A Sip of You(20)

I thought back to the portfolio I had found on Jenny Hill at William’s penthouse. Certain measures meant having his dates pre-screened and investigated. It made more sense now, though the screening still went further than I was comfortable with. I wished he’d have told me this before. I wish he could have trusted me. It would have made our relationship so much easier.

“I planned to go to Northwestern, where several generations of my family went before me, but I couldn’t start college until I knew more about the accident. I had to investigate it myself. I was so young when it happened and so much was kept from me. That was as it should have been at the time, but I wasn’t a kid any longer. I wanted to know, for myself. I wanted to find the wreckage…or them. I wanted closure, I guess.”

I nodded. I understood that. I remember needing the closure of saying goodbye to Jace at the funeral. Seeing his body, devoid of any life, made his death real to me, but William never had that. There would always be a small kernel of hope and disbelief in his mind.

“Initially, my Uncle Charles was against another investigation, but eventually he consented.” William’s eyes, stormy grey now rather than steely, met mine. “As you know, Catherine, when I want something, I won’t give up until I get my way.” He gave me a knowing smile that caused heat to rush between my legs. I shifted, and his brow arched as though he knew.

“So you went to Alaska,” I said, trying to keep my focus on the conversation, rather than all the sinfully wicked things I was aching for William to do to me.

“I spent over a year there when I was eighteen, right after I graduated from high school. I reopened the investigation and went over everything—the model of the plane, the pilots, everyone who saw or touched the plane that day. I wanted to be certain sabotage hadn’t been overlooked. Everything, down to the smallest, most minute detail, was scrutinized. I hired experts to analyze the weather and flight patterns. We re-traced the search efforts and I learned everything I could, down to the types and sizes of the nuts and bolts, about the plane my family had been on.

“For nothing.” His shoulders slumped. All of these years later, he was still disheartened. “It didn’t change a God-damned thing. It’s still unbelievable to me in this day and age, when the world seems so much smaller and instantly navigable, that an entire plane full of people could just disappear without a trace and never be found.” He sat back and ran his hand through his hair. He stared at the sky and said, almost to himself, “But Alaska is a very big place and, believe it or not, planes disappear there all the time.” His words sounded rehearsed, as though he’d heard them uttered a thousand times. Perhaps he had. I’d read similar statements when I’d scanned the articles on the Internet about the crash.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what happened,” he added.

I leaned forward. “Pretty sure?”

He lowered his gaze to focus on me, as though he’d forgotten, for a moment, I was there. “I believe in logic and reason. But as much as logic and reason say that weather or equipment failure or some combination thereof caused the plane to go down—as much as logic and reason tell me no one survived the crash—there’s a minuscule possibility something else happened.” He ran a hand over his face, looking sad and weary. “I know it’s not probable. But it’s...something, you know?” His gaze met mine. “I don’t hope they’re still alive, but I hope someday I’ll know exactly what happened. No matter what, a part of me can’t stop wanting that.”

I reached out and took his hand again, stroking it because there really wasn’t any other comfort I could give. I understood what he wasn’t saying. What William really wanted was absolution—to know there was nothing he could have done to change the course of events. To know he was not responsible.

It made no rational sense. Of course an eleven-year-old boy, thousands of miles away at summer camp, couldn’t have been responsible for a plane crash in Alaska, but I knew all too well that rational sense had nothing to do with it. There was nothing rational about a broken heart. I knew because my own heart had been broken once too.

I rose from the table, walked to William, and sat in his lap. I put my arms around him, this big strong man who harbored a lost little boy somewhere inside. I kissed him tenderly, held him, and whispered, “I understand. I understand all about hope.” I held him for a long moment, feeling some of the tension leave his muscles, feeling his body melt into mine. “So this latest Wyatt is just another scam, right? And George is on it.” I hoped I sounded confident, as William clearly needed my reassurance that he had everything under control. After all, this was why we were in Napa. This was why I’d dropped everything to be here with him.