The Last Time They Met_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [35]
Linda crossed her arms over her chest. Why did this knowledge upset her so?
—How do you take that out of the equation? Thomas asked. How do you solve a problem like that?
Linda breathed slowly and evenly. The room was cold, and she rubbed her arms.
—The second day we were there, Jean and Rich went over to the island where the murders had occurred. We were moored just off the island — it had a dreadful name: Smuttynose — and Adaline and I were alone on the boat. Just talking. She’d lost her daughter in a messy divorce, and she was telling me about it. He scratched his head again. Such irony. To think that I was comforting her, and just hours later it would be me who’d lost a daughter. He put his head in his hands for a moment, then looked up. I happened to see some people over on the island, and I decided it would be Rich and Jean. I thought I’d give them a wave. I picked up the binoculars and saw Rich and Jean embracing. Jean was naked from the waist up.
Linda gasped. The image was shocking, even in a world of shocking images.
—I watched for a while, and then I couldn’t bear it. I threw the binoculars overboard. Adaline kept saying, “What, Thomas? Thomas, what?” But I couldn’t speak. And I don’t know why it bothers me so much, even now. After everything else . . .
He leaned back in the chair.
—It was your brother, Linda said. It was your wife.
He nodded.
—It was biblical, she said.
He nodded again. What is sex, anyway? he asked. Is taking your shirt off in front of your brother-in-law sex? Technically? Where do you draw the line?
—There isn’t one.
—No, of course not. He took a deep breath. I was crazed after that. I couldn’t think clearly. I was so fucking preoccupied. And then, when they got back . . . He paused. There was a storm brewing. A serious storm. I’m not a sailor, but even I knew it was bad. There wasn’t any time to confront Rich or Jean. Thomas was shaking his head constantly now as he spoke. And between the storm and the tension, none of us was paying attention.
He stood up suddenly, as if gathering courage for the rest. He walked to the window. We thought Billie was safe with Adaline. Adaline was seasick, and she was lying in the forward cabin with Billie, who was beginning to feel queasy herself. Rich and Jean and I were trying to stabilize the boat and get to shore. Thomas rubbed his eyes the way only a man would do: vigorously, even viciously. Adaline left Billie lying on the bed and went through the forward hatch to get some air. Probably to puke, too. I know she thought Billie wouldn’t leave the bed.
Thomas began to pace. He walked to the French doors and through them to the living room. He picked up a small vase and put it down. He walked back to the bedroom. Jean and I had been trying to get Billie into her life vest. And I suppose we thought we’d done it, or maybe we were interrupted, I can’t remember now. But we should have known. Billie didn’t want to wear it, and we knew better than anyone just how stubborn she could be. We should have forced her into it and kept our eye on her at all times. Harnessed her, if need be, to the boat.
Linda closed her eyes. It could be just a moment’s inattention. Backing out of the driveway and not noticing your child had moved behind the car. Having a fight with your husband and not seeing that the baby had climbed onto the window ledge. One second. That’s all it took.
—Adaline fell overboard. I went in after her. Rich was trying to keep the boat upright. Jean was frantic. And then . . . And then, it was Rich, I think, who noticed first. Thomas looked at the ceiling. Oh, God, this is our punishment, isn’t it? These memories. It was an ice pick in the chest. The body knows already, even if the mind won’t accept it yet. “Where’s Billie?” Rich said.
Thomas