Degree of Guilt (79 page)

‘I’d help me burn this,’ Paget said.

Carlo gazed at him another moment, then at the tape in his hand. ‘How long has the first one taken you?’ he asked. ‘You were never very mechanical.’

Paget smiled. ‘It skips generations. My father once built a ship in a bottle.’

Carlo hesitated. Then he sat on the rug, Paget sitting next to him. They faced the fireplace, backs against the coffee table, as Carlo and Paget unspooled their tapes.

‘I’ll bet you planned on doing this without me,’ Carlo said.

Paget turned to him. ‘Why
did
you come home early? Nothing wrong, I hope.’

‘Nope. But my mom and I are doing something this weekend. We got to the end of dinner, and I just wanted to be with you.’

‘Why?’

Shrugging, Carlo gave Paget a fleeting smile. ‘Who knows?’

They sat there next to each other in companionable silence, unspooling the tapes of the past. When Carlo was finished, he held the tangle of the tape in front of him. Then he stood and silently tossed it into the fire. The tape seemed to wither with the heat, crackling, and then it disappeared in flame.

Together, they watched it burn, and with it, the truth of Carlo’s birth. It was right, Paget thought, that this was so. For what Paget had learned from Carlo was that being a parent was not about ties of blood, any more than starting a family can assure love among its members. These bonds are ours to make, Paget knew; we define them, day by day, by who we choose to love and how we choose to love them. And, by these choices, define ourselves.

Paget glanced over at his son. Perhaps, Paget thought, Carlo might have learned as much from the tape. But the lesson of the tape was for Paget to know; Carlo would learn it in his own way. The capacity to love, he already had.

Paget threw the first tape after Carlo’s. They watched it vanish in the flame.

‘There,’ Paget said. ‘It’s done.’

That night, for the first time in weeks, Paget slept soundly.

In the morning, Carlo went out with Mary. Paget stayed home.

He had a lazy breakfast, avoiding the newspaper. Then he drifted to the deck. There was little on his mind, and that was as he wanted it. It was time, as his friend Larry Colvin once had put it, to let his soul catch up with his body.

The morning sun was bright. A few sailboats flecked the bay; in the foreground, homes of pink and white stucco glistened in the light. Paget found that he liked San Francisco again.

But there was much to get used to. In the measure of his life, he had gained Carlo, and much had been lost. He did not yet know what it all meant. In two years, Carlo would go to college; Paget would be happy for him, and their house would be empty.

The doorbell rang.

It was a reporter, Paget thought, or a delivery. He debated not answering, then went to the door.

It was Terri.

She was dressed in blue jeans and a blouse, and looked wearier than yesterday. Paget smiled at her. ‘The case is over,’ he said. ‘You get to go home. Sleep, even.’

She hesitated. ‘I’m a little at loose ends right now.’

Paget nodded. ‘Sometimes that happens after a trial.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I was just out on the deck. Care to join me?’

Terri still seemed hesitant. ‘Maybe for a while.’

Something was wrong, Paget thought. He decided not to ask.

They walked to the deck. Terri went to the railing; she leaned on it with her palms, gazing out at the bay. A light breeze rippled her hair.

She was quiet for some time. Paget watched from behind; she squared her shoulders, staring intently at the water.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

Terri did not turn. ‘Yes and no,’ she finally answered.

Paget moved beside her. He stood there, watching with her. When she turned to him, her eyes seemed large and very grave.

‘I’ve left Richie,’ she said.

The realization washed over him. Terri had not come for his help, or his advice. She had simply come.

‘Is this all right?’ Terri asked.

He struggled to find words. ‘I’m forty-five years old,’ he said at last, ‘with a teenage son. You’re newly separated. And you work for me.’ His voice softened. ‘Any counselor in America would tell you I’m a bad idea, and that you just need time to see that.’

Terri watched his face. ‘But how do
you
feel?’

They looked at each other, each afraid to speak. With his next words, Paget knew, she would stay or go.

‘This won’t be simple,’ he said at last.

‘I know that. I’ve got a thousand warnings of my own.’ Terri paused. ‘But all that we could ever do, Chris, was wonder. Now we can find out.’

A moment passed. And then, sudden and warm, the surprise of his good fortune made Paget smile. ‘You’d make me live in Richie’s shadow?’

‘Please. As soon as possible.’

As her grin cracked, clean and white and sharp, Paget laughed aloud.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘But first I have a question to ask.’

‘What?’

‘Is
this
what your mother would have done?’

‘No-o-o.’ Terri leaned back, shaking her head slowly, smiling up into his eyes. ‘This one’s for me.’