Eden in Winter by Richard North Patterson Read Free Book Online Page B

from Boston, Clarice’s parents, bought it as their summer home. Long before Adam and Teddy had played hide-and-seek in the woods and swum off the rocky beach below, Clarice had spent the best summers of her childhood in this house. As with many homes of this vintage, the porch that looked out at woods and ocean had been more generous than the rooms,a reminder that what was most compelling about the Vineyard lay outdoors. Adam could still remember the summer evenings when his mother and Benjamin Blaine would sit on the porch at night in moments of marital peace, talking or listening to the crickets.
    But, like their lives as a whole, the space inside bore the mark of a dead man. Ben had knocked down walls to suit himself, and now the living room was large and open, filled with the comfortable furniture he liked and mementos of his travels – Asian vases, African masks, scrolls in Arabic and Hebrew. Amidst this sat the other remnants of Ben’s life – his wife and brother, Adam’s father. Sitting across from them, Adam could only wonder how it felt for Jack to be there.
    It was to Jack’s credit, Adam supposed, that his sensitive eyes – though resolutely fixed on Adam – betrayed his shame at the concealment of his guilt, as well as the deeper truth that Adam’s mother also did not know: that Adam had protected him. But Clarice’s innocence allowed her to regard her younger son with a look of hurt and anger. Coolly, Adam said, ‘Go ahead, Mom. I hate to see you feeling repressed.’
    ‘You know what it is. How can you humiliate me in public by being friendly with that woman?’
    ‘Actually,’ Adam corrected, ‘it’s worse than that. We’re having dinner tonight.’
    His mother bridled. ‘Dinner with your father’s whore.’
    Adam felt the familiar whipsaw of hurt and anger. ‘He wasn’t my father, and Carla’s not a whore. If it weren’t for her willingness to settle the estate, there’s a good chance you’d be out in the street, with nothing I could do for you. So you might save a bit of the gratitude you lavish on me for her.’
    At this, Jack turned to Clarice, silently imploring her to stop. But Clarice did not see him. ‘Forgive me,’ she told Adam stiffly, ‘but giving her three million dollars feels like gratitude enough. Beyond that, I expect more loyalty from a son.’
    Though stung, Adam answered softly. ‘And I might’ve expected more candour from a mother. So let’s be candid now. For years, you put up with my quasi-father’s affairs. You hate Carla because she’s the woman Benjamin Blaine took seriously. For you, the real tragedy is that he died too late for you to maintain the illusion of your marriage.’
    At this, Adam saw his mother summon the willed self-control that had governed her life. ‘To be wholly fair,’ she responded in a more even tone, ‘the core of my difficulties preceded Carla Pacelli’s arrival here by roughly thirty-four years: the post-nuptial agreement, through which I gave up my right to my husband’s assets – including the house he had bought from my father – the reason you were born in comfort instead of scandal.’ She paused, concluding softly, ‘Or born at all. Everything else came from that.’
    ‘Meaning?’ Adam could not help but ask.
    Though Jack placed a hand on her wrist, Clarice kept looking at their son, speaking with quiet vehemence. ‘If I’d terminated the pregnancy, Adam, my husband never would’ve known. Instead, on returning after four months away, Ben knew to a certainty that the child I was bearing wasn’t his. But I insisted on having you. Not for any religious reasons, but because you’re my son, and Jack’s son, and I wanted you to live, more fiercely than you can ever understand. As a purely practical matter, you were the last thing I needed in my life. But this wasn’t a practical decision, unlike so many that I’ve made. I loved you before you were born, and I love you now.
    ‘So, please, spare me the