Possessions by Judith Michael Read Free Book Online Page B

husband, that he’s kept a lifetime of secrets from me about San Francisco and a grandmother and an entire family I never heard of. Do you think I’m a child? I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but not one word you’ve said is the truth . . . well, I suppose you do have a cousin named Craig, or you did, but nothing else is true, nothing else, nothing else  . . .”
    Her words fell away in the silent room. Ross walked towardher and she saw his dark eyes, oddly gentle in his stern face. His voice, when he spoke, was so quiet it took her a minute to feel the impact of his words. “My cousin, Craig Hayward, his sister Jennifer, my brother Derek and I grew up in San Francisco, in a neighborhood called Sea Cliff, and spent our weekends swimming or sailing or hiking in the mountains. Craig always said that someday he would build a house high up, with a curved wall of windows overlooking mountains—or water.”
    Instinctively, Katherine looked past him, through the curved windows, at the sunlit bay at the base of their hill.
    â€œHe read a lot,” Ross went on. “Mostly spy stories and histories. He was good with his hands and liked to make wood carvings, especially figures of people. But his favorite carvings were the soapstone ones made by Eskimos. Like this one.” He picked up an eight-inch black whale that Craig had bought a year ago from Hank Aylmer, a friend who bought carvings in Eskimo villages to sell in the United States.
    Katherine closed her eyes, wishing Ross Hayward gone. He waited, and in the dense silence, she felt the force of Craig’s absence. She had been too bewildered, too busy making telephone calls and talking to the police and trying to deal with Jennifer and Todd to feel the reality of it, but in that moment the full impact struck her. She stood in her house and Craig was nowhere in it. She felt him everywhere but he was nowhere. It was not the same as saying: Craig isn’t in the living room or the dining room or even in Vancouver. It was as if she had to say, Craig is not.
    Didn’t this man understand that that was what she had to think about? Why did he force this relentless outpouring of information on her when she had to think about a house without Craig? She opened her eyes to tell him, but as soon as she did, he began talking again.
    â€œAnd my cousin liked the construction business. We were in it together: our grandfather, Hugh, who died in 1964; his sons Jason and Curt; and the three of us—Craig was Jason’s son; Derek and I are Curt’s sons. Every summer we worked in our family’s company; we’d done it since we were kids, sweeping out offices, doing errands, tagging along on site inspections, later helping with blueprints. Craig loved it; he couldn’t wait to finish college and work full time. He was ona job with my father the summer Jennifer was killed and he disappeared. Are there any photographs in the desk in that room?”
    Trembling, Katherine folded her arms rigidly to keep her body still. She didn’t have to tell him anything. Without her help, he would have to leave; she would never see him again; she could forget he’d ever been here.
    But she knew it was too late for that. Because he was right: she did want to know the truth. Walking around him, she went into the study and took from the top drawer of Craig’s desk the picture she had found. Wordlessly, she handed it to him and together they looked at the lovely girl laughing in the sunlight.
    Ross let out a long breath. “Dear God.” Once again he opened his briefcase and handed Katherine another picture, this one of four people on a sailboat: Ross on deck, hoisting the sail; the young Craig of the first picture at the wheel; a stranger, handsome and aloof, in the cockpit, and beside him the lovely girl, shading her eyes as she watched the sail rise up the mast.
    â€œJennifer,” Ross said simply.