Garden of Lies (77 page)

Then she was remembering something else, years and years ago, a Sunday when she and David

had been strolling in Central Park, David nearly tripping on a crack in the asphalt, his arms

flinging out, pinwheeling madly, the expression on his face almost comical. Catching himself just

in time. Standing nearby, there’d been a kid, ten or eleven, who’d started to laugh, hands cupped

over his mouth. And David had stridden over, out of breath, enraged, grabbing the kid by the

front of his T-shirt, nearly lifting him off his feet. “Don’t laugh,” David had hissed. “Don’t
ever

laugh at me.”

And now he must think
I’m
laughing at him. Making fun of him.

Rachel watched, still giggling, as he grew pop-eyed, and a muscle in his cheek began to twitch.

Then, incredibly, others began to laugh softly, and Rachel remembered how infectious giggles

could be, especially when you were trying hard to control them.

[477] It was too much for David.

Now his mouth was working, twisting, making him ugly somehow. Breathing heavily, David

leveled a wavering finger at Rachel.

“Bitch! It was you. All your fault. Everything.” Even his voice had changed, coarse and

rasping. “I’ll get you for this. I’ll make you suffer.
Fucking bitch!”

The silence in the courtroom was absolute. A moment of suspended animation so perfect it was

almost a vacuum.

Then all hell broke loose.

Di Fazio rushed to the stand, struggling to subdue his witness.

Mrs. Saucedo, in a kelly-green pantsuit, began jabbering excitedly in Spanish to the woman

behind her, probably a relative.

The calm of the jury box disintegrated, men and women—blacks, Hispanics, whites—suddenly

all talking at once.

Other voices, speaking rapid-fire Spanish, joined the babble.

I
have to get out of here. Now. Right now.

Rachel stood up, felt the blood rushing from her head, leaving only white noise, like the snowy

static that fills a TV screen after the station has switched off for the night. She felt as if she were

traveling backward through a tunnel at a very rapid speed. She thought dreamily,
I’m going to

faint, aren’t I?

The last thing she remembered was the crashing sound of a gavel.

Rose watched Rachel fold in on herself, begin to crumple. Rose started toward her, but by the

time she reached Rachel, there were half a dozen people clustered about her.

A stocky silver-haired man had his arm about Rachel’s shoulders, supporting her. Rose,

drawing closer, recognized him as the man who had spoken to her once before, who had

congratulated her in the corridor after she had won the Krupnik case. Oddly, since then, she had

run into him several times outside the courthouse.

A Greek name. Alexandros, wasn’t it?

What was he doing here?

Then Rose stopped, arrested by the sight of a woman rising in consternation from a bench in

the very back of the courtroom. A woman, straw-slim and graceful, dressed in a cashmere suit, a

[478] heathery blend of cerulean and lavender and misty blue. And underneath, a wisp of silk

blouse showing, soft as a cloud. Gloves, too, and a hat that shaded most of her face. An older

woman, but still quite beautiful. You could see that, just in the way she moved.

As the woman came closer, Rose felt her heart quicken.
I know that face. Where? Where have I

seen her before?

Then the woman reached distractedly to straighten her hat, brushing her ear, where a tiny

diamond earring glittered.

It came to Rose, suddenly, wondrously.
It’s her.

Rose unconsciously fingered the ruby teardrop in her right ear. She felt as if she were in some

kind of absurdist play in which all points, past, present, and future, had converged on this one

stage.

No, I’m imagining things. It can’t be.

Then the woman was pausing, midway up the aisle, her gaze locking with Rose’s. Eyes that

were huge and bright with tears, the color of sea water, set in a face as fine and webbed as old

Meissen china. Eyes filled with a mute and terrible anguish.

And with that one glance, Rose felt reality abruptly end, the long and gritty sidewalk that had

brought her to this place, this moment. She had stepped off the curb into a dream.

Who are you? What do you want from me?

Then the moment was gone. The woman became suddenly brisk, angling her way toward the

group clustered by the table, her slender gloved hands reaching out, forming a beautiful blue

bower about the pale statue that was Rachel.

With shock, Rose heard Rachel cry out, “Mama!”

Chapter 36

Letting himself in, Brian immediately caught sight of Rachel, curled in the Adirondack chair

by the fireplace. He stopped, his hand still on the doorknob, a stunned joy spreading through him.

“Rachel.”

His heart leaping now. Had she come back, then? Was that what she had been waiting to tell

him?

She looked up at him and smiled. Yet her expression was so sad, her blue eyes bright with

unshed tears.

Brian felt his joy fade, his gut wrench. What was she going to say?

Dear Christ, if she’s come to tell me it’s over, for good, I don’t think I could stand that. I’ve

been missing her so damn much. I need her.

“Brian. Hi.”

Her voice seemed to unlock him, pull him in from the door. He walked toward her, slowly,

eyes fixed on her. He imagined himself a photographer. One who had spent endless hours

frustrated by imperfect angles, murky light, awkward poses, and then suddenly saw everything

come perfectly together. The table lamp giving off the perfect amount of light, a muted sepia

shade, rounding out the woman curled in the chair with soft shadows, painting her in soft pinks

and golds and greens.

All he stood to lose, it was so clear to him now.

Brian felt as if a cold ringer were touching his heart.

When had she ever looked so young? Or so beautiful. Almost like a teenager, in jeans and one

of his old shirts, her bare feet tucked up underneath her, hugging her knees to her chest. Her dark

gold hair looked freshly washed, spilling over her shoulders, damp and still glittering with

moisture.

He saw now how vulnerable she was under that tough facade. [480] He had expected her

always to be strong, to be able to manage anything. And maybe the anger he’d felt toward her had

been frustration that she didn’t really need him. He had wanted so many times to gather her into

his arms, the frightened little girl he’d always suspected was inside her somewhere—the girl he

saw before him now—just the way he’d used to do with Rose.

He ached now to touch Rachel, hold her, but something held him back. As if she might break

apart, or worse, draw away from him, pull back into her shell.

No, he’d let her set the pace, choose the moment to say what she’d come here to say.

“It’s over,” she said.

His blood seemed to turn to ice water.

But she smiled faintly.

And then he understood. She meant the trial. Oh Jesus, of course.

He hadn’t seen her since yesterday, that unbelievable scene in the courtroom, people crowding

around her, cutting him off from her. He had yearned to scoop her up in his arms, carry her right

back here where she’d be safe, where together they could begin again. But he had stopped, afraid

she would resent his intrusion. And—even more stupidly—he had felt angry.
She
should make

the first move, he’d thought. She had hurt him. Leaving like that, with only a note stuck up on the

refrigerator.

And now, with the trial over, she’d had a chance to think things over, and decided it was

hopeless for them to go on.

“The lawyers met this morning,” she said. “The Saucedos have agreed to settle.”

Brian, sitting down on the sofa opposite Rachel, felt a stiffness in his limbs, as if he were

folding the blades of his old Swiss army knife. And he felt cold, so cold.

But still he forced his attention to what she was saying. He
was
glad the trial was over. But not

surprised, after what happened yesterday. That bastard, Sloane. Why hadn’t Rachel ever told him

Sloane had it in for her?

“You don’t look too happy about it,” he said.

She stared at the painting over the mantel, a watercolor of huge sea turtles swimming

underwater. Brian remembered when Rachel [481] had found it, in a little gallery on Grove

Street, and how she’d fallen in love with it on the spot.
Don’t you see,
she had explained,
what a

miracle it is, how graceful they are underwater, those creatures who are so clumsy on land?

Rachel was like those turtles, in a way. Swimming with powerful strokes in waters where she

was familiar, dangerous waters other people would drown in, saving lives, even risking her own

when necessary. But faltering, unsure, when it came to opening her heart and trusting someone,

trusting him.

“The insurance company’s offer,” she finally said, “it was a lot lower than the one they made

before. Just a token, really. And the Saucedos ... they were so grateful to have it, to have anything

... oh God, Brian, it was so ...
pathetic
.”

“You shouldn’t feel responsible,” he told her. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She shrugged. “Who is responsible for anyone when it comes right down to it? No, I don’t

think it was my fault, what happened to Alma. But I’ve told the bank to release some of the

money my father left in trust for me. I want Alma’s family to have it. I don’t feel I
owe
them

anything, but I
want
to do this. For that baby. For Alma’s son.”

Rachel looked at him, and he saw some of her old fire kindle in her eyes. He thought of the

courageous doctor who had gone out on a limb for him, just one more grunt chewed up and spat

out by the war, but she—who knows why—had believed in him, and had cheated death. And it

was
that
passion of hers to save and heal that had made him fall in love with her. A medicine of

the heart.

Could he reject that now?

And the blame for all their troubles, he had a share in that.
I
wanted it for myself, all that

passion, that burning light, I was jealous.

“Rachel ...” He started to say “I love you,” but the words seemed to freeze in his throat. It was

hard to get past that stony look on her face.

“We have to talk, Brian. About us.” She unfolded her legs, and stood up. She walked over to

the fireplace, started to reach for the pack of cigarettes on the mantel, then changed her mind, and

pushed them away almost savagely. She turned to Brian, face tilted up, jaw cocked, eyes blazing.

[482] He felt chilled, knowing this was how she looked when facing a hard task, all steel and

fire, clenched with grim purpose.

Brian instinctively jumped to his feet, put his hands out in front of him. “Wait. Listen. Before

you say anything else. I want you to know ... I’m sorry.”

“
You’re
sorry.” She was staring at him, shocked. Then she blinked, and he saw that her lashes

were studded with tears. “Oh, I see, because of Rose, you mean.”

“Rose?”

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

Brian had a sudden urge to laugh. Rose? She thought he was having an affair with Rose. Oh

Jesus, where could she have gotten such an idea—from Rose?

“How on earth—” he began.

“Your book,” she cut in, “I read some of it. About her.” All at once her steely composure

seemed to crumple. “You don’t have to explain, Brian. In a way I understand. I ... I don’t blame

you.”

“You
don’t
understand,” he shouted, angry that she was hurting herself, and for no reason. “I

wrote that about a time in my life. That time has passed. Just because I can recall how I felt then

doesn’t mean I feel that way now.”

“How do you feel now? No, wait, don’t answer that.” She folded her arms over her chest,

gripping both elbows tightly. She kept her head down, addressing the hooked rug at her feet. “I

have something to say first. Something I should have told you a long time ago, before we were

married. I was afraid then. I was afraid if I told you, you would stop loving me. And now I’m

even more afraid. Because ... oh God, this is so hard. ...” She stopped, seemed to struggle with

herself, her face so pale it seemed almost transparent. “Because I’ve been lying to you all these

years. I let you think something that wasn’t true. I let you believe there was no real reason why

we couldn’t have a child.”

Rachel felt as if she were tumbling down a gentle hillside. A spiraling light-headedness, a rush

of blood to her face. A good feeling, a feeling of letting go, breaking free of this heavy weight

she’d worn on her heart for so long.

[483] For one wild, elated instant she flew up in the air, totally free. She’d done it. And she

couldn’t stop now even if she wanted to.

And then Brian, she saw, was staring at her, shocked, bewildered.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

Once again, Rachel grew heavy and afraid.

No, I can’t turn back now,
she thought, filling with panic.
I’ve made it this far, I have to tell