“Come into the living room,” I said.

He followed me inside the house, then sat down on the wicker rocker and rubbed his chin. I leaned against the side of one of the upholstered chairs rather than sit down myself. I didn’t want this conversation to be long.

“Listen,” he said. “I’m certain that Ned and Isabel are involved…romantically.”

Did he mean they were having sex? “I don’t think so,” I said.

“You’ve got your head in the sand,” he said. “She and Ned are together more than you know. More than I knew. Ethan told me they sneak around to be together.”

My heart gave a great thump. “Maybe Ethan is trying to get his big brother in trouble,” I suggested. “I always know where she’s going and who she’s with and she’s good about keeping to her curfew.” That was nonsense, but I wasn’t going to let him know I’d lost control of my daughter.

Ross smiled at me. “Your parents and mine would have said the same thing about us when we were Isabel and Ned’s ages, don’t you think?”

I looked away from him. He was right.

“Humor me for a moment,” he said. “Pretend that I’m right about Isabel and Ned being involved. Then you and I would need to find a way to put an end to their relationship, wouldn’t you agree?”

I had spent the early part of the summer making sure Izzy and Ned were not involved, and until this discussion, I’d thought I had succeeded. But now I was faced with a different problem: I was unwilling to admit to Ross that Isabel actually might be his. I was ninety-percent certain she was Charles’s child, but that ten percent haunted me.

“I do agree,” I said, “because of the very, very slight possibility that…you know. But it’s moot, because I’m certain she’s not seeing him. I would know. I would—”

“Would you wake up, Maria?” He stood up, his voice loud, his hands moving through the air. “She doesn’t look a thing like Charles.”

“She doesn’t look like you, either,” I said. “She looks like me.”

“She has my mother’s chin and cheekbones,” Ross said.

“Oh, stop it.” I covered my uneasiness with a laugh. “Why don’t you go home and—”

“I am not allowing my son to screw his sister!” he shouted, his face red.

I was furious. “Get out,” I said. I walked across the porch toward the door. “Get out right now.”

He stared at me a moment, then walked past me onto the porch. “You better hope she doesn’t turn up pregnant,” he said.

Once he was gone, I let out my breath and was rubbing my hands over my eyes when I suddenly heard a sound coming from the attic. I froze. Footsteps skittered across the attic floor and I turned to see Isabel on the stairs. They swayed and creaked beneath her as she rushed to get down them, and I pressed my hand to my mouth.

“What were you talking about?” she shouted as she jumped the last few steps to the floor.

“Izzy,” I said, struggling to make my voice light, as if anything she’d overheard could be explained away with a chuckle. “I thought you were out with Mitzi and Pam.”

“I had a headache, not that it’s any of your business,” she said. There was fire in her dark eyes. She looked nothing like Ross. Nothing. “What did Mr. Chapman mean about me being Ned’s sister?” she asked.

I tried to look surprised. “What?” I said. “I think you must have misunderstood him, honey.”

“How could I possibly be his sister?” she asked.

I couldn’t find my voice. Isabel shook her head at me as understanding dawned on her. “You tramp,” she said. “You were married to Daddy and you slept with Mr. Chapman?” She put her hand over her own mouth as though she might get sick. “Oh, God,” she said. “You’re disgusting.”

I had no words left in me to deny it or explain it. “I made a mistake, Isabel,” I said. “But I am as certain as I can be that you are Daddy’s child.You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Is this why you’ve tried so hard to keep Ned and me apart?” Her eyes were brimming with tears now. I wanted to hold her, but I knew she would never allow it.

“You and Ned are too young to get serious with anyone,” I said.

She looked at me with something like hatred in her eyes. “I cannot wait to tell Daddy about this,” she said. “You’re nothing but a slut, Mother. And you give me all these rules I’m supposed to obey. What a joke you are.” She turned and ran down the hallway toward the front door and out of the house.

I stood still in the electrified silence, pressing my hands together in front of me. It would destroy Charles if she told him, and in turn, it would destroy me. Charles would never divorce me, but our marriage would be ruined forever. I had to put those thoughts aside, though. Right now, my main concern had to be the emotional state of my child.

I went outside and spotted Isabel across the street sitting among the blueberry bushes, not far from the very place she might have been conceived. She was crying her heart out. I walked across the street and sat down next to her, trying to pull her into my arms, but she stiffened at my touch.

“Tell me it’s not true,” she pleaded. “Tell me Ned’s not my brother.”

“I don’t think he is,” I said. “But it is true that he could be.”

“Oh, God.” She stood up, her body heaving with her sobs. Then she leaned over, picked up a fistful of sand, and threw it directly into my face. I blinked quickly. The sand seared my eyes and I covered them with my hands, trying not to cry out from the pain.

“I mean it, Mother,” she said, her voice somewhere above me. “When Daddy comes this weekend, I’m going to tell him every single thing. I’m going to tell him he has a whore for a wife. I can’t wait. I hope he divorces you.”

It was minutes before I could open my eyes well enough to make my way back to the bungalow and I spent half an hour in the bathroom trying to wash out the sand. I knew I would have to tell Charles the truth before Isabel was able to, but as it turned out, neither of us ever got the chance.

“Izzy wrote that note to Mr. Chapman,” Julie said, when I’d finished my story.

I nodded. “That makes the most sense,” I said. “I don’t know how or why it ended up in your…your bread box, but this—” I lifted the piece of paper. “I’m sure this note was meant for Ross.”

CHAPTER 46

Julie

I waited for Ethan in the parking lot of his father’s independent-living residence in Lakewood. I’d arrived as the sun was setting and I lowered my windows, letting a light, hot breeze fill my car. I kept my eyes trained on the entrance to the lot as I watched for Ethan’s truck.

It had been a long and difficult day, starting with my discovery of the remnants of Shannon’s party in my house. While I was at my mother’s, Shannon and Tanner worked like dogs to clean everything up. Tanner had been contrite, but my opinion of him had taken a nosedive from which he would have a hard time recovering.

When I got home from Mom’s, the house was immaculate and Shannon and Tanner were out. I was glad of that, because I was still reeling from my mother’s revelation about her relationship with Ross Chapman. I wasn’t sure who had killed my sister, but I knew now that I’d had little, if anything, to do with it. Listening to my mother speak had lifted forty-one years’ worth of guilt from my shoulders. Isabel had not died because of me. I had been little more than a blind alley in a complex maze of a story. My guilt was replaced by a deep sympathy for my mother, who had lived with her own demons for most of her life.

I’d sat in my spotless living room, the phone in my lap, for many minutes before getting the courage to call Ethan. Once I did, I told him about our conversation with my mother, being careful how I couched it. I made her one-time, extramarital lovemaking with Ross Chapman sound consensual. Maybe it was. Who knew what sort of twist my mother had given the event in the past sixty years to ease her conscience? I didn’t want to hurt Ethan more than I had to.

He grew so quiet on the phone, I thought he’d hung up.

“My parents had such a good marriage, though,” he said finally.

“That’s probably true,” I reassured him. I hated that I was shaking his world. “So did my parents. What happened between your father and my mother was very early in both their marriages. They were young and…maybe they were still adjusting to being married.”

“So,” Ethan said slowly, “if the note was written to my father, that still doesn’t explain how it got in your bread box.”

“I know,” Julie said.

“Are you thinking he…that he was the one who…” He couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.

“I don’t know, Ethan,” I said. “I don’t know what to think.”

“I need to talk to him,” he said. “In person. How do you feel about going with me?”

I thought of how I had Lucy to share the burden of the past with me. Ethan had no one. I didn’t want him to go through this alone. “Of course I’ll go with you,” I said.

So here I sat, while my mixed-up daughter was out somewhere with her baby’s father and Lucy comforted our distraught mother.

I saw Ethan’s truck turn into the lot, and I got out of my car as he pulled up next to me.

Once out of his truck, he drew me into a hug. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me here,” he said into my ear. He held on to me for a minute and I pressed my palms flat against his back.

“You okay?” I whispered.

He let go of me. “Not really,” he said. I could see the frown lines between his eyebrows and the tight set of his jaw.

“Does he know we’re coming?” I asked.

He nodded, taking my hand as we walked toward the entrance to the large brick building. “I called him and ended up telling him nearly everything because he kept asking questions. I said that your mother told you about her relationship with him and the possibility that he had been Isabel’s father,” he said. “And I told him about the note in the giraffe.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing for a minute. Then I could hear him crying.” Ethan shuddered, squeezing my hand tightly. “I’ve never seen my father cry,” he said. “I’ve never even seen him near tears, not when my mother or Ned died. He couldn’t speak, and I told him that I was coming over and not to worry. That we’d work everything out.” We were in the lobby now and Ethan pushed the button for the elevator. “He said ‘all right.’ I swear, Julie, he sounded like a scared little kid.”

A couple of the residents—two elderly women using walkers—got on the elevator with us, so we said nothing as we rode to the fifth floor. We got off the elevator, and Ethan led me down the hall at a quick pace. He knocked on a door bearing a small, faux-ivy wreath. We could hear noise inside. A thud. A squeak. But no one answered Ethan’s knock.

Ethan leaned close to the door. “Dad?” he called. Still no response.

He looked down at his key chain and sorted through the keys until he found the right one. Slipping it into the lock, he pushed open the door.

We were in a small, neat living/dining room combination, with heavy, dark cherry furniture and rich leather wingback chairs befitting a former chief justice.

“Dad?” Ethan called toward what must have been the bedroom. He took a step in that direction, but froze at the sound of a scream coming from somewhere outside the building. We looked toward the living-room windows. One of them was open, the screen missing.

“God, no!” Ethan rushed toward the window.

I followed him and rested my hand on his back as he leaned out the window to look at the ground below.

“No,” he wailed. “Oh, my God, Dad! No.”

Now there was a chorus of screams coming from the ground far below us and I started to tremble. I did not want to see what he was seeing. Ethan pulled away from the window and dropped to the floor, his hands covering his face. I sat down next to him and wrapped my arms around him, and I rocked him, as we waited for the sound of sirens.

Mr. Chapman had used the second bedroom in his apartment as an office, and it was there, on an otherwise empty desktop, that one of the police officers found the letter addressed to Ethan.

Dearest Son,On August 5, 1962, Isabel Bauer approached me in our backyard and slipped a note to me. That was the note you found, in which she threatened to tell her father about my indiscretion with her mother. I suppose all these years later, it’s hard for you to understand how threatening that was to me. Charles Bauer could do irreparable damage to my career. He had power and plenty of friends in high places. He could easily have ruined me and my political aspirations.I knew that Ned was in the habit of meeting Isabel on the beach at midnight. I forbade him to meet her that night, but I overheard him talking to her on the phone, telling her he might be able to sneak out after all. I saw that as my opportunity to talk to her alone. I lit into Ned, telling him he could not go out. Then I went to meet her myself. Please understand, I had no intention of killing Isabel. I merely wanted to talk to her in private so that I could dissuade her from speaking to her father about me. I found her on the platform. It was dark and I think as I swam out to her, she may have thought I was Ned. She was furious when she discovered I had come to speak with her. She tried to jump in the water to get away from me, but I grabbed her arm and we struggled. I guess that’s when her sister heard her scream and yell for help, although I don’t remember everything that happened. All I know is we argued and she fell into the water. I did not push her. I had no idea that she’d hit her head or that she’d drowned. I thought she was simply swimming underwater to get away from me. I didn’t know she’d died until the next morning. I told the police I’d spent the night stargazing with Ned in our yard, knowing that Ned would think my lie was meant to protect him, but it had really been to protect myself and my career.I’ve struggled with my guilt all these years, not only over Isabel Bauer’s death but over Ned’s descent into depression and alcoholism as well. I am quite certain that Ned found the note from Isabel, as it disappeared from the cigarette box in which I’d placed it, though he never said a word to me about it. I’m sure that he put two and two together and realized my role in Isabel’s death. I feel as though I killed them both.Don’t grieve for me, Ethan. I’ve had far more joy in my life than I’ve deserved and much of that has come from watching you become the skilled carpenter, wonderful father and honorable man you are today. I love you.Dad