Maddie had moved into the kitchen and stood at the back door, glaring at him.
“Can I come in?” His voice was somber.
“No.” It occurred to her that maybe later she’d wonder if the way that they were standing—Rex on the bottom step, Maddie inside and elevated half-a-foot higher so they were nearly eye-to-eye—gave her the courage to feel like she was the one in charge.
He gave her a bewildered frown. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”
She wondered how he’d gotten up-island. Had he driven for the first time in months for something he could have told her over the phone? Something she’d already figured out? Unless he intended to lie?
She closed the door and flipped the lock. Then she shut her eyes, only one thought swirling in her mind:Had he known? All this time, had he known?
He knocked again. “Please, Maddie. I know who sent the notes and why.”
“Go away.”
She left the kitchen, went back into the living room, saton the sofa, and stared at her mother’s painting on the mantel, at the small pottery bowl with the daisy Maddie had painted, at the quahog shell, one of the last things Hannah had touched before Rex’s father killed her.
She shivered.
And felt sick to her stomach.
Pressing her hands against her belly, she leaned over, stared at the floor.
“My poor baby,” she said softly. “I don’t know what to do.”
Suddenly, fists pounded on the front door. “Maddie! For God’s sake, open the damn door. When did your grandmother start locking doors, anyway?”
She wanted to scream. She wanted to shout that he should go back to Chappaquiddick. Or, even better, that he should go to hell. She did not want to see his face. Ever. Again.
Oh, God, she thought, as she started to rock back and forth,what if my baby is a boy and looks just like him?She wanted to cry.
Then there was … silence.
Maddie retreated to the sofa, where she stayed for a long while. It could have been minutes or hours or days—she’d lost all concept of time. At some point, the baby alerted her that using the bathroom was essential. On the way down the hall, Maddie noticed that Grandma’s bedroom door remained closed. She thought she might have heard crying coming from within.
But Maddie kept walking.
Once situated in her bedroom, she wanted to crawl under the comforter and never get up again. Instead, she sat in the rocker by the window and stared out into nothingness. It wasn’t long before daylight passed into sunset, and the traditional applause and cheers of happy people rose up from the beach.The weekend—the season—had begun an evening early. And Maddie knew there was only one thing left for her to do. She pulled out her phone, stared at it a moment, and called the only person she could trust who might know the truth.
“Maddie?” her father asked when he answered. “Is everything okay?” Sounds of highway traffic hummed in the background.
“You’re driving,” she said.
“I am!” he said with a laugh. “I’m almost to Amherst. Believe it or not, Owen called earlier today and invited me to the parents’ brunch tomorrow morning.”
Maddie flinched.Owen? A parents’ brunch?
“Tomorrow’s Friday. Graduation isn’t until Sunday.”
“Right. But some of the parents decided to make a weekend of it, starting with the brunch thing. Rafe told his dad you couldn’t make it until Sunday, so Owen invited me. We’ll be busy while the graduates are with their friends. We’re going to visit the Emily Dickinson house and the college art museum and take a tour of Quabbin Reservoir—Did you know that in 1938 the state flooded four small towns to create the reservoir because Boston was running out of good water? Anyway, I hope you don’t mind being left out. I would have checked first, except it was a last-minute thing. But I don’t suppose that’s why you’ve called. Tell me. Is something wrong?”
Her body had gone numb again; her father’s nattering hadn’t helped.
“I’m fine,” she said. “So is the baby. But I learned something today …” Without warning, she started to cry.
“Maddie?” Stephen asked. “Hold on a second …”
She cried and held on.
