The Things We Knew (33 page)

Needed to let her remember.

“What happened that day, Lynnie? Can you tell me?”

She nodded, keeping her glassy-eyed gaze on him. “He followed us back to the house. I wanted to tell my father we had come here, but my mother got so angry that I . . . I ran away. I hid in her closet. And then I heard yelling. I thought it was my dad but . . . it wasn't. It was yours. Your father was in the house. In our house.” She took a deep wheezing breath. “In my mother's room. I was so scared. I didn't know what to do. I knew I should go out, make them stop, but I couldn't move. I was terrified.” Sobs wracked her and she knelt on the floor again, buried her face in her hands. “And then I heard her scream.”

“Lynnie, don't . . .” Liz. Speaking softly, coming a little closer.

Lynette looked their way and shook her head. She stared at Nick like he was the only one in the room. The only one she wanted to hurt. “Somehow I forced myself out to the landing. And then I saw her . . . my mother . . . facedown at the bottom of the stairs. My dad was kneeling beside her, yelling and screaming and crying.” She trained tear-filled eyes on him. “Your father was at the top of the stairs. Just standing there. He turned, saw me, and I ran
back into the closet. But I knew she was dead.” Lynette's wail was long and gut-wrenching—a sound that would haunt him forever.

Cecily was the first to break out of the trance they all appeared to be in. In a minute she had Lynette cradled in her arms, rocking her and saying the same thing over and over again. “Oh, baby. Oh, baby. Oh, baby.”

The others soon surrounded her, covering her with comforting words Nick knew he could never come up with. She pushed them aside and nailed him once more, her eyes piercing his. “All this time I couldn't remember. They told us it was an accident and everyone secretly blamed my dad. But it wasn't my dad at all, Nick. It was yours.”

Nick refused to leave the hospital. They wouldn't let him up to her room for fear of setting her off again. So he sat in the waiting room, exhausted and filled with fear for what the future might now bring.

He saw them leaving. David, Liz, and Ryan, arms around each other as they walked to the front doors, battle-weary soldiers returning home after losing the war.

Nick got to his feet. “David!”

They stopped walking. David shook his head, his face unreadable. “Why are you still here?”

Nick crossed his arms and scowled at the stupid question. “How is she?”

“She's asleep,” David said. “They've sedated her. They want to keep her a few days. You don't need to be here, Nick. Go home.” His eyes grew wet and he sighed. “Maybe we were wrong. Maybe we should have told her.”

Nick shrugged. “I don't know. I didn't know she was there, though, that day. I didn't know that she saw . . . David, I had no idea that my dad—”

“It doesn't matter now. What matters is Lynnie, and getting her through this. But I think it's best if you just keep your distance for now. Until we see how she's coping. I'm sorry.”

Nick watched in disbelief as David and Liz headed outside.

Ryan walked to where Nick stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “She's okay, Nick. They want to monitor her for the next few days. Memory repression can occur in stages. Personally, I don't think anything else is going to come out, but . . . who knows.” He shrugged, his bleary eyes giving away exhaustion. “We're all tired. Go home and get some rest. There's nothing you can do here.”

Nick pulled at his collar, his heart thudding uncomfortably. “Ryan, I need to know what you guys are thinking—about what Lynnie said happened. Will you go to the police with this?” The thought had been hounding him the past few hours.

Were he in their position, he wasn't sure what he'd do.

“Nick.” The barest of smiles crossed Ryan's face. “What would be the point? Lynnie didn't actually see it. Unless your father confesses, we won't know for sure. And it won't bring my mother back.”

Nick let out his breath, his eyes burning.

Cecily's words the day Gray came home wound around him.

“Grace, Nicholas.”

Grace.

Ryan glanced toward the doors where David and Liz waited, then looked back at him. “Lynette and I talked quite a bit this past week. She told me about your dad's illness. I'm sorry.”

“Thanks.” That they didn't want to string his father up was hard to comprehend. If he was guilty . . . Nick didn't know what to think. What to believe. “Maybe he's getting what he deserves.”

Ryan studied him for a long while. “Maybe you could give him what he doesn't.”

Nick shrugged and looked away.

Forgiveness.

That would be about as easy as scouring Everest in a blizzard.

N
ick sat outside his house for a while. He pulled off his raincoat and let out his breath. He'd been holding on to all this for so long, now that it was out, he figured he'd be relieved. But that sick feeling still plagued him, and worsened each time he thought about Lynnie's painting and what it could mean.

He needed the truth from his father.

Nick found him in the den watching the late-night news. “Dad? Can we talk?”

Dad switched off the set and waved him in.

Nick lowered himself onto the couch. He studied the lines on his father's face. His skin was sallow, his normal healthy glow almost gone.

“Where on earth have you been? I thought you said you were coming back to the island yesterday, but you were nowhere to be found when I arrived this morning. I've been worried.”

Nick kind of doubted that, but appreciated the effort. “Sorry. I got back last night. I've been with the Carlisles. There've been some . . . developments.” He pushed his head back against the cushions, not sure how to say it. Best to just put it out there. “Dad?”

“What?”

“Did you kill Diana Carlisle?”

His father jerked in the chair like he'd been zapped with a bolt of electricity. “Excuse me?”

Nick lifted his hands. “I need to know.”

“Why the devil would you ask me that now, after all these years?”

“Because Lynette Carlisle thinks you did. And I'm not so sure I don't believe her.”

A shudder ripped through Nick.

The truth was, he was afraid to hear the answer. Afraid to hear his suspicions confirmed. Afraid to hear his father finally admit it.

Anthony went to the bar and fixed himself a drink. Nick noticed the limp in his stride. Dressed in jogging pants and a light T-shirt, his weight loss was obvious.

“I'm dying, Nicholas.” He sat, breathed out a ragged sigh. “The cancer is in my liver. Spreading into bone. They told me I have a couple of months, maybe more, maybe less.” He took a gulp of the amber liquid, his cheeks pinking. “We should probably start talking to the lawyers. I want to get things squared away, while I can.”

“Dad?” Nick's pulse accelerated with every word, acid twisting his stomach.

“Nick. I didn't kill her.” He put his glass down and rubbed his hand over his eyes. They were wet. “Did I love her? Yes. Did I know it was wrong? Yes. God help me. After your mother left, I pursued Diana. I wanted a future with her. She wouldn't leave Drake.”

He lowered his head. “I went to their house that day to get her to change her mind. We were arguing. I went after her . . . Her foot slipped at the top of the stairs. I tried to catch her . . .” Tears crept over the hollow crevasses of his cheeks. “It was an accident.” His father's gaze was steady, unwavering. “An awful accident. But that's what happened. I'd say you could ask Drake, but . . .”

Nick sat straighter. “Drake was there?”

“He came around the corner just before she fell. Tried to catch her too . . .” A strangled sob caught in his father's throat. “He told the police it was an accident.”

Nick swallowed hard, memories jarring, taunting. “You guys were pretty good friends, weren't you?”

“Until I crossed the line, yes.” Dad ran a finger around the rim of his glass. “He could have ruined me that night. It would have been his word against mine. But he didn't. Even then, he . . . showed me grace.” He shook his head. “All these years I've blamed Drake for my own sins. I thought if I could get rid of that house, I'd finally be free of the memories. Make him pay for being the one she loved more. But he's already paid that price. From what I've heard . . . they thought he did it, didn't they? Those kids thought their father was responsible for their mother's death.”

“Maybe.” Nick let out his breath. All the fight in him fled with the fear in his father's voice. “Lynnie was the only one who knew you were there.”

“Let her think what she likes.” His father closed his eyes for a moment. “I may as well have killed Diana.”

“I knew about the affair. I kept quiet because I thought it was my duty to protect you.”

Dad sat silent for a long, painful moment. “I got it all wrong, Nicholas.” Harsh laughter caught in his throat. “Your mother said I'd regret the choices I made. She was right.” He stood and walked to the mantel.

The few family photographs Nick's mother had left behind sat there. Nick never looked at them.

She'd given him a choice when she'd left. Come and live with her, what she wanted, or make his primary home with his father.

Nick chose to stay here.

Chose to stay with a man he was never quite sure cared either way. He wondered now whether that choice had been some sort of self-inflicted punishment or whether he hadn't wanted to leave the family next door.

Dad reached for a silver-framed image with a trembling hand.

Nick's eyes filled as he caught a glimpse of it. The two of them
on a rare fishing trip together. He must have been about nine or ten. He held up his catch, grinning from ear to ear, while Dad stood beside him, one arm around his shoulder, pride in his eyes.

“That was a fun day.” Dad faced him, his face sagging. “I've done a lot of things in my life that I'm not proud of. But you . . . you're different, Nicholas. Maybe I resented that a little. You always saw the good in people; always had this relentless desire to do the right thing. And you still do. I admire that now.” Dad put the picture back in place. “So I want to apologize for everything, while I still can.”

“Dad.” Nick raised a hand. He wasn't ready for this.

“Hear me out.” Anthony coughed, rocked on his heels, and tossed him a timid smile. “My own father was never one to show emotion. He had a list of expectations that stretched from here to Florida and I did my best to meet every one of them. Everything I accomplished, I did for him. So he would be proud of me. Tell me how great I was.” His mouth pulled tight and he uttered a low curse. “He never did. Up until the day he died, I never knew how he really felt about me. And I repeated the pattern with you. I knew I was doing it. Hated myself for it, but I didn't know any other way.”

He took slow steps until he came to stand in front of Nick. “I hope that one day you'll forgive me for that. Forgive me for my failures. I may not say it, or show it, but I'm proud of you, son. I really am.”

Nick sat very still and let the words sink in. Thought about grace again, and what his life might look like, were he to truly embrace it. Finally, he nodded. “I forgive you, Dad. And maybe it's not too late. Maybe we can start over.”

“Bah.” Dad waved a hand with a short laugh. “Don't expect miracles, Nicholas. It's too late for me. But you . . . I know you hate that job at the bank. You're only there because I asked you to come back. I know you've always wanted to do something else. Architecture, right?”

“Yeah. A long time ago,” Nick admitted, his throat thick. “Doesn't matter now.”

“Yes, it does. We'll find someone else to fill your position.” Dad sat forward. “If you still want to, go back to school. Study what you wanted to in the first place. Make the choices that will satisfy you, son. Live the life you want. Not the one you think I expected.”

“Dad—”

“No. I want you to promise me. After I'm gone, you'll follow your dreams.”

Nick blinked. Never could he have imagined sitting here having this conversation with his father.

“And marry that girl next door too. If you love her.”

He almost missed the wink Dad shot him, but caught it in time and smiled wide. “I do.”

“Well then.” Dad sat back, looking more at peace than Nick had ever seen him. “That's settled.”

“Dad? Would you be up to taking a trip?” The idea came out of nowhere. Suddenly he knew time was short. And he very much wanted to know his father. “We could rent a private yacht, hire a crew. You wouldn't have to do anything. We'll go anywhere you want. I can take some time off. Leave Tucker Watts in charge.”

“Mercy.” Dad downed his drink in one gulp.