Tom might have been happy with this version of Jessica. After all, she kept his terrible secret all these years and loved him despite his mistakes. She never stopped seeing him as that boy who walked her through the apple trees.
Tom never gave Diana the chance to understand who he really was. Perhaps he’d been right in his letter, after all:If we had been differentpeople, or maybe if our relationship had been different, I might have told you all this sooner. I tried, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react.
Remembering the contents of that letter brings Diana another realization. “Tom said other people knew what he did that night at the farm and that they might come looking for me. That was you, right? There isn’t anyone else?”
“Not that I know of.”
“He wrote that letter because he thought you’d find me after you were done with rehab. He told you to stay away from me and my children, didn’t he? He made you promise?”
Jessica nods.
“But he was concerned you wouldn’t stay away, so he had to scare me. He needed to make sure I’d be too frightened to talk to you. That way I wouldn’t learn about your affair and Ava.” Diana clears her throat. “He took a big risk with that letter, and it backfired spectacularly.”
“I told Tom he should be honest with you, with everyone,” Jessica says. “He said—and I remember this because I thought he was wrong then and still think he’s wrong—‘The past stays in the past.’ We might want the past to stay there, but it never does, you know? The past is always with us.”
Neither woman says anything for several minutes. Jessica stands up and stretches her arms over her head, the firm skin of her stomach flashing above her jeans.
“Is that it?” Diana asked, rising up next to her and very much hoping that’s everything.
“Yes, that’s it.” Jessica steps so close that Diana sees the gold flecks in her brown eyes. “Who else areyougoing to tell? Or are you going to keep all of this a secret, too?”
“I ... I’ve been so worried about finding out the truth that I haven’t thought about what happens after,” Diana says carefully. “If I go to the police, you might get in trouble for not coming forward sooner or for lying to them about the fire.”
Jessica tosses her cigarette pack into the trash. “That’s your call. I just hope you can do right by me.”
They return to the front parking lot, standing together in the unrelenting sun. “Thank you for talking to me,” Diana says. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?” Driving off to the suburbs and leaving Jessica here alone seems wrong, an inadequate response to the courage it took for her to open up, even if what she said has broken apart Diana’s world.
“No, thanks.” Jessica stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets and walks off without saying goodbye. She crosses the street and moves deliberately up the hill. Diana watches her until she turns left and disappears.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Instead of returning home, where she’d be surrounded by the reminders of her marriage—the photos, Tom’s closet full of clothes, their bed—Diana finds herself at Alcott Pond.
When the kids were younger, she and Tom used to take walks here, pushing Phoebe in the stroller while Duncan waddled along, stopping every few feet to examine an iridescent bug or yelp at the chipmunks. As she circles the pond, Diana’s mind crowds with images, as if a camera captured Jessica’s story in a series of rapid-fire snapshots: summer’s nighttime constellations, a scuffed leather saddle, the burning barn against the night sky, ripples of water across the pond’s surface, Tom’s car speeding away from the farm.
On an empty bench next to a blooming lilac bush, the air filled with its sweet, floral scent, she sits down and unzips her boots. She removes her feet, wet with perspiration, a blister already forming on her left heel.
Finally, Diana has uncovered what Tom did. He killed Carson and never held himself accountable, nor did he tell the truth to the authorities. He started the fire that resulted in William’s death, Grace’s injuries, and the destruction of the O’Connors’ dream. His choice to abandon William and Grace that night, to wait for dawn without calling for help, and to ask his mother to lie for him were also part of his guilt.
He slept with Jessica and had a child with her. He stole to support his lover and fund her recovery.
Before all this, Diana would have said Tom was dedicated, focused, hardworking, honest. Now? A murderer. A liar. A cheat. She could add her mother’s “complicated” and her sister’s “cruel.” “Secretive,” too.
Diana might have expected to need time to decide what to do next, but her path appears clearly before her, as if it has been waiting for her all along. She will keep Tom’s truth to herself, telling no one, not Grace or her family, not Chris, not even Lakshmi, who so kindly helped her on her search. The burden of who Tom was will be hers alone. Or, at least, hers and Jessica’s.
But Duncan is different. Her son—their son—deserves some slice of this story, enough to satisfy his curiosity, yet not so much as to irrevocably harm him.
As for the police, at its best, a visit to the Hamilton police department would be perfunctory: an update to a long-ago closed case file. At its worst, the police could investigate Jessica. While she gave Diana the distinct impression any punishment meted out by the justice system would pale in comparison to what she’s put herself through all these years, Diana isn’t interested in exposing Jessica to law enforcement.
It’s then, when she thinks of Jessica’s efforts to make amends, Diana realizes Tom was looking for absolution at the end.
That last night he was conscious, Tom asked Diana to sit on the deck with him. It was one of those perfect summer nights: a slight breeze, crickets chirping in the distance, fireflies dancing through the twilight. A half-moon hovered on the horizon, waiting in the spreading darkness for its turn. Duncan and Phoebe were at Diana’s parents’ for a sleepover. They had carefully hugged their father before they left. No one knew it was the last goodbye, though now Diana understands Tom had already decided it was time to go.
Diana stretched out next to him on the chaise, her head resting lightly on his chest. “What do you remember about our wedding?”
“I remember the whole day. Every second.”
“Tom, come on.” Diana was compelled to hear his answer, the need thrumming inside her. She would be, far too soon, facing yearswithout him. Carrying his memories would help her to keep going, to ground herself in what was, so what could have been didn’t become all she thought about.
