"The truth, yes," I said.
I glanced at the outline of her cell phone in the shallow pocket of her robe and considered all that now demanded to be truly known, things my father had told me, things Warren had told me, things Keith had told me, all of them now in doubt. In my mind I saw them posed together, Meredith and Keith, along with my other family, the living and the dead, Warren and my father, my mother, Jenny. They stood on the steps of the lost house, shoulder to shoulder, as in a family photograph.
None of them was smiling.
PART IV
A figure appears beyond the diner's rain-streaked window, and for a moment you think it is the one you're waiting for. You recall it in photographs, but so much time has passed that you can no longer be sure that you would recognize the eyes, the mouth, the hair. Features sharpen then blur as they mature, and time has a downward pull, creating folds where none existed when the photographs were taken. And so you scan the onrushing faces, preparing your own, hoping that time has not ravaged your features so mercilessly that you will go unrecognized as well.
You notice a little girl, her hand tucked inside her mother's, and it strikes you that everyone was young back then. You were young. So were Meredith and Warren. Keith was young and Amy was young. Vincent and Karen Giordano were young. Peak was no more than fifty; Kraus no more than forty-five. Even Leo Brock seems young to you now, or at least not as old as he seemed then.
The figure who first called your attention vanishes, but you continue to stare out the window. An autumn wind is lashing the trees across the way, showering the wet ground with falling leaves. You think of the Japanese maple at the end of the walkway and recall the last time you saw it. It was fall then, too. You remember your last glance at the house, how your gaze settled on the grill. How desolate it looked beside the empty house, its elaborate and sturdy brickwork awash in sodden leaves. You wonder if you should have taken a picture of the cold grill, the unlit house, something to replace the stacks of family photographs you burned in the fireplace on your last day there. In a movie, a character like you would have fed them one by one into the flames, but you tossed whole stacks of them in at once. You even tried not to look at the faces in the photographs as the fire engulfed them, turning every life to ash.
TWENTY-ONE
Over a week passed after my confrontation with Keith. Day after day, as I worked at the shop, I waited for the call from Leo, the one that would tell me that Keith was going to be arrested, that I should go home, wait for Peak and Kraus to arrive, warrants in hand, and read my son his rights, then, one man at each arm, lead him away.
But when it came, the phone call from Leo brought just the opposite news.
"It's looking good, Eric," he said happily. "They're running tests on those cigarettes they found outside Amy's window, but even if it turns out they can prove Keith smoked them, so what? There's no law against a kid going out for a smoke."
"But he lied, Leo," I said. "He said he didn't leave the house."
"Well, contrary to popular belief," Leo said, "lying to the police is not technically a crime. And as for those pictures on his computer? Same answer. They were completely harmless."
Pictures of nude little girls didn't strike me as harmless, but I let it go.
"So, what happens then, if they can't arrest him?" I asked.
"Nothing happens," Leo answered lightly.
"It can't just go away, Leo," I said. "A little girl is missing and—"
"And Keith had nothing to do with it," Leo interrupted. He spoke his next words at a measured pace. "Nothing to do with it, right?"
I didn't answer fast enough, so Leo said, "Right, Eric?"
"Right," I muttered.
"So like I said, it's good news all around," Leo repeated cautiously. "You should take it as good news."
"I know."
"So, is there a reason you're not?"
"It's just that this whole experience, it's dredged up a lot of things," I told him. "Not just about Keith. Other things."
"Things between you and Meredith?"
It seemed an odd question. I'd never discussed the state of my marriage with Leo, yet something "between you and Meredith" was the first thing that had entered his mind. "Why would you think it's something between me and Meredith?" I asked.
"No reason," Leo said. "Except that a case like this, it can create a certain strain." He quickly moved on to another subject. "Everything else okay?"
"Sure."
"No harm to your business, right?"
"Just the usual off-season lull."
There was a pause and I sensed that something bad was coming.
"One thing, Eric," Leo said. "Evidently Vince Giordano's pretty upset."
"Of course, he is," I said. "His daughter is missing."
"Not just that," Leo said. "Upset with the way the case is going."
"You mean, about Keith?"
"That's right," Leo said. "My people tell me he went ballistic at headquarters yesterday. Demanded that Keith be arrested, that sort of thing."
"He thinks Keith did it," I said. "There's nothing I can do about that."
"You can stay clear of him," Leo said in that paternal way of his. "And make sure Keith does, too."
"All right," I said.
"Warren, too."
"Warren?" I asked, surprised. "Why would he have anything against Warren?"
"Because Keith doesn't have a car," Leo told me. "So Vince figures it had to be the two of them."
"Why would he think that?"
"We're not dealing with reason here, Eric," Leo reminded me. "We're talking about a distraught father. So just tell everyone in your family to stay clear of Vince. And if any of you happen to run into him, like at the post office, something like that, just keep to yourself, and get out of sight as soon as possible."
There was a brief pause, then Leo spoke again, his voice now unexpectedly gentle. "Are you all right, Eric?"
A wave of deep melancholy washed over me; my life, my once-comfortable life, was fraught with danger and confusion, along with a terrible mixture of anger and pain. "How could I be all right, Leo?" I asked. "Everyone in town thinks Keith killed Amy Giordano. Some anonymous caller tells the cops that there's something wrong' with me or Meredith or Keith. And now I hear Vince has gone nuts and that none of us can go anywhere without fear of running into him. It's a prison, Leo. That's where we all are right now. We're in prison."
Again there was a pause, after which, Leo said, "Eric, I want you to listen very carefully to me. In all likelihood, Keith is not going to be arrested. That's good news, and you should be happy about it. And if some nut calls the hotline? Big deal. And as far as Vince Giordano is concerned, all you have to do is stay away from him."
"Okay," I muttered. What was the point of saying more?
"Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"Yeah," I said. "Thanks for calling Leo."
Leo was clearly reluctant to hang up. "Good news, remember?" he said, addressing a schoolboy in need of a change of attitude.
"Good news, yes," I said, though only because I knew it was what he wanted to hear. "Good news," I repeated, then smiled as if for a hidden camera in my shop, planted by Leo, so that even at that moment he could see my face, appreciate the smile.
My working day came to an end a few hours later, but I didn't want to go home. Meredith had told me that she'd be working late at the college, and I knew that Keith would be secreted in his room. And so I called Warren, hoping he could join me for a beer, but there was no answer.
That left only my father, and so I went to him.
He was sitting inside, by the fire, curled in a wheelchair, his emaciated frame wrapped in a dark red blanket. In his youth, he'd gone all winter without once putting on an overcoat, but now even a slight late-September touch of fall chilled him.