put her to bed. She tucked the child in carefully, then sat with her till she was sure Sarah was asleep. Finally she left Sarah’s room, leaving the light on, and went downstairs. She knew she would not sleep if she went back to bed; knew she would not sleep until her husband came home. She wished he were home now, or at least had told her where he was going. She sat in the study and waited. Above her the little girl who looked so much like Elizabeth smiled down at her. The picture comforted Rose, and made her waiting easier.
Jack drove fast through the storm, the pounding of his heart echoed by the beating of the windshield wipers as they fought vainly to keep the glass clear in front of his eyes. He didn’t need to see, really; he was so familiar with the Point Road that he felt he could have driven it blindfolded, navigating by the bumps and chuckholes.
He drove automatically, his mind racing, his thoughts chaotic. Then he saw the lights of Port Arbello glowing dimly ahead in the rain, and he knew where he was going.
He pulled the car into Sylvia Bannister’s driveway, and left it there for anybody who wished to see. The house was dark, but he didn’t consider going elsewhere. Instead, he walked up to the front door and knocked loudly. When there was no response, he knocked again, louder. Finally he saw a light flash on and heard feet coming toward the door.
“Who is it?” Sylvia’s sleepy voice called.
“It’s me. Jack.”
He listened as she unfastened the chain and threw the bolt. Then the door opened, and she squinted out at him.
“Excuse me,” she said, and flipped the switch for the porch light. “I didn’t mean to leave you in the dark.”
“It’s all right,” Jack said, grinning crookedly. Seeing her made him feel better. “I seem to be in the dark a lot these days anyway.”
She pulled the door open and let him step inside before she closed it again, and fixed the chain and dead-bolt. “I suppose it’s silly,” she said. “But they make me feel safer.” Then she looked at him closely, and concern came into her face. “Are you all right?” she said. “Let me get you a drink. You look like you need one.”
“I do,” Jack said. “I suppose I shouldn’t but I could really use one.”
“She’s got you convinced, hasn’t she?” Sylvia said as she led him to the kitchen.
“Convinced?”
“That you’re an alcoholic,” Sylvia said, pouring them each a drink.
“I suppose I am.” Jack accepted the glass she handed him.
“No,” Sylvia said definitely. “You’re not. Martin Forager is an alcoholic. You’re not. At least not yet. But I suppose if you wanted to you could become one. Do you?”
“I’m not sure sometimes. But yes, sometimes I do want to become one. Sometimes I’d like to stay drunk all the time. I would, except I suffer from terrible hangovers. They don’t show, but God, do they hurt.”
“Well, I suppose as long as you’re suffering you’re safe. At least, that’s what my mother taught me. Do you want to sit here, or shall I build a fire?”
“This’ll be fine,” Jack said, settling into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “It makes it different from home. Mrs. Goodrich does not tolerate any Conger sitting in the kitchen. I think she thinks it’s beneath our dignity. Not that we have any dignity left, after tonight.” He told Sylvia what had happened at home.
“It must have been awful,” she said when he had finished.
He swirled his drink and smiled wryly. “Well, it wasn’t pleasant. So I took off, and here I am.”
“I meant the remembering. It must have been terrible.”
Jack nodded. “It was. In a way, I wish I hadn’t remembered. Not knowing what I’d done was bad enough. I think knowing what I was trying to do is even worse.”
“Nonsense,” Sylvia said. “You seem to be forgetting something. You didn’t rape her, and you didn’t kill her.”
“But I wanted to,” Jack said miserably.
“Wanting to do something and doing it are two entirely different things. If I had to feel badly about all the things I’ve wanted to do, I’d be a mess. And this town wouldn’t be in very good shape, either. I can think of at least three people right off the bat that I’ve wanted to kill. I mean really kill. Complete with fantasies of doing it, and getting away with it. So stop feeling bad.”