She paused for a second, maybe more. Then her head slowly swiveled toward him. An ice-cold chill slid from her temples down the length of her body. Annie stood, now frozen in the sand, unable to feel the granules sifting between her toes. “What?” she finally asked.
“My brother Christopher was seventeen. He was drunk. He hit your husband, Brian.”
Annie’s lips began to quiver. She wrapped her arms around her waist, then dropped onto the beach, keeping her gaze steady on the view, as if its presence would ground her and stop her from fainting. Or screaming. Or from clawing at her chest where her heart now felt as if it had been ripped out.
Simon sat next to her. He pulled his knees up and rested his hands on them. “It’s haunted me for years, not that you need to hear that.”
“I . . .” Annie began, but had no idea what to say next. So she fell silent. In fact, they fell silent together.
After a few minutes, Simon went on. “It’s true it was dark, and that Brian had on dark clothes. It’s true that Christopher was a minor. I think you knew those things. It’s also true that I went to grad school in New York, but that I was home in Boston and interning at theGlobewhen it happened. I told you that my uncle Harry was a big-shot attorney. He called in every marker and pulled every string he had so nothing leaked out that could link the accident to my family.”
Annie let out all the air inside her lungs. Her quivering had stopped; her chest pain had eased. Perhaps it was because of how Simon was speaking: gently, with what sounded like genuine sorrow. “No one would tell me his name,” she said.
He nodded. “I know. My uncle said it was the law, but I wasn’t sure about that. He was pretty corrupt. That always bothered me.”
“But you were working at theGlobe? When you interviewed me?”
“I was. I begged the city editor to let me talk to you—of course, he didn’t know the connection. What I really wanted was to tell you what had happened. But when I met you that first time, and I saw how broken you were, I told myself I couldn’t betray my brother. The truth was, I didn’t have the guts.” He turned to her but didn’t touch her, for which she was glad. “I am so sorry, Annie.”
She stared down at her feet. “It was an accident.” Like Kevin being shot. Though the outcome that had been far worse.
“It was an accident, yes. But still . . .” His words trailed off.
“Is that why you changed your name?”
“Yes. After Columbia, I was offered the job in Boston. I didn’t want to go back; by then I hated my whole family. But I needed a job, and it was a good place to start my broadcasting career. I told people who knew me that I had to change my name because there was another Andrew Simmons in the broadcasters’ union. It was a crock, but as far as I know, no one ever figured it out. Or they couldn’t imagine that I’d lie about something as stupid as that. But I was ashamed of my brother. I was ashamed of my uncle. And my other brother, my mother, my aunt. And of me. Christopher might have been behind the wheel, but all of them—all ofus—covered it up.” He reached down and scooped a handful of sand. “The contact lenses changed my appearance; I did that intentionally. They have nothing to do with me looking better on camera. I only knew I couldn’t take a chance that anything would get in the way of me rising to the top. I felt like the higher up I went, the farther away from them I’d be. And it worked. My brother David never forgave me for that. God knows he couldn’t out me to the media, because he knew I could ruin them all.”
Which explained why Simon’s name—or Andrew’s—hadn’t been included in Christopher’s obituary. “And you never forgave him?” Annie asked.
“I never forgave any of us.”
The feeling slowly came back to her body. “After all this time, why did you track me down now?”
“Christopher was a good kid. But he was an alcoholic, like our dad. Or maybe he became one out of guilt over your husband. When Chris died a few years ago, I realized what a selfish bastard I’d been to you. I am so sorry, Annie. About everything. I looked back on Brian’s obit; I saw that your maiden name was Sutton. So I Googled Annie Sutton. Once I saw that you’re an author, you were easy to find. It took a while for me to convince myself I needed to do this—apparently, not having guts is one of my many flaws—but here I am.” Then he smiled a reluctant smile. “I wasn’t being truthful when I said I hadn’t read your books. I’ve read them all—the latest one at the library the day I got here. Sad to say, but I wanted to find out if you made any kind of reference to my brother.”
“I write fiction.”
“Writers write what they know, don’t they?”
Using her toes, she carved little trenches in the sand. “Did you come here looking for forgiveness?” She wasn’t sure why he would, since his brother, not him, had killed Brian. Then she had a sudden, alarm-bell kind of thought, the kind she might have given one of her characters if this were a novel and not real life woven with human complexities. Before he could answer she asked, “Simon?” She kept her voice calm and considered; she didn’t want to offend him, but she wanted, needed, to know the truth. “Were you in the car? When Brian was killed?”
He looked back at the harbor and the lighthouse. “I was.”
“Oh, God,” Annie wailed. She started rocking back and forth. “And you let your brother drive drunk?”
He lowered his eyes, his chin, his head. “I’d been drinking, too. After that night, I never touched alcohol again.”
She didn’t respond; she wept, as the truth slowly started to sink in.
He waited until she’d quieted. “I called nine-one-one that night. The same way I did with Kevin.” Then he added, “I don’t think Brian felt any pain, Annie. I really don’t.”
She shook her head; she didn’t want to hear this. She’d been told that the driver was alone, that a passerby had called the police. She’d been lied to, lied to, lied to. Thanks to Simon’s pompous uncle. And to everyone who had covered it up. Including the man sitting next to her now.
“He told me something,” Simon continued. His words grew more sullen, his voice cracking. “Before Brian closed his eyes, before he passed away, he asked me to tell you something. He said it was a secret.”
Annie yelped. It was not the howl of a wounded animal that had erupted from Kevin had, but rather a yelp of loss that had festered all these years. Thesecret. Simon knew the secret that she’d never learned.
Shifting on the sand, Simon pulled his knees closer to his chest. “Your husband said, ‘Tell Annie I got into grad school at USC. Tell her we’re moving to Southern California.’”
