Linda Fairstein - Entombed

Mercer heard the van pull in and came out to meet me.

"Where's Mike?"

"He can't be still. Got back in the car and drove up to the cliffs, I think. All he's had in the way of sleep was a twenty-minute nap after we gassed up this morning."

The red cliffs of Aquinnah formed the most dramatic vista, high above the western tip of the island, overlooking the point where the Atlantic Ocean crashed against the Vineyard Sound. The ancient tribal home of the Wampanoag Indians, the open land and seemingly endless dunes stretched out to where the sea met the sky. I knew Mike would find his way up there, probably trespassing out onto the heights of the fragile clay, to sit and talk to Val.

"Let's go inside. The wind is vicious," I said. "Is Vickee okay with this?"

"You have to ask? Whatever Mike needs-those are my orders."

"I'll just put my stuff away. Give me five."

I closed the door behind me in the master bedroom and walked across the room to stare out at the view. The French doors look out over several acres of gently rolling hills, bordered by the handsome stone walls that ringed the entire property. Thick trunks of the sturdy bare trees dotted the horizon, all the way down to the bright blue choppy waters of Quitsa Pond and the sandy outline of the Elizabeth Islands' shore.

I had been standing here when my best friend and my mother broke the news of Adam's death to me, more than a decade ago. That moment had changed the island for me forever, and at the very same time made it even more important for me to savor its unique beauty and restorative power.

I freshened up, put the groceries away, and helped Mercer stack the logs to start a fire. It was three in the afternoon when Mike came back to the house.

I waited for him at the front door and held it open for him.

Mike walked past me, his jaw clenched and his face drained of all emotion. He touched my forearm as he whispered the word "Thanks." He had a terrible pallor, with patches of color only where the wind had whipped his cheeks and bitten at the surface of his hands for the last couple of hours. His thick, straight black hair was blown all over his head, and even when he ran his fingers to smooth it down, it remained out of place.

I followed him into the kitchen, where he helped himself to a can of soda from the refrigerator and held one out to me.

"Do you want to talk?"

"Not really," he said. "There isn't very much anybody can say that I want to hear."

"You know that I adored-"

"I know."

He walked into the living room, leaving me leaning against the counter. I went to my bedroom and made some calls-first to one of Mike's sisters to make sure the family knew what had happened, then to my friends-in the office and out-who had come to treasure his friendship.

I grabbed a pair of gloves for myself and a couple of Yankees caps that were in my closet and went into the living room, where the guys were sitting.

"Keep the fire burning, will you, please, Mercer? I'm going to Black Point, Mike. I'd like you to come with me."

He looked up at the solid wooden beams in the tall ceiling. Anything to avoid me.

"C'mon. Let's take a walk." I tossed one of the hats in Mike's lap.

He played with its brim without saying a word, then lifted it to his head and pulled it down, dipping it so that he didn't have to make eye contact with me.

"I'll drive," he said.

"Can't do it except in my old Jeep." He had been with me before to the private beach, more than a mile off the paved roadway, down a rutted dirt path that was inaccessible by sedans or sports cars. "My wheels this time."

We drove along South Road for miles-past sheep farms, a cemetery, and horse pastures-until we came to the turnoff to Black Point. Mike's head rested against the window, oblivious to the landscape around him.

There was nothing to mark the entrance, but I could have found the well-hidden access in my sleep. I had come here for solace whenever I needed some kind of comfort. I drove down the quiet road, kicking up dust all the way, finally reaching the old gate and stepping out to unlock it. I rounded the bend, scrubby brush giving way to the great expanse of wetlands. Tall brown grasses waved on the edges of the ice blue pond, backing up against the dunes, which dropped away to the fierce surf of the Atlantic.

I got out of the car and hiked the path alone, climbing the cut to the highest peak and sitting there, surveying the miles of clean white sand that reached out in both directions, as far as I could see. The whitecaps on the waves reminded me how rough the ocean could be, how its angry pounding against the shoreline seemed almost a reflection of Mike's mood.

The late-afternoon sun cast my shadow far out onto the sand. When Mike came up behind me minutes later, it threw his tall outline even farther toward the water than mine-two long black figures alone in their mourning on an isolated piece of one of the most beautiful beaches in the world.

I had come here with Nina the day that Adam died-to rage against his loss and to be in a place where we had always found serenity. With his family, soon after, I had scattered his ashes offshore at this very spot.

Mike stepped out of his loafers, took off his socks, and rolled up the legs of his jeans. The water was colder than I dared think, but I knew he wasn't feeling very much. For half an hour, he walked the shoreline until he was out of my sight and when he returned, his eyes were rimmed with red and swollen with tears.

He stood at the edge of the tide as it ran out and spoke to me for the first time since we left the house.

"She never caught a break. You know how it is? How certain people just carry some kind of curse with them from the moment they're born? They've got everything to live for but there's some relentless black cloud hanging right overhead? That was Val."

"Think what she had with you this last year. Think what happiness you gave her." I kicked off my moccasins and walked down to be next to him.

"Happiness? You know what a struggle it was for her to smile sometimes? You know what a triumph it was for her to be healthy again? You're sounding like her father-like all I was to her was the court jester, making sure she had a reason to laugh every single day she was alive."

"Don't put me in his category. She told me what you meant to her on every level, and I know how very much she wanted to marry you."

"I didn't realize she was that open about it," Mike said, reaching down to pick up a rock. He pulled back his arm and heaved it into the ocean. "And it was actually gonna happen, if you can believe it."

"Val used to-"

"Don't say it. I don't want to talk about her now."

"You have to talk about her, Mike. That's one thing you can still do for her. Talk about her and think about her every day of your life, from now on for as long as you live."

He turned and started walking back down the beach away from me, weaving from exhaustion as he moved. "It's too rough. I'd rather-"

"Of course it's rough. That's why you have to make yourself do it. Out loud-to people like me and like Mercer, who know what you meant to her."

"I think of the fucking mutts I have to deal with every day of the week. People who kill and steal and maim for no reason at all. Scumbags who'd just as soon shoot you between the eyes as turn the other cheek. Bastards who'd rob and rape their own mothers without thinking twice. Assholes who skin cats and shoot dogs for sport. Any of them ever die young, Coop?" Mike was shouting now, trying to make himself heard over the breaking surf. "Nope. They'll outlive every guy you ever met in a white hat, every living soul who ever did a good deed for someone else. They've got something in their genes that not only produces an absolutely pure strain of evil, but also lets 'em thrive till they're a hundred and fifty."