Chapter 6: The Weight of Fifty-Six Years
I gave the statement for two hours and twenty minutes.
When it was done, Marsh walked me to the door and told me they expected to move within the week.
He said I should avoid contact with Adrian.
He said if Adrian called again, I should answer and say nothing unusual, and then call the number on the card immediately after.
I drove home in the late afternoon light.
Carol was sitting on my front step.
She stood up when she saw me.
She was fifty-three years old, my daughter, with James's eyes and James's way of going very still when she was worried about something.
"Mom.
Where have you been?
I called four times."
"I had an errand," I said.
"Come inside."
She followed me into the kitchen.
I put the kettle on.
The yellow roses were still on the table, beginning to open now, the petals wider than they had been three days ago.
Carol looked at them.
"Who sent those?"
I turned from the stove.
"Sit down, sweetheart," I said.
"I need to tell you something."
I told her everything.
I started with the flowers and the note, and I went through all of it — Ruth, the photograph, the FBI, the statement, the land, the forged letter, Adrian's calls.
I told her about the will.
I told her what Marsh had said about 1973, about the photograph Adrian had shown James, about the name James had been living under.
Carol did not speak for a long time after I finished.
"He's alive," she said finally.
"Yes."
"My father is alive."
"Yes."
She put both hands over her mouth.
Her shoulders shook once, hard, and then she pulled them back and pressed her hands flat on the table the way I had done in Marsh's office — as if she needed something solid to push against.
"For fifty-six years," she said.
"Yes."
"And Adrian—" She stopped.
Started again.
"Adrian sat at our table.
At Christmas.
He was at my graduation.
He came to David's funeral." Her voice dropped.
"He came to David's funeral, Mom.
He stood next to you."
David was my brother.
He had d\*d eleven years ago.
Adrian had driven three hours to be there.
He had put his arm around me at the graveside.
"I know," I said.
"How are you not—" She stopped again.
"I don't know," I said honestly.
"I think I haven't finished feeling it yet.
I think it's still arriving."
Carol reached across the table and took both my hands.
We sat like that for a while.
The kettle boiled.
Neither of us moved to get up.
"When do you see him?" she said.
"James."
"I don't know yet.
Soon.
The FBI wants to move first."
"I want to be there," she said immediately.
"When you see him.
I want to be there."
"I know you do."
"Mom." She squeezed my hands.
"What do you need right now?
Tonight.
What do you need?"
I thought about it.
"Stay," I said.
"Just stay tonight."
She nodded.
She didn't let go of my hands.
Outside, the light was going gold through the kitchen window, falling across the roses and the table and the two of us sitting there together.
I thought about James reading a newspaper eleven days ago in a town called Millhaven, four hours away.
I thought about all the anniversary mornings I had sat in this kitchen alone.
Then my phone lit up on the counter.
Adrian.
Carol saw it too.
She looked at me.
I picked up the phone.
I kept my voice exactly as it always was.
"Adrian.
Hello."
"Mary." The careful voice.
The practiced warmth.
"I just wanted to check in.
I've been thinking about you today."
"That's kind of you," I said.
Carol was watching me.
Her jaw was tight.
"Are you doing all right?" Adrian said.
"You seemed a little off when we spoke the other day."
"I'm fine.
Carol came over.
We had tea."
"Good.
Good, that's good." A pause.
"You know, I was thinking — it's been a while since we had lunch.
Maybe next week?"
My hand tightened on the phone.
"That would be lovely," I said.
"Let's plan something."
"Perfect.
You take care, Mary."
"You too, Adrian."
I set the phone down.
Carol stared at me.
"How did you do that?" she whispered.
"Practice," I said quietly.
May you like
"Fifty-six years of practice."
I picked up the card from the counter and dialed Marsh's number.
