Teresa slugs back the water and the medicine Diana hands her. “I should really get breakfast going,” she says, putting the tumbler in the sink and opening the refrigerator. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Diana remains in front of the cabinet, thinking of the photo of her children and Tom that the intruder stole from her home. Is it a clue to Tom’s secret? Or is it, like this photo of teenage Chris and Tom, a glimpse into a life that’s long gone?
Chris arrives with the snowshoes as Teresa puts a plate of steaming waffles on the kitchen table. “Perfect timing,” she says.
Chris stomps snow off his boots. “Always, when your cooking is involved, Mom.” He accepts a cup of coffee from Diana and looks around. “Where’s Dad?”
“Sleeping off Diana’s bourbon, I’m afraid,” Teresa says. “He misjudged his tolerance for the good stuff.”
They take seats at the Formica table, Diana across from Teresa and Chris to her left. She watches them under half-closed eyes as they slide waffles onto their plates, pour syrup, and sip coffee. Her face flushes with anticipation. Before she considers the best way to phrase her question, the words blurt out. “Does the name Carson Roy mean anything to you?”
“Sure, Tom and I went to school with him,” Chris says.
“And the O’Connors? Grace and William O’Connor?”
Teresa puts down her fork and focuses on her son.
“Mr. O’Connor, our history teacher?” Chris rolls the words around, as if he’s tasting them.
“Tom worked for the O’Connors, didn’t he?”
Chris nods and shovels waffles into his mouth, syrup dripping onto the table, leaving a sticky puddle behind. Diana waits. He’ll be suspicious if she pushes.
“Mr. O’Connor and his wife had the farm over on Route 119,” Chris says after he swallows. “Tom helped take care of their animals and did some yard work, stuff like that.”
Pieces of this story are falling into place.
“Tom liked it there, and he was close with Mr. O’Connor. Right, Mom?”
Teresa refills Chris’s mug. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“What’s all this about Carson and the O’Connors?” Chris scrapes his fork across the plate to pick up the remaining crumbs. Licking the tines, he looks at Diana. “That was years ago.”
“There was a fire? Carson and William died?”
“Yeah, it was terrible,” Chris says.
“Did you know the O’Connors, Teresa?”
“We didn’t socialize, if that’s what you mean. This is a small community, so of course, I knew who they were.” Wariness creeps into Teresa’s voice. “Why are you asking about them?”
“I came across their names in Tom’s papers.” It isn’t a lie, but it isn’t the complete truth either. “I hoped you could tell me who they were to him.”
Chris glances between Teresa and Diana.
“As Chris explained, this was many years ago,” Teresa says. “Plus, Tom was a private person, even with us. We won’t be able to help you with your questions.”
Diana is bewildered by Teresa’s reluctance to offer up even one detail. She looks at Chris for help, but his eyes are firmly locked on his coffee. “If you aren’t able to tell me about Tom and the other people in his life,” Diana asks, “who can?”
“These questions should have been asked of Tom, not us,” Teresa says quietly, not giving an inch.
Diana thinks of Duncan lying on her bedroom floor holding Tom’s letter, the intruder entering her house and stealing that photograph, and Tom naming their son after William O’Connor, and she loses all sense of restraint. “I wouldloveto ask Tom,” she says, an edge to her words, “but he’sdead. I have no choice other than asking you. I don’t want to make things awkward between us, I just want to understand who my husband was.”
The room goes silent, with only the hum of the refrigerator in the background. Diana watches Tom’s aunt and cousin for what feel like the longest minutes of her life. The waffles sit heavily in her stomach. She’s about to apologize and explain the stress she’s been under when Teresa stands up and drops her napkin on her chair.
“Tom was a good man who loved you and your children. That should be enough.” Teresa clears her throat. “You’ll have to excuse me; I really should check on Brian.” She leaves the room so quickly Diana doesn’t have time to respond.
Chris is also up, balancing the plates and silverware into an unstable pile. “We should get moving if we want to get a parking space close to the trail head.”
