Richard Patterson - Fall from Grace

Glazer regarded him gravely. “And yet you’re going back.”

“That’s the life I chose when I left here. Maybe I had a death wish. But for the next six months, Afghanistan is part of that commitment.”

Glazer sat in a deck chair beside the tiller, deliberately allowing the Herreshoff to lose speed. “What will you do if you get out of there alive?”

“A pretty thought.” Adam paused, trying to imagine a future beyond survival. “Who knows, Charlie? Maybe I can reclaim my life-whatever that is.” He laughed without much humor. “I could even go to law school, I suppose. Though I’ve lost count of all the laws I’ve broken in the last two weeks.”

“A trifle,” Charlie replied. “At least you’re not a tax evader.” Once more his tone became gentle. “And Carla?”

Adam shook his head. “She was his lover, Charlie, and this family is incestuous enough. Like it or not, I’m drawn to her, for reasons I can’t yet explain. But I’d always remind her of him, and vice versa. It’s all too weird.”

“You could certainly argue that,” Charlie replied with a trace of arid humor. “I suppose it depends on how weird you want it to be. She was only your uncle’s girlfriend, after all, and the boy is only your cousin. Though I grant you that a Blaine family Thanksgiving might be a little fraught.” He paused, adding mildly, “But then it would be anyhow, wouldn’t it?”

Adam faced him, trying to gauge what this man was saying. “Weird,” Glazer continued in an emphatic tone, “is using Carla as a way of getting back at Ben. If it’s anything like that, please don’t go near her. But if you genuinely care for her, then other questions arise. Is it best to deny your feelings, as your mother did? Or to ask if Benjamin Blaine is still making choices for you, and instead find out what you and she can offer each other. Assuming, of course, that you can also care about her son.” Glazer paused, then finished, “Whatever the case, Adam, this may be important to you and others. Take your time to sort it out.”

Silent, Adam gazed out at the pond where he, Jack’s son, had raced against Ben, ignorant of what this had meant to both of them. There was something terribly wrong, he knew, when sons paid for the sins of their fathers. “I’ll hold the thought,” he told Glazer. “Right now, it’s time to get off the water. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

That night, Adam flew to Boston, as he had told his family he would. But before returning to Afghanistan, he caught another plane to Washington, D.C., then headed for the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency. No doubt, he reflected, his gift for keeping secrets-even from his employers-was hereditary.

Alone in his car, he pondered this. He could live in the past, he concluded, or outrun it. Perhaps when he got to Kandahar, he would call her.