoid,’ Charlie observed pointedly. ‘Like you, he’s the product of an affair. As you were, his existence is a serious inconvenience to Clarice, threatening her security and public image. And, again, like you, he won’t have a father. Your real father didn’t claim you; this boy’s dad – your fake father – is dead. Which might make him seem, at least symbolically, more like you than any prospective baby on earth.’

Adam gazed at the deck. ‘I suppose that’s possible.’

Silent, Charlie seemed to withdraw, as if sorting out his thoughts. ‘If that’s true,’ he said at length, ‘this baby could represent a second chance to repair the past. You may hope Carla gets the chance to be a better mother than Clarice. You may even want to be a better father figure than Ben or Jack. But Carla’s pregnancy is also a constant reminder of her sexual relationship with a man who violated your girlfriend, propelling you into a wholly different life.

‘True, she seems to have coped with Ben more successfully than any woman I’m aware of. But she’ll forever be the last woman your quasi-father slept with. So everything about Carla and this child brings you back to your own past, in a way one might well describe as incestuous. If not downright Oedipal.’

Reading Adam’s expression, Charlie held up a hand. ‘I know you resent me for saying all this. I’m not entirely comfortable with it myself. But you’re perilously close to the belly of the beast, psychologically speaking, dredging up every aspect of a family history that – through no fault of yours
– is best described as twisted.’ Charlie’s tone became gentle. ‘Ben brought you back here by dying, made you his executor in a final act of sadism, and stuck you with resolving his posthumous cruelties to your mother, brother, real father and – not least – you. Whatever laws you broke, the fact that you’ve brought any moral order to this mess is impressive beyond words. But if on any level you’re imagining being with Carla, you risk perpetually playing out your tortured relationship with the father of her child. Unless you can confront the complications head on, that could be devastating for all three of you.’

To Adam, each word felt like a blow. ‘That’s a pretty dire picture, Charlie – especially for a man who may have no chance to live it. Right now, all I want is for Carla and this boy to be okay. No matter what happens to me.’

‘I believe that’s true. But there’s more to this, it’s clear. I assume there’s a physical component to all this altruism.’

‘For both of us,’ Adam acknowledged. ‘But it’s fair to call that situationally limited, so don’t let your imagination get out of hand. That hasn’t been our focus.’

‘So what has?’

‘We’ve talked a fair amount – including about her recovery. She’s opened up a little, which is why I have a better sense of her.’

Charlie gave him a querying look. ‘But you’re less able to reciprocate. Does that trouble you at all?’

Adam felt a fresh wave of resentment, though he was not sure at whom. ‘There are a
few
things I can’t tell her,’ he said tartly. ‘Some of them involve Ben’s death.’

Charlie looked at him intently. ‘I won’t ask what you’re holding back. But all the walls you’ve built, plus the need to
lie about your job, must make it hard to be authentic. I wonder if she senses that.’

Restless, Adam stood, walking to the railing. Without looking at Charlie, he said, ‘Maybe she does. But something happened to me. On the night of the hurricane, I told her more than I should have.’

Charlie’s voice was quiet. ‘What were the circumstances?’

‘I was sleeping on a couch, waiting out the storm. I had the nightmare again, the one where I’m dead, with Ben’s head on my body. I must’ve cried out – Carla heard me, and came from her bedroom to find out what had happened.’ Adam paused, remembering the moment. ‘When she saw me, she seemed to understand. Ben had nightmares, too, she said – about Vietnam. All he’d told her, Carla said, was that there were some things men weren’t made to endure. Then she asked me what I really did, as if she already knew.’

‘What did you reveal to her?’

‘Not much. But I admitted my job was dangerous, and different than what I’d described.’ Saying this, Adam experienced the same queasy mix of relief and vulnerability. ‘Ben had already guessed aloud that I was C.I.A. Now she’s sure I am.’

‘What was her reaction?’

‘That she hoped I wouldn’t go back there. When I insisted that I had to, she became angry. Then she said it was because she cares about what happens to me.’

Charlie cocked his head. ‘How did that make you feel?’

‘For that moment, good. Then I was ashamed of breaking the rules.’ Pausing, Adam watched a sailboat breasting the choppy waters of the Vineyard Sounds. ‘If anyone confronts
us – and no matter how harmless their suspicions may seem – we’re trained to “lie, deny, and make counter accusations”. If necessary, you deploy deflective humour, or infuse your lies with a grain of truth to make them more credible. You’re supposed to be like an onion – peel off the layers, and there’s nothing left. But I’m not sure that works with Carla. At least for one instant, I didn’t want it to.’

‘What
are
the rules about when you can tell a woman the truth?’

‘The relationship has to be very serious – engagement, if not the brink of marriage. I was way off the reservation.’

‘Literally, yes. But emotionally speaking, wasn’t that your way – if not exactly a proposal of marriage – of telling Carla that you want her in your life?’ Charlie’s voice softened again. ‘Perhaps the only chance, in your mind, given the foreboding in your nightmares.’

Adam turned to him, resistant. ‘It was a bad moment, and Carla happened to be there. Don’t make too much of it.’

‘And don’t make too little of it,’ Charlie rejoined. ‘Frankly, it’s the most hopeful thing I’ve heard from you since we started. Setting aside the obvious problems with this particular relationship, in this so-called “bad” moment, you wanted to be closer to another human being. Whatever the reason, Carla seems to call on that in you – you broke the rules for
her
, not someone else. Which raises the question of how those feelings will affect you in Afghanistan.’

Leaving the railing, Adam sat across from him. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘Then let me try an analogy,’ Charlie proposed. ‘By your account, Carla has worked hard to find out who she really is. The more she succeeds, the less skilled she may be at
imagining she’s someone else. Perhaps that’s another reason she decided to give up acting.’ He paused, as though to underscore his point. ‘What you may be saying to Carla, whether she understands it or not, is that you hope for something you haven’t let yourself imagine since Jenny. Even if Carla’s not right for you, that could be a very good sign.

‘But it may complicate your life in Afghanistan. All the weapons you deploy against everyone else – disconnection, avoidance, deception, and fatalism about death – have kept you alive. By embracing the possibility of a different future, you may lose the detachment you’ve relied on to survive.’ Charlie seemed to inhale. ‘So, here’s the challenge you’re taking with you: to hope for a better life, and still live to find it.’

Adam could say nothing. But when he stood to leave, to his surprise, Charlie clasped his shoulders, looking into his face. ‘Good luck, Adam,’ the therapist said. ‘Like Carla, what happens to you matters to me. I want you back here sitting on this porch. After all, we’ve still got work to do.’

Refreshed by the early morning A.A. meeting in Vineyard Haven, Carla emerged into the slanting sunlight of a crisp, cool day, the first harbinger of fall. At this hour, the streets were still empty, and no one would notice her: a good time to take stock of herself with others who understood.

This morning, her sponsor – a former popular singer – had celebrated five years of sobriety. Carla felt pleased for her, and buoyed by the example she set. Standing by her car, she paused a moment, reflective, then drove to the Catholic church in Oak Bluffs.

Carla had left the Church years before, and she still did not know if anyone heard her prayers. But a central tenet at Betty Ford was to seek help outside herself, and the rituals of Catholicism were familiar to her. Our Lady Star of the Sea, the most modest church on the island, was set amidst gingerbread houses on a tree-lined street, away from the bustle of a resort town where tourists thronged. The white wooden structure was plain in design, with a clapboard steeple topped
by a simple cross. Its lack of pretence pleased Carla, and its parishioners – many of whom were immigrants whose first language was Brazilian Portuguese – had more pressing concerns than the travails of a fading celebrity. So Carla had begun attending the 8 a.m. mass on Sundays, slipping into the back just before services began.

Today, a Monday, Carla considered her choices. The grassy park across from the church offered benches beneath the shelter of venerable oaks, and often Carla would sit there to pray and reflect. But this morning she decided to enter the church itself.

The interior was hushed. Its stained-glass windows cast a serene dappling of light and shadow on the pews, and the carved image of Jesus behind the altar portrayed a man in prayer instead of a tormented martyr. No one else was there. Sitting near the front, Carla began renewing her connection with the rituals of her youth.

As a child, such a place had been her refuge from the fear she had felt in her parents’ home. Now, when the enemy might be herself, she sought a sense of peace and order, and Christ’s divinity meant less to her than his compassion. Eyes closed, she recited the Hail Mary, the Our Father, and the act of contrition, seeking the strength to achieve the life she now envisioned. Then she prayed for the safety of her unborn child and, at last, for Adam Blaine.

*

When Carla returned, Adam was sitting on the porch of the guesthouse. Seemingly surprised, she told him lightly, ‘Funny you should be here. I was thinking about you a while ago.’

Adam stood, hands jammed in his pockets. ‘In what context?’

‘The other night. I still owe you money for soup, candles, and a flashlight.’