Paul Doiron: Trespasser

“It sounds like Menario finally found a certain cell phone among Snow’s possessions,” Charley said.

“Sheriff Baker told me there’s going to be a news conference later today.”

“That was thoughtful of the sheriff to give you the heads-up.”

“Dudley’s a good man,” I said.

After we’d finished lunch, Charley shook my hand so hard, I thought my arm would pop out of its socket. I’d be back on patrol in no time, he said, and summer in the Maine woods was a balm to soothe even the most troubled of spirits. I accepted his well wishes and followed him out to his vehicle.

“One last thing,” he called to me through the window. “The Boss gave me a message for you. She said, ‘Tell him he should call his mother.’”

I promised I would.

In fact, I had already telephoned my mother at her winter home in Naples. My photograph had been all over the news again, and the media inevitably dredged up the bloody events at Rum Pond. If ever there was a chance to talk with my mom about my dad, this seemed to be it. I was hoping that she might share some insight into his misbegotten rage and loneliness. What caused her to forgive his cruelty and self-centeredness? I wondered. Was it her own guilt over their lost child?

But when I tried to broach these questions, she cut me off quickly. “We’ll be back in Scarborough at the end of the month,” she said. “Why don’t you and Sarah come down, and we’ll all have dinner? I’m going to play tennis with Jane Rittmeyer. I can’t wait to see you, Michael.”

Denial has deep talons, I thought.

The front door was ajar when I arrived home. I found Sarah at the kitchen counter, with a pen in hand. She was dressed to go out; she wore boots over leggings, a cashmere top, and the expensive new leather jacket her parents had given her for her birthday. Her complexion was radiant, her hair perfect. I couldn’t remember her looking more beautiful, although I knew her stomach was still bruised.

“I was just leaving you a note,” she said. “Melissa and Nicole invited me out for sushi in Rockland. They thought I needed a girl’s night out.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “I’ll make a sandwich.”

“I won’t be late.” She kissed me on the cheek.

“Sarah, I need to talk with you about something.”

“Mike, I have to go.”

“I know you do.”

She paused in the doorway with the keys in her hand, and then she came back and sat down on the sofa. She patted the cushion, indicating I should join her. I couldn’t look at that couch without thinking of Stanley Snow attacking me there, but I took a seat. She put a hand on my knee.

“What would have happened if we hadn’t lost the baby?” I asked her.

“Probably the same thing,” she said. “It would have just taken us longer to get to this place, and it would have been a whole lot more painful for all of us.”

“I know I should have listened to you,” I said. “You kept trying to talk to me, and I was never there.”

“You were trying to solve a crime. You did solve a crime.”

“I keep thinking I could have done something differently.”

She shook her head and met my eyes, and I realized she would probably never look at me this intimately again. “We’re just not meant for this. I don’t want to be a nagging, resentful person; that’s not who I am. At least I hope I’m not.”

I gave her a playful nudge. “I didn’t make it easy for you, did I?”

“You saved my life.”

“That’s a nice way of saying I nearly got you killed.”

“No, it means you’re a hero. You just don’t believe it, for some reason. I hope someday you will.”

She stood up and began removing her jacket.

“What are you doing that for?” I asked.

“I feel like I should pack.”

“It can wait,” I said. “Go have dinner with Melissa and Nicole.”

“It doesn’t feel right to just leave you here alone.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

Sarah protested awhile longer, but eventually I persuaded her that she needed the company of her friends. There was no rush now that we both understood what needed to happen. Before she left, she kissed me on the lips. I stood in the open door until her little white Subaru disappeared through the trees.

It was a glorious afternoon. The river was high in the tidal marsh, and I could hear the sound of rushing water through the budding alders and the leafing poplars. The beautiful liquid song of a brown creeper carried down to me from one of the pines.

I closed the door, went into the kitchen, and took a jelly glass from the cupboard. I filled it halfway full of whiskey, then added a splash more. Outside, the tide was rising, and a sea breeze drifted in through the open window. The late-afternoon sun caught the amber light of the whiskey as I raised the glass. I saw my beautiful marsh refracted through the tawny color of the alcohol before I dumped it down the drain.