“Listen.” Christian got to his feet. “Would you like to see some pictures of Fred?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes!”
He left the room for a moment, returning with a photograph album, and he sat down close to her on the sofa.
“These are a few years old,” he said apologetically as he opened the cover. “They’re from our civil union ceremony.”
An engraved invitation was on the first page. “This is our invitation,” he said. “A friend designed it for us.”
She looked at the names: Christian Tenley and Rick Pointer.
“Rick?” she asked, confused.
“He goes by Rick,” Christian explained. “You know, short for Frederick. You’re the first person I’ve ever heard call him Fred.”
“Oh,” she said, remembering that Freddy had told people to call him “Rick” as long ago as high school. “He never liked the name Fred.”
They paged through the album. “My God, he’s handsome,” Faye said, and Christian laughed.
“You don’t need to tell me that,” he said.
She came to the picture she and Jim had found on the Internet: three men standing in front of the Princeton chapel. She recognized one of the men as Christian.
“Are the two of you graduate students at Princeton?” she asked.
Christian laughed. “We were at one time,” he said. “But now we teach there. I teach biology, and he teaches law.”
“Law!” She shook her head. She wondered if she’d been holding him back in some way, that he’d needed to escape from her to carve out his own path. “He’s accomplished so much,” she said with a sigh. “He didn’t really need me in his life, did he?”
“Yes, he did,” Christian said. “And he still does.”
She turned one page of the album, then another. Freddy was smiling in every single picture. “He’s happy, isn’t he,” she said. It was a statement rather than a question.
“Yes, except for…” Christian’s voice trailed off.
“Except for what?”
Christian rested his hands on the photograph album. “He wants his father out of prison,” he said. “Right now, this summer, he’s on sabbatical in North Carolina, working on a book about the parole process, which is inspired, of course, by his father, who’s up for parole.”
“I didn’t know that.” Shouldn’t someone have told her? She guessed she would have been contacted if she’d been easier to find. “What are the chances that Zachary—that Fred’s father—will get out?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “All I know is that he should be out. He doesn’t belong in prison.”
“He killed someone,” she argued.
“He’s completely rehabilitated,” Christian said with such conviction that she decided she would say no more.
She looked down at the album again, at Freddy’s handsome smile. “When is he coming back to Princeton?” she asked.
“He comes home every other week or so,” he said. “But he’s staying down there at least for the summer.”
“I want to see him,” she said. “I’ll go to North Carolina.” The thought of setting foot in the state she thought she had left in her past was not pleasant, but right now, she didn’t care.
“He will be so happy to see you, Faye,” he said, using her name for the first time. “He’s always regretted the way things ended between the two of you.”
“Me, too,” she said.
“Shall we call him and tell him you’re coming?” Christian asked.
She still felt afraid to speak with him on the phone. “Let’s not,” she said. “Now that I know he’ll want to see me, I’d rather surprise him, okay?”
“Sure.” He nodded.
“Can you give me directions?” She was already reaching into her purse for her keys. She couldn’t wait to call Jim to tell him everything she’d learned about her son.
“It’s a long drive,” Christian said. “Why don’t you stay here tonight and head down tomorrow?”
She shook her head. “Now that I know where he is,” she said, “I can’t wait another minute to see him.”
CHAPTER 39
“How about pizza tonight?” Rick asked.
They were floating on rafts on the water behind his cottage, as they did every once in a while. They lay on their stomachs, covered in insect repellent because it was dusk and the mosquitoes were quite literally out for blood. Lacey rested her chin on her hands so she could look at him.
“Pizza would be great,” she said. “Do they deliver to your cottage?”
“They tried once, but the guy got so lost, the pizza was ice-cold by the time he found me.” His cheek was against the raft, the sound of his voice muffled. “It’s easier for me to just go pick it up. So as soon as we go back in the house, I’ll do that.”
Lacey’s feet hung off the end of the raft and she kicked them gently in the water, thinking through all she wanted to say to him. That morning she’d called Judith, her old therapist, from the privacy of her bedroom. Judith had had no appointment time available, but she’d spent a good half hour with her on the phone, and Lacey had felt unleashed as she poured out everything that had happened during the past couple of months. Finally, she told her about Bobby and the night before.
“Oh, Lacey,” Judith had said, “how hard that must have been for you.”
Tears had sprung to Lacey’s eyes. Judith was the one person who never seemed to judge her.
“He’s the personification of your old self-destructive pattern,” Judith said. “He’s the one who started that pattern for you, back when you were fourteen, so how could you not be drawn into it again? I wish you’d come in the minute he showed up at Kiss River.”
“I thought I could handle it,” Lacey said.
“And you’ve done remarkably well,” Judith commended her. “You need to give yourself a lot of credit. Yes, you slept with him. Yes, you got sucked in. But you realized what you were doing and told him it wouldn’t happen again. And you called me first thing this morning for help, so let’s focus on what you’re doing right.”
“I feel like he was my test and I failed it.”
“It was more like a pop quiz,” Judith said. “With all you had going on this summer, you never had a chance to study for it.”
Lacey laughed, but she still had tears in her eyes.
“I have a group I’d like you to consider joining,” Judith said. “It’s for women like you, who’ve…you know, had difficult histories, maybe some self-esteem issues.”
Lacey wrinkled her nose. She didn’t think she could take on one more thing. “Can I get back to you on it?” she asked.
“Of course. And Lacey, the other guy you told me about?”
“Rick?”
“He sounds like he’s been good for you. Like he cares about you,” Judith said. “Nurture that.”
So she’d driven to Rick’s cottage with a plan in mind: she was going to come clean with him tonight. She’d tell him the truth about why she’d been so reluctant to get close, about her history with bad boys and her desire to have a fresh start with him. If only she would open herself up to the possibility, she could be attracted to him. She’d tell him she truly wanted someone more like him, with his intelligence and education and the stability and security he offered. Right now, when they were floating out here, relaxed and at ease with each other, seemed like the right time to talk.
“Let’s not go back to the house yet,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”
He lifted his head from the raft to look at her. “You sound serious,” he said.
“I want to explain why I’ve been so…cold with you. Physically I mean.”
“You don’t owe me any explanation,” he said. “You just have a different comfort zone than I do when it comes to timing, and you—”
“Rick, please,” she said. “This is hard enough. I want to tell you. Please let me.”
He tugged her raft toward him to put his hand on the back of her n
eck, giving the muscles an affectionate squeeze. He was so sweet. “Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.” Withdrawing his arm, he clasped his hands together beneath his chin and gave her his full attention.
She would offer him the abbreviated version. She didn’t want to tell him the extent to which she’d slept with men she barely knew, and she did not want to talk about her mother.
“I’ve always been attracted to guys who aren’t very good for me,” she said. “You know the ones. A little rough around the edges.”
Rick nodded.
“What would happen was…” She pretended to swat a mosquito on her shoulder, trying to gather her words. “What would happen was that I would end up sleeping with them and that would be it.”
He frowned. “What do you mean, that would be it?”
“I mean, there would be no real relationship. Just sex.”
“Lacey.” He took in a breath and blew it out again. “You don’t need to tell me this. I really wish you wouldn’t.” His reaction surprised her. For the past month and a half, he’d listened to every thought that had come into her head. But they’d never talked about sex before. Maybe that was what was making him uncomfortable.
“You’re very different from those guys I used to be attracted to,” she continued.
“How so?”
“You’re…well, you’re very conservative,” she said, hoping that didn’t sound like an insult. “You don’t have a single tattoo that I know of.”
He smiled. “That’s true.”
“You’ve probably never done drugs in your life.”
“Marijuana in my teens,” he said. “And I must confess to inhaling.”
“You have no pierced body parts.”
He tilted his head to look at her. “The kind of guy you’re attracted to sounds suspiciously like Bobby,” he said.
She lowered her gaze from his, feeling the color rise to her cheeks. “It is,” she admitted. “And he’s been wonderful with Mackenzie, I can’t deny that, but—” she shook her head “—I don’t completely trust him. I don’t trust guys like him. Leopards don’t change their stripes.”
“Leopards are spotted,” he said.
“Don’t make this difficult,” she pleaded.
He reached out to pry her hand loose from beneath her chin and held it in the water. “You don’t have to tell me all this, Lacey,” he said. “It’s your past.”
“It was last night.” She winced. Last night was not supposed to be part of this conversation.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean that I had sex with Bobby last night,” she said.
He was quiet for a moment as he absorbed her words. She waited for him to let go of her hand, but he didn’t.
“It was a mistake,” she said. “And it’s a mistake I don’t want to make again.”
“And it was last night,” he said, nodding. “And last night is your past.”
She smiled. “You’re so amazing. You’re so tolerant of me. So patient. You listen to everything I say. I want…what I want is to feel…”
“You’re not attracted to me because I’m too squeaky clean,” he said, helping her out.
“And I want that to change,” she said. “Not your squeaky cleanness,” she added quickly. “What I want is to want you.”
“I don’t think that’s something you can make happen.”
“I do,” she insisted. She needed it to be something she could make happen.
He smiled at the passion in her voice. “I still think we should take it slowly,” he said. “You regret sleeping with Bobby last night. I don’t want you to regret sleeping with me tonight.”
“Not tonight,” she said, “but maybe soon. I just needed to be honest with you about my feelings. About why I’ve been holding back, so we’re starting over with honesty. But now I want to move forward. Okay?”
He pulled her hand deep under the water so that their rafts were drawn together, and he kissed her. “Okay,” he said. “Now let’s go inside and I’ll get the pizza.”
They paddled toward shore and didn’t get off their rafts until they’d reached the beach to avoid having their legs grasped by the long water grasses. Something was not quite right. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she felt a chill from him, despite that kiss. She was not certain how to make things better, since it was obvious that he’d wanted to end the conversation, and she needed to respect that. After all, she’d just told him that she’d slept with someone else, someone she was attracted to in a way she was not attracted to him. She could hardly expect him to welcome that news.
She followed him onto the small deck behind his cottage, where they dried off with the beach towels they’d hung over the railing. He was quiet, the silence uncomfortable and tense, but it occurred to her that there was one topic she could always get him to talk about.
“Could we work on my victim’s impact statement after we eat tonight?” she asked, as they walked into the cottage. He was three steps ahead of her and he turned around.
“I thought you weren’t going to write one,” he said.
“I decided I need to.”
“No,” he said, “you don’t.” He put his hands on his hips and there was something in his eyes that she’d never seen there before: annoyance.
She squeezed the wet ends of her hair with her towel. “I don’t blame you for being fed up with me,” she said. “I know I’ve been going back and forth on this. But I do need to write it, Rick.” The attorney had called her twice that afternoon, and it was clear she could not get out of it. She had to do it, and she couldn’t seem to do it alone.
“You don’t,” he said again. He pulled his T-shirt from the back of one of the kitchen chairs and pulled it on over his head. “Look at you, Lacey,” he said, nearly punching his arms through the sleeves as he put on the shirt. “You’re in…you’re in distress. And this whole victim’s statement thing is a big part of it. You’ve put so much energy into hating Zachary Pointer that it’s eating you up.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that I hate him,” she said. “It’s that he doesn’t deserve—”
“I sympathize with your past,” he said, interrupting her. “With the loss of your mother. With your issues with men. I sympathize with all you’ve gone through this summer with Mackenzie. But I’m having trouble sympathizing with you over this. By all accounts, the man’s rehabilitated.” He was nearly shouting now, his voice so loud the little cottage couldn’t contain it, and she was glad he had no neighbors to overhear them. “And it’s very obvious,” he continued, “to me at least, that having to write this damn thing is taking a toll on you. So, I just don’t get why you’re putting yourself through this.”
She didn’t know what to say. She had never heard him raise his voice before. He was more than annoyed with her; he was angry. She’d thought it was safe to talk to him, that he was so generous a listener he would listen to her into the next millennium, and she knew that that had been a very unfair assumption. She’d used him as her listening post. She’d used him all summer long.
“I think you’re angry with me because of Bobby,” she said. “And I understand that. I would be, too. I shouldn’t have told you about last night.”
“Whether you told me or not, it still happened, right?” he asked as he strode to the door. “I’m going to get the pizza.”
She watched him leave, the screen door slamming shut behind him, and she bit her lip. If only she could wind back the entire evening—and the night before, while she was at it. Making love to Bobby had been wrong—for her, for Bobby, for Mackenzie. She thought of the woman she’d seen him with. The drug history. The alcoholism. The ridiculously ancient VW bus. The income that was probably punier than her own.
And yet, she found the regret very hard to hold on to.
CHAPTER 40
Lacey changed out of her wet bathing suit in the cottage bedroom that had, for a very short time, belonged to Bobby. She thought she could still smell him
in there, that funny blend of sweet shampoo and pungent tobacco, but it was probably her imagination. She lay down on the bed on top of a thin and faded bedspread that she feared had covered the sweaty, sandy bodies of too many renters over too many years. She hoped Rick would have cooled off by the time he returned with the pizza. Right now, as she replayed their conversation in her mind, the last thing she felt like doing was eating. She was an idiot. You don’t tell Guy Number Two that you just slept with Guy Number One. She had wanted to clean the slate with Rick for a new beginning. That had probably been unfair. She had thought only of her needs, not his.
She must have dozed off, because the sound of knocking seemed to be coming to her in a dream. The sound came again, waking her up, and she felt the slightest twinge of fear at being alone in an unlocked cottage in the middle of the woods. Evening had turned to nighttime while she’d been asleep, and the cottage was as dark as the outdoors.
A woman’s voice called from the deck, “Hello? Fred?”
Getting off the bed, Lacey padded out of the bedroom and across the sandy linoleum floor of the dark living room. She could see a woman standing on the other side of the screen door, illuminated by the deck light, her short hair a golden color.
“Hi,” Lacey said, as she neared the door. She flipped on the light switch in the kitchen so she wouldn’t be a disembodied voice as she spoke to the woman. “I think you must have the wrong cottage,” she said through the screen. “There’s no Fred here.”
The woman looked at a sheet of paper in her hand, holding it under the light. “You must be right,” she said, “but I’m so turned around. It took me ages to find this place, and—”
Lacey pushed the door open. “Come in,” she said. “Maybe I can help you figure out where you need to go.”
The woman offered her a look of gratitude as she walked into the cottage. She appeared to be in her late forties, probably pretty under other circumstances, but right now she had that dazed, puffy-eyed look of someone who was completely lost and tired of trying to find her way.