“Why? Because of this promise to your son?”
“Tom had a secret,” Diana says. “Something terrible he did when he was a teenager. I need to know what it was.” She unzips her purse and pulls out a photocopy of the letter. She thought about bringing the original with her to Hamilton but, at the last minute, slid a copy into her purse instead.
“Tom’s death ... It feels like both long ago and only yesterday. He had what people said was a courageous battle with cancer.” Diana frowns. “I hate when people equate cancer with war. It’s too simplistic, too violent. Though the treatment is its own kind of violence, I guess.” She tucks her hair behind her ears and tries to slow down her words. “Plus it sounds as if there could have been a different outcome, that Tom had options, that he could have lived, but his cancer was too advanced. I understand now that he saw his death as a debt he owed. To the universe, maybe to you and your husband.”
Diana lets her sentences spill out, one after another, so Grace won’t interrupt. She’s afraid she’ll lose her nerve if she pauses even for a moment.
“I didn’t know you existed until two days ago. Which is strange, because Tom and I were together for twenty years. We told each other everything.”
Diana looks up from the letter. “Well, Ithoughtwe told each other everything. From what I’ve been able to piece together, that time Tom worked for you during high school was important to him. Formative.You and your husband were special to him, too. So special our son is named Duncan William, after, I believe, your husband.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Grace. “I think this letter has to do with your fire,” Diana continues. “With your injuries and your husband’s death. The authorities said Carson Roy started the fire, but I have this feeling Tom was involved somehow.”
As Grace considers the paper in Diana’s outstretched hand, her apprehension, so clearly reflected in her face, morphs into fear, and finally, to curiosity. Scout is at her side again, licking her hand. She pats him and takes the letter.
Grace reaches for her glasses, placing them on her face with a precise sweep of her arm. She is so still when she reads that Diana cannot help but fidget. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other; she squeezes the rock before letting it drop to the bottom of her pocket. She zips and unzips her coat.
When Grace finishes reading, she takes off her glasses and sticks them back into her pocket. “I can’t help you,” she says, returning the letter to Diana. “I know nothing about this secret or about what Tom says he did.”
The hope Diana had clung to disintegrates, desperation filling its place. “No, I’m sure you know something. If you can talk about the time he worked here, about the fire, too, it might be what I need.”
“I don’t talk about that time.” Grace starts walking, and Diana hurries to catch up.
“The only thing that will make sense of all of this is the truth, no matter what it is,” Diana says, so fast the words spiral and jump, making her voice thready and unfamiliar. “I was so certain of Tom and of the life we built together ... Now, I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what my life is anymore.”
Grace stops abruptly, her back to Diana. She peers up through the brilliant winter light to watch a robin fly overhead. The air vibrates with its song, clear and welcoming.
Diana clutches the letter. “Whatever you can tell me. Any detail.Please.”
Chapter Eighteen
Scout moves closer to Grace, placing himself between his owner and Diana, a low growl in his throat. Diana steps back, her hands up.
“It’s all right, Scout,” Grace says, turning around. Her gaze fixes on Diana. “What do you mean by ‘I don’t know what my life is anymore’?”
Diana stuffs her hands into her coat pockets, her fingers seeking out that rock, squeezing it tight. “Losing Tom was devastating. Isstilldevastating. Learning he kept things from me? It’s as if the ground underneath me isn’t there anymore. It’s an awful feeling, and I can’t live like this.”
Grace slowly nods. “That’s similar to how I’ve felt all these years without William. Like I can’t hold on to anything. How did I get here, I ask myself. How isthismy life?”
Diana takes in the view before them: the stark trees, the emptiness, the quiet. William’s absence defines this land and, to an extent, Grace. This scares Diana—the way Grace hasn’t moved on. This could be her life, too. “I wish ... I wish for so much I can’t have.”
There’s a pause while Grace’s eyes sweep across the yard, landing first on a small thicket of evergreens and then on Scout rolling around on the ground. She again begins to walk, setting a faster pace than before, her boots crushing ice and snow with each step.
“Tom worked for us part-time during the school year and full-time during breaks and the summer,” Grace begins. “My sister Irene and I ran an equine therapy camp here during the summers. We offeredprograms for children and teens with all different kinds of disabilities; some faced physical challenges, a few had developmental delays. Irene was a special needs teacher in Burlington, and the camp was her idea.
“William and I were skeptical at first. Money was scarce, and a lot needed to be done to get the camp up and running. Reinforcing the paddock, buying special saddles, increasing our insurance. I agreed because Irene was coming off a bad divorce and I thought the camp would be a helpful distraction. Plus, it was a good way to get the animals exercised, and it felt like we were giving back.”
“How did Tom come to work here?” Diana keeps up with Grace’s steady pace, though her hamstrings ache from yesterday’s hike with Chris.
“Jimmy McCarthy, the owner of the Hamilton General Store, recommended him. Tom applied for a job there, but Jimmy didn’t have any openings. When William stopped by and mentioned we needed an extra set of hands to help around the farm, Jimmy pulled Tom’s application off a pile in his office. William had taught Tom in history class and remembered him fondly, so he called him up.”
Grace steers Diana away from a steep slope along the tree line. “Jimmy died a few years ago. His kids run the store now. I stop there on Fridays for a turkey sandwich and their fudge. They make the best fudge. Secret family recipe, Jimmy said.” Grace’s words fade to a whisper. Diana understands what she’s feeling: the joy of remembering, and the pain, too.
“What happened when William called Tom?”
“Tom rode his bike over a few days later to talk with us, and William hired him on the spot. He was at that age when he was growing into himself, all gangly limbs and awkwardness. His hair always needed cutting, if my memory is correct.”
In Grace’s description, Diana sees Duncan.
