Does this have to do with the O’Connors?
But Carson Roy started that fire.
Why would he do that?
Or was it someone else?
Was it—
Diana’s questions are interrupted by a knock, and she opens the door to find Aunt Teresa on the landing, jogging in place in a light snowfall to keep herself warm. She holds out a large leather-bound book. “I wanted to give you this.”
The book is heavy, and the leather along the spine is split. An overflow of pages prevents it from closing properly, forcing the volume into the shape of a right triangle.
“What is it?” Diana asks, wiping melting snowflakes from the cover.
“Tom’s childhood photo album. I should have passed this on years ago. It didn’t come to mind until after breakfast this morning. Maybe you’d like to take it home and share it with Duncan and Phoebe.”
“Oh, Teresa.” Diana delicately pulls back the cover, the leather sighing with the relief of being opened. The cellophane covering the first page crackles, and she smooths its folds and tatters to get a clear view of the photo beneath. There is infant Tom, lying on a white blanket, his chubby legs kicking in the air. “He looks like Duncan and Phoebe at that age.” She smiles, her vision cloudy. “Thank you.”
“Come back and join us, if you’d like. We still have more bourbon.”
Diana hugs the album to her chest. She recognizes this gift as Teresa’s peace offering, but it’s not enough. “Will you tell me what I want to know? Will you answer my questions?”
Teresa’s eyes take on a faraway look Diana can’t decipher. “This ... this is all we can do. Be content with what you have, Diana.” She turns and walks carefully down the stairs and across the driveway, the snow covering her hair in a fine white film.
Diana expects to be angry at Tom’s family’s unwillingness to help her; instead, disappointment floods her veins.This must have been what Tom was afraid of,she thinks.That I’d turn away from him if he told me.
She spends hours reviewing the photos. She finds nothing that helps her search, though the pictures of Tom’s senior prom make for a sidesplitting laugh. His slicked-back mullet and his date’s teased-out lion’s mane of hair will be the first items she shows the kids when she arrives back in Alcott.
The album is not a complete bust, though. At some point, between photos of Tom at his sixth birthday party and his first day of middle school, Diana comes up with a plan for her next steps. She has to return to the O’Connor farm to talk to Grace.
The next morning, after a late breakfast, Diana says goodbye to Aunt Teresa and Uncle Brian on their front stoop. “We’re grateful you came to Hamilton, Diana,” Teresa whispers in her ear.
“Please visit with the children. Maybe this summer?” Brian says, gently hugging her before stepping back to take Teresa’s hand.
Chris scrapes the last of the snow off her windshield. “Look out for ice until you’re clear of the mountain,” he says, brushing his lips against her cheek.
Fifteen minutes later, Diana’s tires turn against Grace’s gravel driveway, nausea flaring in her abdomen. She parks in the empty drive and steps out before she second-guesses herself. In her coat pocket, she carries the rock she picked up at the open house. She rubs the pointed edge, careful to avoid snagging it on the scab that’s beginning to form over the small cut on her palm.
She climbs the porch steps and pauses before knocking on the kitchen door. Would the front door be a more respectful choice? She walks across the covered porch, bypassing piles of cardboard boxes that weren’t there yesterday. One of the top boxes is labeled “Donate” in large black letters. Tennis rackets stick out at odd angles, as if waving at her to stop. Or to keep going? As she continues forward, Diana peeks back at the kitchen door, still deciding what to do.
She crashes into a stack of boxes and stumbles back. “Ouch!” Boxes spill over the porch. Dozens of books lay scattered. Diana rubs her hip and picks up a hefty volume of Vermont history andThe Brothers Karamazov. “Klutz,” she mutters.
She is returning the last of the books to the boxes when Grace O’Connor drives up, stopping her station wagon near Diana’s car. She gets out slowly, her eyes on Diana. Grace opens the back car door, and her dog jumps from the seat.
Diana waves. “Mrs. O’Connor, I’m Diana Morgan. I came to the open house yesterday, and I’d appreciate a chance to talk with you again.”
Grace steps onto the porch, the dog at her side. “You really should direct any questions to Ms. Sousa. I have an offer already from a couplefrom Rutland, looking for space to expand their artisanal cheese business.” She seems neither sad nor angry, but resigned.
“I’m not interested in the house. I need to speak with you.”
“About what?”
“Tom Morgan.”
Grace’s eyes narrow. “What’s your connection to Tom?”
“He was my husband.”
