flared. “I guess I just don’t think it’s right We know you didn’t really do anything to Sarah, and we know you weren’t responsible for what happened. Not really. You were drunk …” She trailed off.
“But I am responsible,” Jack said quietly. “I wasn’t that drunk, and I guess I did beat her. So I do deserve some punishment.” His voice grew quieter. “But it gets hard sometimes,” he said softly. “You have no idea.”
“Oh, I might have some idea,” Sylvia said gently. She came to stand behind him, her hand resting gently on his shoulders. As she continued to talk, her fingers began massaging the tight muscles of his neck, and he relaxed under her touch. “I’m not inhuman, you know. I hurt. I carry some pain and guilt with me, too. And I do the same thing you do. Try to hold it in, and try to deal with it. Sometimes I wish I could do what you do and get drunk a few times.” She smiled wanly. “But I don’t. I’m not allowed.”
“What stops you?” Jack said quietly.
“Me, I suppose. Me, and my puritan background, and my high ideals, and all the other stuff that got bred into me and keeps me from liking myself.”
Jack reached up, and his hand closed over hers. He felt her stiffen, but she did not pull her hand away. Slowly he drew her around until she stood in front of him and he was looking up into her eyes. They were blue, a deep blue, and Jack had the feeling he had never seen them before. He stood up.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and put his arms around her.
“Sorry?” she said. “For what?” She tried to keep her eyes on his, but she couldn’t. After a moment she broke their gaze and leaned her forehead against his chest.
“I’m not sure,” Jack said above her head. “For everything, I guess. For all the trouble you’ve had, and for all the things I haven’t been able to give you.” He tilted her head up and kissed her.
It was a soft kiss, a tender kiss, and it surprised Jack. He had not planned to kiss her, nor had he realized he wanted to. But as he kissed her it became very clear that he did want to kiss her and did not want to stop with a kiss. He felt a heat flood through him that he had not felt in a long time. And then he felt Sylvia pull away, and he was ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and this time he was sure she knew what he meant. And then he had the distinct feeling that she was no longer in a serious mood, that, indeed, she was laughing at him. He looked at her, and there was a mischievous delight playing in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to be able to do that,” she said suppressing a giggle. Jack felt his face flush as he realized what she was saying.
“I haven’t, for the last year,” he said nervously. “I certainly didn’t expect—” He began floundering. “What I mean is, I hadn’t intended—”
“Don’t apologize.” Sylvia laughed. “Be happy. At least you know the problem isn’t all yours. Apparently it’s your wife you don’t turn on to, not everybody.”
Jack stared at her, and he felt a weight lifting off his whole being. Maybe, he thought, things aren’t so bad after all.
“Now what do we do?” he said.
She shrugged and walked from the room. “Nothing,” she tossed back over her shoulder. “Not for a while, anyway.” He heard her close the front door of the office behind her, and realized she was right. He would need time to think. So, he hoped, would she.
16
Port Arbello sat up late that night.
At ten o’clock, when she was usually in bed, Marilyn Burton found herself getting into her car and driving out the Conger’s Point Road to spend however long it took with Norma Norton. The two women sat drinking coffee and talking quietly about anything except their children, each of them mentioning several times that the coffee would surely keep them awake all night. They carefully avoided mentioning that they expected to be awake all night anyway. Instead, they simply went ahead and drank the coffee.
Shortly after eleven, Martin Forager appeared at the police station, his breath reeking of whiskey and his manner truculent.
“Well,” he demanded. “Now what have you got to say for yourself?”