Diana brings her plate to him at the sink. “I—”
“Let’s get going.”
She nods, frustration lurking. They’re clearly hiding something, but what? And why?
Chris and Diana snowshoe for two hours, up the back of Hamilton’s ski slope, the sun so bright Diana squints behind her sunglasses. She treks behind Chris, her shorter legs struggling to keep up, her snowshoes filling neatly in his tracks. Neither of them speaks. Diana fears she’ll never get him to open up, and that concern carries her all the way up the mountain.
Chris stops at a plateau overlooking the valley, where the air smells crisp and sweet. Rugged mountains surround them on all sides, and pine trees hug the steep landscape. Diana surveys the trails below, watching the skiers and snowboarders in their vividly colored jackets speed down the mountain, their movements seemingly choreographed.
“When Becca left, it took me a long time to not see her in every corner,” Chris says, pulling a water bottle from his backpack. He takes a swig and offers it to Diana. “I thought about her all the time. It’s not the same as losing Tom, of course, yet the hole is still there.”
The water is cool down her throat, quenching a thirst Diana didn’t realize she had. “How much time passed before you were yourself again?” she asks. Chris has never spoken about Becca before. She wonders what it’s like to have your marriage end with your partner choosing to leave you. Is it harder, or is the pain the same as losing a spouse via death: impossible yet inescapable?
“I never went back to being the old me. For better or worse, her leaving changed me.” Chris looks sadly at Diana. “I was different before. More carefree, my mother says.”
Diana thinks about sharing Tom’s letter with him. Would it do to him what it’s done to her? Would it leave him confused about the truth, about who Tom really was?
“People always say time heals all wounds. Yet when you’re in it, in that mess, you want it to be better. Immediately.” Chris jams the water bottle back in his pack, yanking the zipper closed. “But the truth is,that old saying is right. The hurt does diminish in time. Everything’s different with time.”
“Time can also bring clarity to the past,” Diana says.
“You’re asking questions about Tom, I get it. His death is a terrible loss, and you’re trying to hold on to him. I did that with Becca. It didn’t get me anywhere. I ran around in circles for years, grieving, imagining what might have been, hoping she’d come back. It’s better to look ahead, Diana. There’s nothing in the past that’s important. For you or the kids.”
“Chris—”
“We should start back down.” He swings the pack onto his shoulders and begins his descent. She waits for him to turn around and ask why she isn’t walking, but he doesn’t. Instead, his snowshoes crunch against the snow until he’s enveloped by the pine trees, and she’s alone.
Diana reluctantly follows his trail down the hill, certain with each step that whatever Chris isn’t telling her has been bothering him for a long time.
Chapter Sixteen
The O’Connor farm is so hidden from the street Diana almost misses it. A shiny red “For Sale” sign is her only indication a home is nearby. A photo of a real estate agent with perfect teeth peers out from the bottom of the sign as it swings in a slight breeze.Open House Today, reads a placard affixed across the top.
Diana stops her car in front of the sign. For sale? Another surprise in an unending list of surprises.
She’s supposed to be on her way back from the store. She offered to restock Aunt Teresa and Uncle Brian’s wine after it was depleted during last night’s dinner party. Really, she wanted an excuse to get out of the house, away from the awkwardness caused by her questions about Carson Roy and the O’Connors.
If Chris and Teresa won’t open up, maybe there’s information here. While Diana isn’t interested in getting arrested for snooping around someone’s private property, an open house is an invitation to come inside, isn’t it?
She considers leaving, returning to Aunt Teresa and Uncle Brian’s to uncork the bottle of merlot in her trunk and drink away all her questions about Tom, but Duncan’s words come back to her:How am I supposed to remember him if he was someone else?
Diana presses on the gas and turns onto the property. The winter has left deep grooves in the gravel driveway, and her tires grind againstthe stones, the sound reverberating in her head. Her palms are wet, and under her arms, a cold sweat spreads.
On her left is a dense forest of birch trees, naked in the afternoon light. To the right, the branches of a willow tree reach nearly to the ground. She slows the car to a crawl, following the drive around a bend. The house, painted white with a covered porch and smoke puffing out from a brick chimney, backs up against an expansive yard rimmed by a slight hill where apple trees stand at attention, forming a barrier against the wild Vermont land beyond.
Diana parks at the rear of the driveway, next to a silver Mercedes and a yellow Volvo station wagon. She steps from the car, slinging her purse across her chest. Can she find Tom here? Are bits of him left in this place? That’s why she came: to see whether the O’Connor farm offers answers or some remaining echo of her husband.
She shuffles across the cold, unyielding ground to the remains of a circular paddock. Only a portion of the fence remains, and its rotted wood indicates years of neglect. Diana grips the brittle railing as the wind glides across her face and through her hair. The air feels wet; more precipitation will come later. She inhales, letting her lungs fill with the chilled air.
The back door swings open, and a coiffed, middle-aged woman emerges from the house. Dressed in a navy-blue pantsuit and striped blouse, she marches to the Mercedes and takes a box from the back seat. As she closes the door, she notices Diana standing in the yard.
“Are you here for the open house?” the woman calls.
Unprepared for another person’s questions, though Diana’s brain tells her a simple yes is all that’s required, she panics. She looks around the backyard, stalling for time, trying to come up with an answer.
“It’s okay that you’re early,” the woman says. “I’m ready for you.”
Diana lets go of the fence. As she approaches the house, the woman tucks the box under her arm and sticks out her hand, a gold bracelet sliding down her wrist.
