The Second Silence (31 page)

Charlie tipped his bottle in a silent toast. ‘You always do.’ His gaze moved over her, coolly admiring. ‘You look good, Mary. You’ve got some sun in your cheeks. And I like that color; it suits you.’

She had to look down to see what she was wearing: her Armani suit, yes. ‘What’s that old expression? I clean up good.’ She smiled, her gaze drawn to the painting over the fireplace, a surprisingly good oil of horses grazing in a pasture. ‘Frankly,’ she confessed, ‘it’s gotten to be a real chore, dressing up to go into the city. I’ve become spoiled, bumming around all day in shorts and T-shirts. I’m convinced it was a man who came up with the idea for panty hose; no one who had to wear it would invent something so uncomfortable.’

Charlie laughed. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’ He set his beer down on the table in front of him, a thick slab of oak supported by wrought-iron legs. ‘Speaking of supper, you must be hungry. Give me a minute, and I’ll throw a salad together.’

He started to get up, but Mary leaned over to touch his knee. ‘Charlie? Would you mind if we just sat and talked a bit?’ At the moment she doubted she could have managed more than a bite, not with Charlie looking at her like that, like a man with something other than food on his mind. She watched him settle back, eyeing her guardedly. Before she knew it, the words were out of her mouth. ‘Do you remember our second date? Pretending we hadn’t spent the first one madly making out?’

He smiled at the memory, fondly, if not misty-eyed. Had he come to the same conclusion as she? That any further intimacy would ultimately cause more harm than good. She’d hoped he would see it her way, but the thought nonetheless brought a sharp nip of regret.

‘As I recall, we more than made up for it on the way home.’ Charlie chuckled.

‘How could I forget?’ The Jefferses’ Oldsmobile had been so steamed up they’d had to crank all the windows down and drive around the block several times before daring to pull up in front of her house.

Nor had she forgotten the nights that followed. The evenings spent parked out at the lake, kissing for hours, until her mouth was swollen and her body ached with longing. Charlie hadn’t pressured her then either. She’d
wanted
what came next. With all the willfulness of a heart yearning for the love it had been deprived of. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when not long afterward she discovered she was pregnant.

‘And look where it’s taken us.’ Charlie’s smile was full of irony. ‘Did you ever think we’d be sitting here, two middle-aged parents discussing what’s best for our grown daughter?’

‘Never in my wildest dreams.’ It struck her that some things people were better off not knowing. Back then, had she been afforded a glimpse into the future, it would only have depressed her. ‘Speaking of Noelle, did you hear from her today?’

Charlie nodded. ‘I gather the interview didn’t go so well. Something to do with Doris putting her two cents in. You know how opinionated she can get.’

‘Do I ever!’ Mary groaned, feeling a fresh stab of guilt for not being there.

‘It wasn’t just the interview,’ Charlie told her. ‘Apparently, Noelle paid a visit to her former neighbor. You remember the Pattersons? They were at the christening.’ He stared grimly into the blackened fireplace. ‘It turns out Judy Patterson was the one who corroborated Robert’s story. He was putting pressure on her husband, and she caved. Some friend, huh?’

Mary shivered, as if caught in a cold draft. What, precisely were they up against here? No ordinary opponent it was becoming increasingly evident. Who in this town
wasn’t
in Robert’s pocket?

‘You said something had come up,’ she reminded him. ‘Was that what you wanted to tell me?’

‘Partly.’ Charlie took another long pull off his beer. ‘But that’s not all. There’s something even Noelle doesn’t know about.’

Mary’s heart was suddenly beating very fast. She watched as he wordlessly got up to retrieve his briefcase from the hall table by the door.

‘See for yourself.’ He pulled a manila envelope from inside and handed it to her.

Mary didn’t know why, but all at once she was afraid. Goose bumps skimmed up her arms like the brush of cold fingertips. For no reason that made any sense, she didn’t
want
to know what the envelope contained.

Sensing her reluctance, Charlie said softly, ‘It’s Corinne’s autopsy report.’ His grave tone suggested there’d been more to her friend’s long-ago suicide than met the eye.

Mary’s chilled fingers fumbled with the envelope’s clasp. So it was true, Corinne
had
been murdered. Dear God, all these years…

Charlie seemed to read her mind, his next words putting an end to any hope of being able to pin something on Robert. ‘There’s no evidence of foul play,’ he said. ‘They tested for drugs and alcohol as well. Nothing.’

‘That still doesn’t prove anything,’ she stubbornly insisted.

‘Not conclusively,’ he said.

‘So why do I need to see this?’

‘There
was
something.’ Charlie walked over to perch on the arm of her chair, placing a hand on her shoulder. She could feel it through her jacket, heavy and warm, anchoring her somehow. ‘Corinne was pregnant.’

She looked up with a sharp intake of breath. Even seated next to her, Charlie appeared far away, as if poised at the top of a steep staircase. ‘My God. Why didn’t she—’ Mary clapped a hand over her mouth. Corinne
had
tried to tell her. In a hoarse whisper, she asked, ‘How far along was she?’

‘About six weeks. She must have just found out.’

Mary brought a fist to her stomach, pressing against the yawning pit that had opened up there. ‘She
called
me, Charlie. About a week or so before—’ she paused to gulp in air. ‘I was busy. I told her I’d call her back, but somehow I never got around to it. Maybe if I
had,
I could have stopped her from—’

He pulled her to him, muffling her words. As she buried her face in the soft folds of his shirt, it was as if time had stood still. As if the years in between now and that terrible winter day had never happened. She was seventeen again, clinging to her young husband while the fragile life they’d built dissolved around her like snowflakes.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ he soothed. ‘She was scared and desperate.’ He didn’t need to add,
Just like us.

She drew back, tilting her head to peer up at him. ‘Assuming she really
did
kill herself. As far as I’m concerned, this still doesn’t let Robert off the hook. If anything, it provides something that’s been missing until now: a motive.’

‘How do we know she even told him she was pregnant?’

‘Just for the sake of argument, let’s suppose she did. Can you see Robert offering to marry her? With four months to go until graduation and Stanford practically within sight?’ Mary thought for a moment, trying to put herself in Corinne’s shoes. ‘I don’t think she’d have agreed to an abortion, either. She was pretty religious.’

‘So she refuses to have an abortion and he kills her in a fit of rage? Then makes it look like suicide?’ Charlie shook his head. ‘Sorry, much as I’d like to, I don’t buy it. Like I said, there were no marks or bruises, no sign of a struggle even.’

Mary slumped back in her chair. Charlie was right about one thing: Whichever way you looked at it, they’d come up empty-handed. ‘Poor Corinne. If only she could have told us what happened.’ The entries in her diary had abruptly stopped—six weeks? Yes, that would be about right—around the time she’d have gotten pregnant. Even so, Mary knew all too well the agonies her friend must have suffered.
If it hadn’t been for Charlie… .

‘At the very least,’ she went on, ‘he might have browbeaten her so mercilessly she saw no other choice. He’s guilty of s
omething.
I just know it.’ Frustration rose in her. ‘What about that rape case he was involved in back in college?’

Charlie rose abruptly and paced over to the window. He stood staring out at the darkly glinting lake, where a night bird skimmed in search of prey. Was he thinking what she was, that this was the same man who’d fathered their grandchild?

‘Another dead end, I’m afraid,’ he answered. ‘I had a colleague in California do a little digging. Apparently there’s not much more to the story than what we already know. Except for one minor detail. It turns out that the accused rapist, young Justin McPhail, was on full scholarship.’

‘I don’t see the significance.’

She caught his ghostly reflection in the glass as he turned to face her. His expression was thoughtful, considering. ‘It just struck me as odd, that’s all. The investigation, as it turns out, was dropped when the girl decided not to press charges. Which leads me to wonder if someone got to her. Someone with money, which McPhail’s parents were clearly short of.’

‘What about the Larrabies?’ she asked, remembering that Robert’s college chum turned state senator, King Larrabie, had been involved as well. ‘They’re richer than God.’

‘As rich as the Van Dorens at least.’ Charlie picked up an object off the table by the window, a pretty handblown paperweight, turning it over in his hand. Another of his wife’s touches? ‘The girl could have been bought off by either boy’s family, or maybe she really
did
change her mind.’

‘Do you believe that?’

‘No. But again we don’t have a shred of proof.’

‘Which leaves us back at square one.’

‘Yes and no. I have a hunch we may be on to something and just not know it.’ Charlie rubbed his chin, staring sightlessly at a point just past her head. She thought again of how he’d sounded earlier over the phone, like a dogged reporter racing to meet his deadline. Then his gaze shifted, and he was looking straight at her. ‘Last night, after I left you, someone jumped me in the parking lot. I didn’t see his face, but I’m sure it was one of Robert’s flunkies. The guy warned me that if I didn’t stop sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong, I’d be in for a lot worse.’

Mary shot to her feet. ‘Charlie! My God, why didn’t you call me?’

‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Worried? I’m terrified! What if he meant it?’

‘I’m sure he does.’ Charlie idly hefted the paperweight, making her think of a pitcher on the mound getting ready to throw. ‘But there’s another way to look at it. I find it strange that a man with nothing to hide is going to so much trouble to prove it, don’t you?’

‘You think he’s protecting something other than his reputation?’

‘Everything I’ve printed so far is a matter of public record. All I did was put the pieces together to form a clear picture.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘No, my gut tells me there’s more to it than that. I think he really
is
hiding something.’

‘The question is
what?’

Mary felt as wired as if she’d just downed half a gallon of coffee on an empty stomach. Even Rufus could sense it; he stirred from his prone position on the rug at her feet to cast her an anxious glance. Carefully, as if it were something fragile that might shatter, she placed the envelope on the table in front of her. Later, she might be able to look at what was inside. But not now. And maybe not for a long while.

‘Let’s hope more will come to light.’ Charlie didn’t have to add,
Before someone gets hurt.

‘Oh, Charlie.’ He looked so miserable: a man, a father, with his hands tied. It was exactly how he’d looked that long-ago winter day, just before he turned and walked away.

It struck her then that she hadn’t been loved by either of her parents half as much as she had been by Charlie. If she hadn’t been so young and scared, if she hadn’t had a baby to think of, she might have realized it at the time. She might have made a different choice. Now it was too late to undo.

But not too late to take back some of what they’d been robbed of.

Like something long submerged floating to the surface, Mary rose and walked over to where he stood. Charlie didn’t move. He just stood there, motionless, his pale reflection etched in the dark glass at his back. Scarcely realizing what she was doing, she brought her arms up, twining them about his neck. She felt him resist at first. Then, with a low, choked cry, he wrapped his arms about her. She could feel the paperweight, warmed by his hand, pressing into the small of her back.

Mary tipped her head back and felt his mouth close over hers. Why was it no man but Charlie had ever kissed her this way? With no beginning or end.
Like falling,
she thought,
falling off a dock into water so deep you can’t see the bottom.
She heard the paperweight hit the floor with a hollow thud. Then he was cradling her face with both hands, drawing her to him as greedily as someone deprived of air might gulp in deep breaths. For an instant, she felt it, too: the same sense of urgency, of violent need. What would she do without this? How would she survive?

At the same time, it was all so right, so familiar: his taste, his scent—soap and shaving cream and the special smell that was Charlie alone. There was a spot on his chin, just under his lower lip, that he’d missed with his razor. She ran her tongue over it, catlike, hearing him moan deep in his throat. She could hardly breathe, he was holding her so tightly, but she didn’t want him to let go. Not yet. Not ever.

‘Stay the night,’ he whispered into her hair.

Mary had never wanted anything more in her life. Even so, she stiffened, drawing back. ‘Oh, Charlie, what would I tell Noelle? Not to mention my mother.’

He aimed for a jaunty grin that came out lopsided. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, we’re over eighteen.’

‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’

The smile dropped from his face. His eyes regarded her solemnly. ‘I’m not going to try to talk you into anything, Mary. Because right now I’d say whatever it took, and that wouldn’t be fair to either of us.’

‘Okay.’ Mary stepped back on wobbly legs. Her stomach followed a second later, floating lazily to meet her.

‘Okay what?’

‘I’ll stay,’ she told him, placing a finger against his mouth before he could open it. ‘Not because you want me to. Because
I
want to. Just promise me one thing.’