"Yes."

He laughed. "I was kidding."

"I wasn't. He did that once. Why does it surprise you?"

"Because it doesn't mesh with the Jeremy who cheated on you by shagging his friend's wife." Before she could comment on that, he asked, "What about the congressman? What did he think of his new son-in-law?"

"Above all else, Daddy wanted my happiness."

"That's not what I asked."

Since she had his promise none of this would see publication, she decided to be brutally honest. "At first Daddy was concerned about the very differences in our backgrounds that you've cited. Jeremy wasn't like the men I'd dated before."

"I'm guessing preppie types."

"For the most part. Doctors, lawyers, men destined to take over a long-standing family business."

"I get the picture. Jeremy was a little rougher hewn."

"But earnest. Appropriately respectful. Daddy came to like him very much, and they got along well."

Dawson picked up his glass and, swirling the wine in it, asked, "What were Jeremy's parents like?"

"They were deceased when we met."

"Brothers, sisters?"

"He didn't have any family. It's a rather tragic history, actually. He rarely talked about it. Both his parents died in a house fire just weeks after his high school graduation."

"Jesus."

"Yes, it was very sad. Their home and everything in it was destroyed. His whole life history to that point was consumed. He didn't have any photographs or memorabilia of his babyhood or youth."

"Huh." He took a moment to assimilate that. "Was your marriage happy?"

"At first."

"No serious quarrels? Infidelity?"

"No. At least I was faithful. I believe he was until Darlene Strong."

"When was he deployed to Afghanistan?"

"Summer of 2007."

"Wasn't he a little old to be going?"

"He was highly specialized. He was needed."

"How'd he feel about going?"

"He couldn't wait. Even having experienced Iraq, he wanted to go. I admit that I didn't take it so well. I feared for his safety, and I hated that he'd miss so much of Hunter's infancy. He was only a few months old when Jeremy shipped out."

"That was shit luck."

She smiled wanly. "I think I said that myself a few times. But I tried to keep my correspondence with Jeremy upbeat. I didn't want to make him feel guilty over having to leave us. He didn't like the timing particularly, but he was excited to be going. More than that, he was willing to make the sacrifice because he considered serving a sacred duty."

"To his country."

"Yes."

"He loved America? He was a patriot?"

"Of course."

"He never questioned the war, or America's motives behind it, never said anything negative about the government?"

"He was a Marine. And, anyway, why would you even ask that?"

"I'm not implying anything. It's just that those are popular topics of debate these days." He looked into his wineglass, but didn't take a drink. As a lead-in for her, he said, "When he came home..."

She took a deep breath. "I immediately noticed changes in him. He seemed glad to be back, but he didn't laugh as much. I'd catch him staring into space, and when he realized I had noticed, he would force a joke. The baby's crying annoyed him, especially when we..." She cut her eyes up to him, then away. "When he wanted my undivided attention."

The sexual implication hovered there between them. Self-consciously she waited for another question. None came. For a long moment they only stared at each other. Then she remembered what he'd said about how revealing silences were.

"I feel terrible about saying this now." She spoke softly as though to underscore her reluctance. "But it was almost a relief when he left for his second tour. He took the tension in the house with him. Hunter became a happier, more contented baby. Which was good, since I discovered a few weeks after Jeremy left that I was pregnant again."

He shifted his stance against the porch railing and turned his head to one side, giving her his profile. She noted that he was chewing the inside of his cheek, but whether in consternation or simply deep thought, she didn't know.

Finally he looked back at her. "Did he ever tell you about conditions over there?"

"Only in the most basic of terms. 'It's hot.' 'It's turned cold.' 'Today I had my first shower in a month.' Like that."

"Nothing specific?"

She shook her head. "He commanded snipers. That's all I know. Most of the time, he couldn't even tell me where he was. He probably wouldn't have told me even if it hadn't been classified. He didn't want me to worry."

"You had a baby and another on the way."

"And with Grant I suffered terrible morning sickness."

He grinned, revealing that crooked tooth. "Yeah?"

"With Hunter, not a day of it. With Grant, I threw up several times a day for six months."

"Told you he'd cause mischief."

She laughed. "Very perceptive."

Gradually, their smiles receded and he brought them back to their conversation about Jeremy, which she was finding therapeutic. When had she actually talked to someone about this? Not to her father, whom she hadn't wanted to burden with her unhappiness. Not to a friend. Not to anyone.

Perhaps it was easier to unload on a stranger whom one would never see again. Or maybe it was easy to talk to Dawson because he could relate to Jeremy's condition. That was a reasonable assumption, but it was also a disturbing one. It bothered her to think that he could be as unstable as Jeremy had become.

She said, "I wish Jeremy had talked to me about what he was going through. If he had, things might have turned out differently."

"You mean when he returned from the second tour?"

"Things went quickly from bad to worse. At first I thought he missed the corps, the camaraderie, that he was having trouble adjusting to civilian life. He claimed to like his new job, but he didn't make friends with any coworkers. He became more withdrawn and antisocial.

"Tension at home mounted. There were two babies now. Jeremy was intolerant of Grant's crying, Hunter's chatter. He would pick fights with me over the slightest things." She hesitated before adding, "He drank excessively. Sometimes to the point of passing out."

Dawson gave her a wry look. "I've never passed out."

"You shouldn't let it get to that point."

"I have no intention to."

After a moment, she continued. "Jeremy would leave without telling me where he was going or how long he'd be gone, and he'd become enraged if I asked. He had trouble sleeping, and when he did, he had nightmares. He refused to talk about them.

"I begged him to get professional counseling. The suggestion always sparked an argument. His refusal to get help created more conflict. He got progressively short-tempered with me and the children. Hunter grew to be afraid of him, especially when Jeremy..."

He waited for a count of ten before he prodded her. "When Jeremy what?"

She looked down into her unfinished wine. "Became aggressive."

"You mean violent."

She raised her head and looked at him. "Please, Dawson," she said, using his name for the first time. "I wouldn't want anybody to know this. For my sons' sake."

He searched her eyes. "The motherfucker hit you. Didn't he?"

She lowered her gaze again. "Things had escalated to a crisis point. One night, he came home in the wee hours. When he got into bed, he smelled like perfume and sex. I told him to get away from me. He refused, so I left the bed. He came after me, grabbed me by the arm, and backhanded me across the face."

The handsome, dashing, romantic Marine who'd won her heart had morphed into a man she didn't know and couldn't relate to, even remotely. He was a mean stranger, whose temperament she mistrusted. All the new and terrible traits he'd acquired had manifested themselves that night. To this day, she could see the rage in his eyes, feel the hateful blow to her face, and taste her fear of him.

"Did you call the police?"

She shook her head. "I waited until he'd passed out, then got the boys up, left the house, and drove to Daddy's. When he saw my face, he became livid. I was afraid he'd do something rash, and it was all I could do to keep him from going after Jeremy and extracting his pound of flesh.

"Short of that, he wanted me to file a police report. But I just wanted to be away from Jeremy and out of the marriage as soon as possible. I moved into the Jones Street townhouse and filed for divorce that week.

"Jeremy contested it, but when he realized the futility of that, he fought me over child custody. He dragged his feet, intentionally created delays. I persisted. You heard in court how it all played out." She finished the last of her wine, then looked across at him. "Long answer to your question about my life with him."

He returned to the rocking chair, spread his knees wide, propped his forearms on his thighs, and clasped his hands between them. He turned his head toward her. "It's an ugly story, Amelia."

"Which you promised not to write."

"I did, and I won't." Then he looked past the railing toward the dunes and the beach beyond. The only sounds were the squeak of the rocking chairs and the whish of the surf. When he looked at her again, she knew what his next question was going to be before he asked it.

"Who took the photographs from under the doormat?"

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Last night, I watched the four of you pile into your car. You stopped and picked up Bernie at his house. As soon as you were out of sight, I carried the photos over here and placed them there." He pointed to the jute doormat. "Then I got in my car and drove to the village. When I got to Mickey's, I couldn't have been more than five minutes behind you."

"You saw us leave Mickey's parking lot. I dropped Bernie at his back door. As we were getting out of the car, I asked Stef to take the boys upstairs and start the bedtime ritual. I came straight out here and looked beneath the mat."

"Somebody took them while we were all in the village."

"But who?" She wet her lips. "Maybe someone on the beach saw you leaving something and-"

He was shaking his head even before she finished. "The beach was deserted. I checked."

"But someone must have seen you."

"Exactly. Someone saw me because someone is watching."

"Other than you."

"Other than me. Tell me about the beach ball."

She remembered his bewilderment when she'd mentioned it earlier. "It was nothing."

"Then why not tell me?"

She did.

"It miraculously reappeared after being thrown away," he said. "Patched and inflated."

She shifted uneasily in her seat. "I'm sure there's an explanation."

"There is. Someone is making it his business to know everything that's going on in your life."

"I don't believe that."

"I think you do. Yesterday, when you were flaying me alive, you told me that you'd been feeling afraid, that you'd sensed-"

"Yesterday, I was upset and angry, talking out of my head, trying to make you feel bad for spying on me."

"You were just spouting nonsense?"

"Yes!"

"Amelia."

She shot from her chair and escaped to the railing as he had earlier. He followed, coming to stand close to her, close enough for her to feel his body heat.

"You're afraid he's still alive, aren't you?"