Tess shrugged. Ha ha. She looked at the bike again and said, “When I was seventeen, my mother said she would pay me five hundred dollars if I signed a contract promising to never go on the back of a boy’s motorbike.”
“Did you sign it?”
“I did.”
“Never breached the contract?”
“Nope.”
“I’m forty-five,” said Connor. “Not exactly a boy.”
Their eyes met. Was this conversation becoming . . . flirtatious? She remembered waking up next to him, in a plain white room with a window that looked out on a busy highway. Didn’t he have a water bed? Hadn’t she and Felicity laughed themselves silly over that? He wore a St. Christopher medallion that dangled over her face when they made love. All at once she felt nauseated. Miserable. This was a mistake.
Connor seemed to recognize the change in her mood.
“Anyway, Tess, I’ll give you a call sometime about that coffee.” He put his helmet back on, revved his bike, lifted a black-gloved hand and roared off.
Tess watched him go, and it occurred to her with a jolt that she’d had her first-ever orgasm on that ridiculous water bed. Actually, now that she thought about it, there had been a few other firsts in that bed too. Slosh, slosh went the bed. Sex, especially for a good Catholic girl like Tess, had been so raw and dirty and new back then.
As she walked into the brightly lit service station to pay for the petrol, she glanced up and caught sight of herself in a security mirror. Her face, she noticed, was very pink.
NINETEEN
You’ve read it, then,” said John-Paul.
Cecilia looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. A middle-aged man who had once been very handsome and still was, to her at least. John-Paul had had one of those honest, trustworthy faces. You’d buy a used car from John-Paul. That famous Fitzpatrick jaw. All the Fitzpatrick boys had good strong jaws. He had a good head of hair, gray and thick. He was still vain about his hair. He liked to blow it dry. His brothers gave him hell about that. He stood at the door of the study, wearing his blue-and-white-striped boxer shorts and a red T-shirt. He face was pale and sweaty, as if he had food poisoning.
She hadn’t heard him come down from the attic, or walk down the hallway. She didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, while she sat, staring unseeingly at her hands, which she saw now were clasped angelically in her lap, like a little girl in church.
“I’ve read it,” she said.
She pulled the sheet of paper over to her and read it again, slowly, as if this time, now that John-Paul was standing right in front of her, it would surely say something different.
It was written in blue ballpoint pen on a lined piece of paper. It felt ridged, like braille. He must have pressed hard with his pen, as if he had been trying to engrave each word into the paper. There were no paragraphs or spaces. The words were crammed together without a break.
My darling Cecilia,
If you’re reading this, then I’ve died, which sounds so melodramatic to write down, but I guess everyone dies. You’re in the hospital right now, with our baby girl, Isabel. She was born early this morning. She’s so beautiful and tiny and helpless. I’ve never felt anything like what I felt when I held her for the first time. I’m already terrified that something will ever happen to her. And that’s why I have to write this down. Just in case something does happen to me, at least I have done this. At least I have tried to make it right. I’ve had a few beers. I might not be making sense. I probably will tear this letter up. Cecilia, I have to tell you that when I was seventeen, I killed Janie Crowley. If her parents are still alive, will you please tell them that I’m sorry and that it was an accident. It wasn’t planned. I lost my temper. I was seventeen and so fucking stupid. I can’t believe it was me. It feels like a nightmare. It feels like I must have been on drugs, or drunk, but I wasn’t. I was perfectly sober. I just snapped. I had a brain snap, like those idiot rugby players say. It sounds like I’m trying to justify it, but I’m not trying to make excuses. I did this terrible, unimaginable thing and I can’t explain it. I know what you’re thinking, Cecilia, because everything is black-and-white for you. You’re thinking, why didn’t he confess? But you know why I couldn’t go to jail, Cecilia. You know I couldn’t be locked up. I know I’m a coward. That’s why I tried to kill myself when I was eighteen, but I didn’t have the balls to go through with it. Please tell Ed and Rachel Crowley that I never went a day without thinking of their daughter. Tell them it happened so fast. Janie was laughing just seconds before. She was happy right up until the end. Maybe that just sounds awful. It does sound awful. Don’t tell them that. It was an accident, Cecilia. Janie told me she was in love with some other kid and then she laughed at me. That’s all she did. I lost my mind. Please tell the Crowleys that I’m so sorry, I couldn’t be sorrier. Please tell Ed Crowley that now that I’m a dad I understand exactly what I’ve done. The guilt has been like a tumor eating away at me, and now it’s worse than ever. I’m so sorry to leave you with this, Cecilia, but I know you’re strong enough to handle it. I love you and our baby so much, and you’ve given me more happiness than I ever deserved. I deserved nothing and I got everything. I’m so sorry.