Richard Patterson - Fall from Grace

When Adam entered, pulling up a stool at Teddy’s shoulder, his brother’s only movement was to pick up a brush. This canvas was abstract, with garish colors to which Teddy began adding slashes of bright red. He worked with what seemed a terrible intensity, the sheen of sweat on his forehead; but for the obstinacy of his brother’s concentration Adam might have believed that Teddy did not notice him. For an instant, he recalled watching Teddy as a youth as he painted-Adam at twelve, Teddy at fourteen or fifteen-and how magical it was to see his brother fill a blank canvas with such startling images. Calmly, he said, “Any time you’re ready, Ted.”

After a moment, Teddy turned to him, his smile guarded. “What is it, bro?”

“I know you were on the cliff that night. I don’t mind that you lied. But Hanley and the cops mind quite a lot.”

A shadow crossed Teddy’s face. “How do you know all that?”

“That’s irrelevant. All that matters is that they’re preparing to indict you.”

In the harsh illumination from above, Adam saw the first etching of age at the corners of Teddy’s eyes, and, more unsettling, the deep vulnerability of a man who felt entrapped. Teddy lowered his voice, as though afraid of being heard. “My lawyer says not to talk about this.”

“Good advice for anyone but me.” Adam’s tone became cool. “The first thing I ask is that you listen, then tell your lawyer what I’ve said without disclosing who said it. That conversation is covered by the attorney-client privilege. Understood?”

Silent, Teddy nodded.

With willed dispassion, Adam recited all that he had learned: the unknown person Nate Wright saw at the promontory, Teddy’s boot print, the drag marks, the bruises on Ben’s wrists, the mud on his boot heels, Teddy’s hair on his shirt, Clarice’s call to Teddy, Teddy’s call to the ex-lover, Teddy’s fantasies about killing their father, the insurance policy on Ben’s life-all rendered more damning by Teddy’s lie. “I’m sure your lawyer knows most of this,” Adam concluded. “But not all-unless you’ve told him more than I think you have. If there’s anything you’ve left out, tell him now. Then start perfecting a story that covers all this and still makes you out to be innocent.”

Teddy flushed. “So you think I killed him?”

“I don’t give a damn. You’ve paid too big a price for him already.”

A brief, reflexive tremor ran through Teddy’s frame. “And if I tell you what happened?”

“It never leaves this room.”

“It can’t,” Teddy said with sudden force. “This involves more than me. You’ll have to be every bit the actor I’ve come to think you are.”

Adam felt a stab of dread, a sense of coming closer to a reckoning with the truth. “Go ahead.”

Richard North Patterson

Fall from Grace

Teddy bent forward on the stool, hands folded in his lap, then said in a husky voice, “We didn’t tell the truth-not all of it. Mom called me that night, close to frantic. Dad was drunk and rambling, she said, not really making sense. But the essence was that he was leaving her for Carla Pacelli.”

Adam felt the jolt of revelation run through him: first that his mother and brother had lied to him and to the police, then that-at least on this point-Carla Pacelli had told the truth. “Why didn’t you tell that to the police?”

“Because I knew that Mother hadn’t. She told me she was afraid that could make his death look different from what it was-an accident.”

Adam tried to envision Clarice suggesting this, further complicating his sense of who she was. Quietly, he asked, “Because she believed that? Or because that’s what she needed other people to believe?”

Teddy rubbed his temples. “I can’t be sure. See, I concealed the truth from her as well. She still doesn’t know that I went to the promontory.”

“This family certainly has a gift for candor, doesn’t it? Tell me when you went there.”

“After she called me.” Teddy’s voice became harder. “That sonofabitch had tormented me for years, and now he was humiliating our mother. So I decided to confront him.” His words came in a rush now. “He was standing there like he had a thousand nights before, staring at the fucking sunset like it was the last one in human history and he was there to bear witness.”

I can’t imagine not looking at this, Ben had said to Nathan Wright. Can you? “Maybe he was,” Adam said. “After all, the man was dying.”

“I didn’t know that. All I knew was that he treated her like dirt.” Teddy shook his head, voice thickening with emotion. “God help me, I wanted to push him off that cliff, just like I’d imagined ever since I was a kid. Instead, I just stood there waiting for him to notice me.

“When he finally did, he gave me this look-not disdainful like normal, but more puzzled. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. ‘You hate this place.’ It threw me off guard-suddenly he had the tone and manner of an old man, and his face looked ravaged. My idea of him was so strong I hadn’t seen that he’d become his own ghost.

“‘I’m here for my mother,’ I told him. ‘For years I’ve watched you degrade her in private, humiliate her in public, and exploit her fear of being abandoned. She’s the only parent I ever had. You were only a sperm donor, and even that makes me want to vomit.’ He tried to muster that supercilious smile, but even that was a ghost. ‘Then go ahead,’ he told me. ‘Just keep it off my boots. They’re new.’”

Adam tried to imagine the ferocity of will that made his father, dying, still prefer hatred to pity. But Teddy seemed transported back in time. “‘Maybe I’ll push you off this cliff,’ I told him. He just kept looking at me, almost like he was curious what I’d do. Then he spoke in a strange new voice, tired but completely calm, ‘If you hate me that much, do it for your mother. Or better yet, yourself.’

“He sounded like he didn’t care, that he’d be willing to die if that would make me feel better. All at once I saw him as he was, this aging husk of a man. I couldn’t move, or fight back the tears.” Briefly, Teddy closed his eyes. “Looking back at me, he seemed to slump. “‘Jesus,’ he said in this heavy way I’d never heard before. ‘What have I done to you, Teddy? Did I make you like this?’

“I don’t know whether he meant gay or too weak to act in my own behalf. Then he finished, ‘To come to the end, and face this. It’s not your fault you could never be like Adam. It was foolish of me to want that.’”

For a moment, Adam could say nothing. Then he said softly, “He certainly had a gift, didn’t he? Only he could issue an apology meant to cut you to the quick.”

Teddy continued as if he had not heard. “I started toward him. He just watched me, not moving, when suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head. Then he kind of collapsed, like he was too tired to stand, and sat there in the mud near the side of the cliff, his eyes as blank as marbles.” Pausing, Teddy looked into Adam’s face, as though recalling he was there. “He was utterly defenseless. But killing a helpless man is what he would expect from me. So I grabbed him by the wrists and dragged him to the rocky area, where at least it wasn’t muddy. Then I sat there, studying his face as though he’d gone to sleep, trying to remember when I’d loved him.

“Suddenly his eyes snapped open. He looked at me, surprised, then said, ‘I passed out, didn’t I? It’s happening more often.’ Then he asked in this quiet voice, ‘Why didn’t you kill me, Teddy?’ I gave him the only answer I could think of: ‘Too easy.’”

Someday people won’t read you anymore, Adam remembered telling his father. You’ll be left with whoever is left to love you. It’s not too late for Teddy to be one of them. Finally, he asked, “How did he react?”