Sins of Innocence (48 page)

“It was, honey. It was.” The memory of the orchid-draped coffin crept into her mind. The memory of Richard standing by her side …

“Well, I want you to know you don’t have to worry
about me, Mom. I’ll never do anything like that.
Ever
. It’s too gross.”

Jess kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “And it didn’t work, anyway, did it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Honey, people aren’t always what we’d like them to be. Not Daddy. Not me. Not anyone. Sometimes no matter what we do, we can’t make them change. We just have to try to accept them—and love them—for what they are. Faults and all.”

Maura laughed. “Maybe Daddy, sure. But not you, Mom. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Oh, honey, yes. There are things about me you might never understand. Just please do me one favor. Don’t ever judge me. Don’t ever judge anyone.”

Maura was silent, as though she was taking it all in, as though she was trying to put the pieces together, the pieces of maturity. Then a huge tear spilled down her cheek. “Mommy,” she whimpered, “I feel like I killed my baby.”

A lump rose in Jess’s throat like she’d never known. “Oh, honey …”

Maura sniffed back her tears. “If only I hadn’t been so stupid.…”

Jess put both arms around her daughter and slowly began rocking her, back and forth. “No, honey, no. Don’t do that. Don’t do that to yourself.”

“But if I hadn’t cut my wrist …”

“You don’t know that, Maura. You can never know that for sure. And guilt will get you nowhere, will solve nothing.”

“That’s what Dr. Marlowe says.”

“She’s right. Believe me, I know.”

Maura nestled her head between Jess’s shoulder and her breast.

“But you know the worst part, Mom? I keep wondering what my baby would have looked like.”

Jess felt the air rush from her lungs. She hugged Maura more tightly. “I know, honey. I know.”

Together, they cried. Soft, gentle, resigned tears of
things that could never be, maybe would never be. When the tears began to ease, Maura spoke again.

“Mom,” she asked, “did Daddy leave because of me?”

Jess sat up straight and turned her daughter’s tear-streaked face toward her own. “No,” she said without hesitation. “You’ve got to stop feeling guilty, Maura.”

“That’s what Dr. Marlowe keeps saying. But how long will it take?”

“I don’t know,” Jess answered honestly. “I guess that’s up to you, honey. But your father left because of me—not you. And don’t think otherwise.”

“He’s never really liked me.”

“Honey, your father loves you. Unfortunately it’s me he doesn’t like right now, and sometimes you remind him of me.”

“Have you talked to him at all since … since that night?”

“No. He needs some time, I guess.” It was too soon to tell Maura that Jess was certain Charles would never be coming home. It was too soon for Maura to hear that.

“I was thinking that tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking you and I could go into the city. Maybe meet Dad for lunch. Maybe we could talk about it.”

Jess could tell by the softness in Maura’s voice that she was about to cry again.

“I don’t think so, honey.”

“It’s not fair. He could at least talk to me.”

“He will when he’s ready,” Jess said, wondering if it was possible for that day ever to come. “Besides, I have to go to Philadelphia tomorrow” Jess startled herself with the words. Until that moment she hadn’t realized what her next move would be.

“Philadelphia? What for?”

Her thoughts raced. She almost said, “Fabric. I heard one of the mills is going out of business.” But then she thought about honesty; she thought about the need to annihilate the secrets and the lies from their lives. “It’s just
some personal business, honey,” she said aloud. “Trust me, okay?”

“
Personal
business? Geez, Mom, why can’t I come?”

Jess forced a smile. “I’m taking the early train. I was kind of hoping you’d stick around here and see that Travis gets to see Dr. Marlowe.”

“Mom, Travis doesn’t need to see the shrink. He’s gotten over finding me all bloody and stuff.”

“I think we’d better leave that for the doctor to decide.”

“Then I can’t go with you?”

“Not this time. I told you. It’s personal. I’ll explain it all to you once it’s taken care of.”

Maura looked crushed. “Is it anything bad?”

“No, honey. It’s not bad at all.”

“Oh, okay, then,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Oh, sure, I know.
Trust me
. Give me a break, Mom.” But the smile on her face told Jess that Maura would understand, that Maura would be okay.

Maura got up and started toward the door. “I’ll make sure Travis gets to Dr. Marlowe, Mom. Don’t worry.”

Jess watched her daughter go, feeling pride, filled with peace. Yes, Maura was going to be okay.

She looked back at the folded paper in her hand, then called the train station for the Saturday schedule to Philadelphia.

They were row houses, clinging together from block to block, looking proud, almost stately, with their crisp brick fronts and patches of trimmed lawns.

“Seven-twenty-three,” Jess said to the cabdriver. “Here it is. Pull over.”

“Want me to wait, lady?”

“Please,” Jess said. She took a deep breath and got out of the cab.

Jess crossed the narrow concrete sidewalk and went toward the house. She had no idea what she was going to say, no idea what she was going to do. She climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. A small brass plaque under
the bell read
DENUCCI
. She noticed a tricycle by the front door, a well-worn Cabbage Patch doll lying beside it.

The door opened. A woman who looked to be in her twenties stood in front of Jess, a baby hiked on one hip. She had the harried look of the mother of young children.

“Yes?”

“Hello,” Jess said. “My name is Jessica Randall. I’m trying to locate a family who lived her several years ago.”

The woman shifted on one foot, looking a little impatient.

“Who?”

“Radnor.”

The woman thought for a moment.

“Never heard of them.”

“Are you sure? It’s very important.”

She shook her head.

“We bought the house from a lady named Flint.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Three years.” She shifted the baby to her other hip.

“Would you happen to know how long Mrs. Flint lived here?”

“Sorry.” A child squealed somewhere within the house. “Look, I’ve got to go.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you. Thank you for your time.”

The woman closed the door. Jess stood staring at the etched-glass window. Susan, she knew, hadn’t been too responsive to the idea of the reunion, but Jess had felt, in time, she would change her mind. Jess turned and slowly walked down the steps. Now she couldn’t even find Susan’s son, let alone try to convince him to go. As she walked toward the cab, she felt a slow depression creep over her.

“Excuse me, miss.”

Jess automatically turned in the direction of the voice. An elderly man stood at the house next door, sweeping his walk.

“Me?” she asked.

“You looking for the Radnors?”

“Yes. Yes. Do you know them?”

“Sure thing. Me and the missus have lived here nearly forty years. Radnors used to live there, all right.” He pointed to 723. “Moved above fifteen, twenty years ago, I expect.”

Jess walked briskly toward him, trying to control her excitement.

“Do you know where they went?”

“Let’s see. It was a long time ago.”

“Please, sir. Try to remember. It’s important.”

He took a few more strokes with the broom, studying the pavement.

“My memory ain’t quite what it used to be. I recollect it was New Jersey though.”

“New Jersey? Would you have any idea where?” Her mind was spinning. She knew there were such things as city directories. But where in New Jersey could she start? Time was running out. The reunion was only three weeks away.

The man shook his head. “Was a funny name, as I remember.” He swept a few more feet, then shook his head again. “Sorry, just don’t know.”

“That’s okay, thank you.” She tried not to sound disappointed. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Nice folks, the Radnors. Good neighbors.”

Jess fumbled in her purse for a piece of paper and a pen. She quickly wrote down her name and phone number.

“Please, sir. This is my name and where I can be reached. If you happen to think of anything else, please call me. Collect.”

He took the paper and looked at it. “Will do. Maybe the missus will know. She ain’t here now. Gone shopping.” He rolled his eyes to indicate displeasure at his wife’s whereabouts. “Yep, it was a funny name for a town, as I recollect,” he repeated. He bent his head down and continued sweeping.

“Thank you for your time,” Jess said, and started back toward the cab. She hadn’t accomplished what she’d wanted, but at least she’d made some progress. And there
were still three weeks left to go. Three weeks. She opened the cab door. Three weeks until she might meet her daughter.

“Wait. Miss?”

It was the old man’s voice. Jess snapped around.

“Ho-Ho-Kum. Something like that. No. Ho-Ho-Kus. That’s it. Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey.” He chuckled and took a long stroke with the broom. “Durn funny name for a town, I’d say.” He nodded again. “Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey.” He chuckled, and went back to his sweeping.

Jess smiled. “Thank you,” she called back. “Ho-Ho-Kus. I’ve got it. Thank you so much.”

As she got into the cab and closed the door behind her, a smile spread widely across her face. She instructed the cabbie to drive her back to the station, where she placed a call to Information, then boarded a commuter train bound for New Jersey.

Ho-Ho-Kus was a small rural town. It didn’t take long to find the Samuel Radnor family.

One down. Three to go. It had been all Jess could do yesterday not to tell her kids what she was doing. She had seen Susan’s son. God, she had actually met him. She wanted to share her excitement but knew it was too soon. All day Sunday the kids had been underfoot. Had they been clinging a little bit to her since Charles had been gone? Maybe, Jess thought, maybe. Or maybe they were hanging around, hoping he would call. He didn’t. Chuck and Travis hadn’t openly questioned Jess about their father, but late in the afternoon she had walked into their room while they were whispering. As soon as they saw her, they’d stopped. Jess had remained calm, acting as though the fact that Charles was out of touch was nothing out of the ordinary.

Now it was Monday morning, and the kids were safely off to school. She sat in the study, looking over Miss
Taylor’s letter. P.J.’s son was next.
Phillip Archambault. Parents: Donald and Jeanine. 27 Cross Fern Road, Fairfield
. Jess thought for a moment about the best way to do this. Susan’s son had eventually been easy to locate.

In fact, when the cab pulled up to the Radnors’ modest ranch home, David had been in the driveway, washing his Honda Civic. It had startled to Jess to see the tall, dark, nearly twenty-five-year-old, and a sad reminder that their babies were no longer babies, their children no longer children. The words she had hoped would come easily had not.

She focused on the next address now, not wishing to get sidetracked by dwelling on her meeting with Susan’s son.
What will be, will be
, she said to herself, and turned again to Phillip Archambault’s name.

There was a listing in the Fairfield phone book under Donald Archambault, and the address matched the one on Miss Taylor’s letter. It appeared that at least his parents still lived in the same house where they had brought P.J.’s baby. But it was Monday morning, and Jess knew that even if Phillip, too, still lived with them, he would probably not be home. She needed to think of a plausible way to uncover his whereabouts from his parents; chances were she’d not be as lucky as she had been in finding David.

She looked across the study, and her eyes instantly fell on the bookcase and on Chuck’s senior class picture, taken only last month.
Picture
, she thought.
Yearbook
. Phillip was from Fairfield, so there was a good chance Jess would be able to find his picture in a Fairfield yearbook, maybe even gain some background information that would help her come up with the best way to approach his parents. And Fairfield was only a few minutes from Greenwich.

Armed with Miss Taylor’s letter and a notebook, Jess set out for Fairfield.

She drove north on Route 1 and, once across the city line, stopped at the first real estate office she found. Inside, a perky brunette greeted her. Jess was reminded that ten years ago, when she and Charles had been looking for the house in Greenwich, real estate people had been aloof and
unaggressive. Today, however, when a woman pulled into a parking lot in a Jaguar, champagne and a brass band wouldn’t have been surprising.

“Hi. I’m Melinda,” the brunette chirped. “How may I help you?”

Jess imagined she saw dollar signs ringing behind the girl’s eyes.

“Actually I’m trying to locate the high school. Can you give me directions?”

The brunette’s smile, and along with it the sight of her oversized capped teeth, vanished.

“Oh. Well, sure. Which one?”

Jess paused. “There’s more than one high school?”

“Sure,” she said. “Fairfield has two. Plus the Catholic school.”

“Oh.” Once again Jess hadn’t been prepared for another wrinkle. How the hell did private detectives manage to find out about people? she wondered.

“How about the biggest?” Jess asked.

The young woman pulled a street map from under the counter. She spread it out and pointed to an area.

“Follow Route One. Take a left at the fork. Keep going. It’s on the left.”

Jess studied the small blue lines.

“Would you mind if I take the map with me?”

Melinda shrugged.

“Take it,” she said, and quickly folded it up.

“Thank you,” Jess said, and took the map. The young woman looked at her blankly. “Have a nice day.” Jess smiled and walked out the door. Melinda didn’t respond.