Richard Patterson - Fall from Grace

Eyes closed, Adam could feel her body quiver as, gently and without hurry, he brought her to the edge. Then she cried out, the spasm running through her.

“Now me,” he said, and lowered her toward his hips. When he entered her, he gazed into her face, and saw that her eyes had closed, her face frozen in a blank mask. “Look at me, Jenny,” Adam urged.

But she did not. Only after she came again did her face soften, and then tears ran down her cheeks. “Lie down beside me,” Adam requested softly.

She curled with her back to him, wordless for a time. “It’s not you,” she said in a muted voice. “I go somewhere else.”

“Tell me, Jen.”

“I can’t yet.” Her voice became broken, bereft. “We’ll be all right, I promise.”

Just after dawn, Adam and his uncle met at the trailhead to Sepiessa, walking in first light through the trees and brush along the Tisbury Great Pond.

This had always been Jack and Adam’s favorite hour, when the natural world of the Vineyard seemed as new as creation. The grass glistened with dew; the water shimmered with shards of light; birds called from the branches of oaks; the air, scented by foliage, cooled Adam’s face. But today his thoughts, and his conscience, were weighted by his pact with Amanda Ferris. At length, his uncle asked, “Feeling life’s burdens?”

“Burdens,” Adam said simply. “And confusions.”

He felt Jack’s gaze as they continued along a path dappled with light and shadow. In the same reticent tone, Jack said, “Your thoughts are your own, Adam. But if there’s some way I can help-”

He let the question hang there. All at once, Adam recalled how straightforward their relationship had always been-by comparison with Ben, to be sure, but also his mother and Teddy. As before, he felt the comfort of Jack’s company, redolent of the times when Adam had failed at something, and Jack had offered consolation and perspective instead of Ben’s razor-sharp critiques. Talking with Jack was safe.

“It’s about Dad’s death,” Adam said at length. “I’m pretty sure someone killed him.”

Face creased with thought, Jack gazed at the trail in front of them as it wound deeper into the woods. At last, he said, “Why does this have to be murder? Granted, it’s hard to imagine Ben tumbling off the cliff by accident, even sick as he was. But ever since I learned that he had brain cancer, I’ve thought he might have jumped.”

“That’s hard for me to accept.”

“Because you remember Ben as he was. It seems like this disease was stealing his identity, piece by piece-he couldn’t write, couldn’t sail, maybe could no longer make love to Carla Pacelli. He could have looked at what he was becoming and figured it was time.” Jack slowed his steps, turning to face his nephew. “No one saw him die. Even if you’re right, this may be a case where someone literally gets away with murder. I wonder if you can live with that.”

Suppose, Avram Gold had said, you find out your father was murdered by a member of your family. Is that something you really want to know? “Without knowing who did it,” Adam replied, “I can’t say.”

“But you do know the four people most impacted by the will. Two of whom are Teddy and your mother.”

Edgy, Adam wondered if Jack-like him-knew something about Teddy neither wanted to say. “And your point?”

“That both of us may never know, and the police may never solve this. What matters most is helping your mother gain back what Ben took.”

There was wisdom in this, Adam conceded. But he knew too much, including about Teddy, and Jack’s way was not his. “Anyway,” Jack concluded, “you’ve spent more time worrying about Ben’s death than being with your living mother.”

His comment was typical of Jack, Adam thought, and fair enough. “I’m still too much like him, aren’t I?”

“Maybe so,” Jack answered. “But life is long.”

Perhaps not mine, Adam thought, and continued walking with his uncle.

Wondering if this were the last time, Adam steered Ben’s powerboat from its mooring near their home, taking his mother for lunch along Edgartown Harbor.

It was a crystalline day from his youth, evoking again how deeply he had cherished Vineyard summers-a cloudless blue sky, temperate air, a cool breeze, spray thrown up into his face by the knife edge of the prow. Through some trick of the mind, Clarice looked as he remembered her-younger, her eyes brighter, a half smile on her face as she let activity dull her worries. Taking a course along the North Shore, Adam recalled similar outings with Teddy and his mother, their destination the street fair in Vineyard Haven; or Oak Bluffs with its crowded waterfront and gingerbread Victorians; or the Old Whaling Church to hear some local musician of their acquaintance. It brought back how spirited Clarice could be-always up for an adventure, with an energy and a spirit that lightened the burden of Ben’s imperious nature. The thought summoned a fleeting smile of his own.

Clarice seemed to understand this. “We had fun then, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, Mom. We did.”

Rounding Cedar Tree Neck, Adam saw the low hill above the beach where, that summer, Jenny and he had watched the sun die, turning the water a muted blue-gray. “A promontory of our own,” Adam had told her wryly. Perhaps his mother read this thought. “Have you seen Jenny yet?” she asked.

“No time,” Adam said, then decided to cut to the quick of this. “You keep mentioning Jenny, and I keep wondering why.”

As Clarice appraised him, he sensed her avoiding confrontation. “I love Jenny,” she said simply. “Whatever happens with this will, she’s been like a daughter to me. Wonderful as you two boys may be, I needed a young woman on whom to inflict my good intentions.”

Beneath its surface, Adam knew, the remark was laden with a significance he was meant to grasp. “When we were seeing each other, you barely knew her. What changed that?”

Struck by a wave, the powerboat jolted, knocking Adam off-balance as it threw up spumes of white. Righting himself, he saw Clarice grasping the arm of her deck chair, her lips compressed, her blue eyes reflecting her reluctance to answer and her need to do so. “In a way, Adam, it had to do with you. Even though you were gone.”

Adam felt his exasperation warring with the instinct that he wished to hear no more. “For godsakes,” he said at length, “are you going to be passive-aggressive all the way to Edgartown? Please put this verbal pas de deux out of its misery.”

Clarice’s countenance took on a determined air. “All right,” she said in her flattest tone. “Two days after you left, Jenny tried to kill herself.”

Adam felt the shock run through him. But all he could say was, “How?”

“She overdosed on Quaaludes. Your father found her on our beach and carried her up the stairs on his shoulders. She was limp, her face as white as china. But for Ben, she’d be dead.”

Half-conscious of doing so, Adam throttled back the motor, dreading the answer to the question he must ask. “Did Jenny ever say why?”

“Never. Nor did she scrawl a suicide note in the sand.” Clarice lowered her voice. “We were your parents, Adam. Perhaps she didn’t want us to know.”

“God damn you, Mother,” Adam burst out. “Hearing this is bad enough without you blaming me. No matter how much pleasure you’re taking from it.” Seeing her blanch, he muted his tone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How?” Clarice snapped. “You didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address. We didn’t even know where you were. So forgive me if I sound bitter.” She crossed her arms. “In any event, Jenny swore me to secrecy. Especially from you.”