But if Marlinchen saw that she'd stung me, she didn't ease up. "That's why you can't accept that we're happy now," she went on. "You'd rather my brother be dead, my mother a suicide, and my father in prison."

"That's not true," I said.

"Go away," she snapped. "I'm tired of your morbid mind and your sick theories."

There was nothing left for me to do here. She wasn't going to cool off. I headed down the steps.

"Don't come back." Marlinchen threw the words after me. "I'll call the cops if you come around here again."

I wanted to say, I can come back with a warrant, I can come back with a warrant, but the truth was, I probably couldn't. I didn't have enough hard evidence. Besides, sometimes you have to relinquish the last word. I understood the root of Marlinchen's anger. It was fear. If she hadn't heard a glimmer of truth in my words, they wouldn't have poured acid onto a vulnerable spot in her mind. Stiff-limbed, I climbed into my car and headed down the drive. but the truth was, I probably couldn't. I didn't have enough hard evidence. Besides, sometimes you have to relinquish the last word. I understood the root of Marlinchen's anger. It was fear. If she hadn't heard a glimmer of truth in my words, they wouldn't have poured acid onto a vulnerable spot in her mind. Stiff-limbed, I climbed into my car and headed down the drive.

The top of the little rise at the end of the Hennessy driveway afforded me a good view of the field where the boys were playing, and I paused there before pulling out onto the road. I looked back.

Aidan, as I couldn't stop thinking of him, stood conferring with Liam, holding the football in his hands. Exertion had raised a fine sweat on his bare chest and his face. The boys got into position, and Liam threw the ball to Aidan. Aidan caught it easily and started to run. His blond ponytail swung crazily in the afternoon sunlight as he ran. Colm, determined, raced to intercept him, but Aidan dodged easily and poured on the speed, outpacing his brother, heading for the unmarked end zone.

The high window was empty; Hugh was not watching, and for a moment I wished he were. Maybe for the first time he'd recognize something he'd failed to see for so long.

Hugh believed strongly in family. In his writing and his life, he'd pursued the ideals of the close-knit, loyal, and loving clan. He'd never been able to see it, but Jacob Candeleur, without a drop of Hennessy blood in him, represented the best of those ideals. From a young age, he'd had a strong instinct to protect those he loved. He'd pulled Marlinchen from the freezing waters of the lake, when she'd fallen through the ice. He'd fought with the bullies who'd picked on Liam. He'd come home from his new life in California to be with his sister and brothers.

With Colm on his heels, Jacob gained the ground of the predetermined, invisible end zone and spiked the ball. Colm, giving up gracefully, extended his hand and gave Jacob a low five, scooped up the ball, and went to regroup with Donal.

Jacob didn't follow. He stood a moment, breathing hard. Then he dropped to his knees, and from there he lay down on the gra.s.s.

There was something evocative about that action, something that stirred a recent memory.

"Oh, G.o.d," I said.

I put the Nova into reverse and backed down the driveway at 40 miles per hour, skidding to a stop ten feet from the deck. Marlinchen stared at me from her place at the grill.

"Call 911," I yelled to her as I jumped out of the car.

I expected some kind of resistance from her, but she looked down at the gra.s.s, where Jacob was still not moving, and her brothers were standing around him, and believed me.

"What should I say?" Marlinchen called.

"Cardiac arrest," I yelled back, plunging down the slope.

Maybe it had never occurred to Brigitte that the heart defect that killed her lover Paul, the father of her child, was hereditary. Or maybe she'd never found a way to warn the son who wasn't supposed to know he was her son. Maybe she'd meant to, someday, but her own death had caught her unawares.

Liam, kneeling at his cousin's side, said, "I don't think he's breathing." He sounded puzzled, like he wanted to be contradicted, wanted someone to tell him that healthy 18-year-olds didn't just stop breathing.

"Move," I ordered, dropped to my knees, and rolled Jacob onto his back. I shifted the tigereye leather necklace off the hollow of his throat and laid my fingertips there. The great arteries did not pulse under my touch. I tipped Jacob's head back, checked the airway. Clear. I closed off his nostrils, breathed for him. Pumped his chest hard enough to contuse the flesh. Breathed again.

When the paramedics came, they asked who was going to go with Aidan, as the kids identified him, to the hospital. I opened my mouth to volunteer Marlinchen, but she shook her head. "You go, Sarah," she said frantically. "Please, please, you go with him."

The furious defender of the Hennessy family, who'd chased me off her property, was gone. Marlinchen was a scared teenage girl again, and to her, I was Authority. She still believed I could help her brother when she couldn't. Numbly, I climbed into the ambulance.

I stayed with Jacob Candeleur all the way to the ER. Among the hectically laboring doctors and nurses, n.o.body noticed as I trailed along behind them, stood against a wall, watching their futile efforts. I was there as they called the code at 7:11 P.M. and as they dispiritedly filed out.

The last one out, a male nurse, turned to look at me from the doorway. "You gonna notify the family?" he said.

I nodded a.s.sent. "In a minute."

For some time, Hugh Hennessy had been hiding behind the wall of his illness and his privacy, hiding from the people he'd hurt. That ring of people just kept getting bigger. Aidan, whose death his carelessness had long ago caused. Elisabeth, whose suicide he helped bring about. Brigitte, whose child he had taken. Jacob, whose loss of ident.i.ty had ultimately been fatal. In a way, even Paul Candeleur. Paul the loyal, ready fighter, who'd somehow given his son his values through blood alone, who'd never lived to see how his son's life would go so wrong. I couldn't believe this death didn't hurt Paul, too, somewhere.

Marlinchen, already no stranger to adult responsibilities, learned a new set that day, the kind many people don't have to deal with until their thirties or forties. I guided her through the process of releasing a body to a funeral home, making the necessary choices. I advised her to have all the kids, even Donal, look at Jacob's body. already no stranger to adult responsibilities, learned a new set that day, the kind many people don't have to deal with until their thirties or forties. I guided her through the process of releasing a body to a funeral home, making the necessary choices. I advised her to have all the kids, even Donal, look at Jacob's body.

"It makes it real," I told her. "It'll help them through the denial, and later they can feel like they said goodbye."

All the kids seemed numb. None of them cried.

Outside, in the hospital parking lot, Marlinchen sat in the pa.s.senger seat of the Nova, stared straight ahead, and asked dully, Can you stay over tonight? Can you stay over tonight?

You have to be American, I think, to understand how middle-cla.s.s Americans grieve in modern times. Elsewhere, when people die unexpectedly, there is wailing, there are tears, there is recrimination; you can see it almost every day on CNN. In other places, liquor flows and the telephone doesn't stop ringing; neighbors come by with food and consolation.

In the Hennessy household, the wide-screen TV held court all evening. Even Liam surrendered to it, his knees drawn up against his chest, seeking comfort in the electronic opiate of modern times.

I cooked for them, keeping it simple: spaghetti with tomato sauce, green salad. Marlinchen made up a tray for Hugh, and just before bed, she gave him a pill. "It helps him sleep," she said, "and I don't think I can stay awake tonight, to help him to the bathroom, or read to him if he can't sleep."

"That's probably a good idea," I said. She seemed to want my guidance on little things like that.

Just before going upstairs, Liam went to stand at the window. He couldn't see the place where Jacob had died, but in the black gla.s.s, he was looking in that direction.

"I don't get it," he said. "I just don't f.u.c.king get it." His sharp-boned face was pinched with something that would blossom into pain, when he stopped trying to fight it so hard and let himself feel it.

I laid a hand on his shoulder and said nothing. Marlinchen and I hadn't discussed what I'd told her that afternoon, about Jacob Candeleur and the real Aidan. I couldn't begin to guess when she'd be ready to talk about it again, or to tell the other kids.

Restless, I didn't fall asleep right away. I was only drifting off, on the family-room couch, when the click of the French doors woke me.

Marlinchen, outside in the moonlight, was dressed in a practical long-sleeved white T-shirt and faded jeans. In her hand was the spade Liam had used to bury s...o...b..ll. She was heading toward the magnolia tree.

I'd had no solid evidence for that part of my theory- that Aidan was buried there- but it just seemed so clear to me. What else on the property had that look, of a monument? Why had Hugh walked down there, years ago with Marlinchen, to tell her something he'd said was important? Why were the Hennessy kids drawn to the tree, going there to talk and reflect and be still, as if called there by the whisper of the dead?

I got up and dressed.

Marlinchen didn't hear me approaching, so intent was she on her work. Slight as she was, she put her body weight into every thrust of the spade, like a tiny backhoe. She was crying as she dug.

"Marlinchen," I said.

She looked up, tear tracks silver in the moonlight, her face beautiful even in grief.

"Let it go for now," I said. "We can do this later."

"No," she said, her voice wet. "You've been right about everything, from the very beginning. I didn't listen." She looked up at Hugh's high window. "Do you think he could see me down here, if he were awake?" Without waiting for an answer, she said, "I hope he can. I hope he sees me digging out here and has a heart attack on top of his stroke. I won't lift a finger to help him, this time."

"It's not your fault," I said.

"No, it's his his fault," Marlinchen said, vehement. "I've been protecting him for years. I didn't tell anyone how he treated Aidan. If I'd told someone, anyone..." She trailed off and wept, but didn't stop digging. Out on the lake, a barred owl screamed, sounding disturbingly human. fault," Marlinchen said, vehement. "I've been protecting him for years. I didn't tell anyone how he treated Aidan. If I'd told someone, anyone..." She trailed off and wept, but didn't stop digging. Out on the lake, a barred owl screamed, sounding disturbingly human.

"It's not your fault," I said again. "You're hurting, and you want to be doing something right now to make things right. But it's better, legally, if you let a technician do the digging. You could break bone hitting it with the spade, and then the evidence is damaged."

"Evidence!" Marlinchen laughed, a high sound not unlike the owl's. "There's no need for evidence. evidence. He'll never see the inside of a courtroom. He'll be too sick. That's how he'll beat this." She laughed, bitter. "It's his fault Aidan's dead, it's even his fault Mother died. But he'll never pay." He'll never see the inside of a courtroom. He'll be too sick. That's how he'll beat this." She laughed, bitter. "It's his fault Aidan's dead, it's even his fault Mother died. But he'll never pay."

She thrust again with the blade. "Nothing sticks to him. Nothing ever hurts him. Aidan's teachers, who were supposed to be looking for abuse? They wouldn't have recognized it if Dad had beaten Aidan right in front of the school! They brought his books books to parent conferences for him to to parent conferences for him to sign. sign." She sniffled. "I protected and defended him. I didn't give you the information you needed, because it made him look bad." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, a child's gesture. "Even before that, for years, I took care of him. After Mother died, I cooked and took care of the house and the finances, all so he'd have time to write and teach and think, and do everything but be a father."

The wind kicked up unexpectedly, bringing a lingering scent of the afternoon's barbecue.

"And just when I was nearly clear of all the responsibilities, he has a stroke. It's perfect. He's trapped me again. He'll get better, but never completely well. I'll be here until I'm forty, making his meals and keeping track of his medication."

"It doesn't have to be that way," I said.

"Yes, it will. You don't understand," she said.

The smell of smoke was stronger, and the problem was, Marlinchen hadn't actually lit up the barbecue pit earlier.

"Do you smell smoke?" I asked her.

"I'll take the bones up and show him that I know. I'll make him look at what he's done." Not listening to me, she spiked the blade viciously into the earth. I turned to look up at the house. An uneven reddish light flickered in the darkness behind several windows.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," I said.

As I ran up to the house, Liam emerged onto the back deck, Donal beside him.

"Where's Colm?" I demanded.

"Inside," Liam said, his voice slightly hoa.r.s.e. "Getting Dad out."

Hugh, I realized with a sinking heart. I realized with a sinking heart. A G.o.dd.a.m.ned invalid on the G.o.dd.a.m.ned second floor of a house with a G.o.dd.a.m.ned staircase. A G.o.dd.a.m.ned invalid on the G.o.dd.a.m.ned second floor of a house with a G.o.dd.a.m.ned staircase.

"We have to get Dad out," Donal echoed, his voice cracking.

Behind me I heard footsteps and barely reached out in time to catch Marlinchen on her way into the house. "No way!" I told her. "You stay out here. I mean it," I said, seeing refusal in her anxious face. "I'll handle things."

The air inside the house was hot but bearable, as though someone had simply cranked up the thermostat recklessly high. But there was also a scent of smoke in it, and I felt a thrill of nerves run through my body.

The smoke was thicker in the hallway of the second floor, where Colm was in his father's doorway. "Come on!" he said. "Help me with Dad!"

For a moment it was tempting; Colm was strong. But I felt the heat on my skin, growing uncomfortable, and I knew that fires get out of hand so fast, become unsurvivable without warning. I couldn't take the chance that Colm might die because I'd decided to let him help me and we were both trying to get Hugh out when the whole room flashed over.

"No!" I said, half yelling, even though we were standing fairly close together. "This is no time to be a hero."

Colm shook his head. "It's Donal," he said miserably. "He was smoking in the bas.e.m.e.nt. He started the fire. If Dad-"

"The firefighters will get your father down," I said. "They have the equipment and the training."

I spoke with more confidence than I felt. By the time the fire crew arrived, it would probably be too late for a 170-pound invalid to be borne out of the house. Colm saw that truth in my eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again, but then succ.u.mbed to a fit of coughing.

"This is how rescuers get killed," I said.

With one last, agonized glance into his father's darkened bedroom, he nodded agreement. I put a hand between his shoulder blades and urged him toward the stairs.

Out on the deck, much of my skin felt as though I'd been lying down on a giant skillet. It was likely that Colm felt the same way. I pushed him down in front of the spigot and turned it on, and he splashed water on his face, chest, and arms. When he moved back, I was about to do the same, when I noticed something that troubled me.

"Where is Marlinchen?" I asked.

Colm, hair dripping, straightened up to look around. Liam had his hands on Donal's shoulders, and he too looked mystified.

"No! f.u.c.k! f.u.c.k!" I was so angry, Colm flinched at the sound of my voice, even under the circ.u.mstances. Marlinchen had gone in for Hugh. Her words by the graveside-I won't lift a finger to help him- were just words. When push came to shove, she'd fallen back into the old patterns. Sacrificing her welfare for his.

I faced the three boys. "Okay, you guys get back," I ordered them. "Way, way back, down the driveway, where it's safe. And stay there. If Marlinchen or I don't come out, do not not come in after us. Understood?" come in after us. Understood?"

They nodded.

Moving as quickly as I could, I dropped to my knees and turned the spigot back on. I put my head under, soaking my hair, the water like ice as it scrawled along my scalp. I pulled off my shirt, soaked that, put it back on. Then I went back in.

As soon as I looked into the house again, I knew I couldn't get up to the second floor. The stairs were aflame; to try to run up them would be suicide. The only way up to the second floor was blocked off.

I went back out the front door, circled the house to stand under the high window, Hugh's window facing the lake. The grape blossoms on the trellis were tightly closed, puckered and grayish. The trellis. It had held Jacob's weight. It would hold mine.

The wooden framework groaned and pulled forward as I put my whole weight on it, but it stayed standing, and I started to climb. The leaves brushed against my face as I did, and even through the smoke I could smell a faint, sweet odor from the closed blooms.

Hugh's sliding window was open as wide as possible behind the screen. Marlinchen's work, I thought, getting fresh air in the room. Hugh was on the bed, chest quivering irregularly with what might be little coughs, from the smoke. I remembered the sleeping pill Marlinchen had given him, and wondered how aware he really was.

Light spilled from the master bathroom, and then Marlinchen's silhouette appeared in the doorway. She held a bunched sheet in her hands. She'd filled the bathtub with water, I realized, and was soaking sheets and towels to fight the flames that had already spread into Hugh's room.

"Marlinchen!" I yelled, again.

"Sarah!" she called back, and there was relief in her voice. Authority was here. "Help me!"

She didn't want me to get her out; that wasn't what she meant by help. help. She wanted me to come in and fight the fire with her. She wanted me to come in and fight the fire with her.

"Come to me!" I yelled back. "You're going to-" I'd been about to say die if you stay here, die if you stay here, but cut myself off, afraid Hugh was awake and lucid enough to hear me. If he was, there was little more terrible to imagine than his situation: aware but not mobile, at the mercy of circ.u.mstances, wholly dependent on someone else to save him. but cut myself off, afraid Hugh was awake and lucid enough to hear me. If he was, there was little more terrible to imagine than his situation: aware but not mobile, at the mercy of circ.u.mstances, wholly dependent on someone else to save him.

I changed tactics. "The firefighters are almost here!" I called to Marlinchen. "They'll get him down safe! But you have to come out now!"

"I can't!" she told me, shaking her head again, then swinging a wet sheet at the flames closest to the bed. "Come in and help me!"

Then something happened that nearly made my heart stop: she dropped to her knees, coughing, blinded by smoke. I thought this was it; she was overcome.

"Marlinchen, come to me!" I yelled. But even in her coughing fit, she shook her head.

I glanced up at the bed again. Water was streaming from Hugh's nearly closed eyes. I knew it was the smoke that was causing it, but it looked to me like tears. A mental image of my own father, dead now, flashed across my mind like a spark of static electricity, and a grief as strong as nausea made my stomach roll over.

I made a decision. I wasn't going to look at Hugh again. I couldn't look at him and tell the truth, and if I didn't tell the truth, Marlinchen might not live.

"Listen to me!" I yelled to her. "Three things can happen here! Three people can die in here tonight. That's what'll happen if I go in and try to help you. Or two people can die. That's what'll happen if I leave you here. Or just one person can die, and two will be saved."