The Last Word (32 page)

“Cora Vickers,” Olivia said. “She and Boyd came to Oyster Bay to collect Cora’s scheduled payment. Plumley had to pay or she’d sell the story of what he’d done to Evelyn to the highest bidder.”

“I don’t know the ins and outs, but Plumley was stallin’, tellin’ her to be patient. Guess he’d been burnin’ through his book money real quick—seems he was a gambler and not a very good one—and had to wait for some check to come in. That’s when his ex said Evie’s name, and I felt like Ziegler had sucker punched me all over again.” He put his glass down, hard, and strung his fingers together. “The next mornin’, I grabbed Plumley’s favorite bagel and drove over to the big house he was rentin’ near yours.” He frowned. “I never thought you’d find him,’Livia. If there’s somethin’ I really regret, that’s it.”

Olivia touched him on the arm. “Go on.”

Wheeler nodded. “He was in his robe with a cup of coffee in his hand when I rang the bell. He was surprised to see me, but he asked me in. I sat across from him at the table and told him my real name. I told him how Evelyn White had been the shinin’ star, the brightest memory of my life and how a day didn’t go by that I didn’t think of her.”

“Wow.”

“I asked him if what that Cora woman said was true. For a second he thought about lyin’, but he knew I’d already seen the answer in his eyes.”

It was impossible for Olivia to imagine how Nick’s confession had impacted Wheeler, and she listened in astonishment as her old friend continued to talk about the moments leading up to Nick Plumley’s death.

“He told me how she’d read his book and nearly lost her mind. She was that upset. He promised that he’d just wanted to get her to hush up, and that before he even knew it, he’d killed her.” Wheeler’s hands curled into fists. “He acted sorry while I was starin’ him down, but then he managed to finish most of his breakfast. What kind of man can do that?”

Turning her gaze to the horizon, where smudges of gray clouds hung low in the sky, Olivia thought about Wheeler’s question. “A man who could no longer separate fact from fiction. I think Plumley had come to believe his own version of the truth. It allowed him to survive, to act normal.”

Wheeler didn’t acknowledge Olivia’s reply. “Seein’ him eat with the same hands he’d used to snuff the life outta my Evie . . . I felt myself growin’ cold all over, deep into my bones. Every part of me was cold. I thought I’d surely see my own breath . . . I had the gloves I use for handlin’ food in my pocket and I put them on. Then I unrolled a painting I’d done when I was in prison. It was nothin’ special. Just a bunch of guys smokin’ and play-in’ cards, but I told Plumley he needed to wear gloves if he wanted to touch it.”

“And he put them on?”

Wheeler said nothing. The answer was obvious. “Then I walked behind him while he was porin’ over the painting, slid the belt off his robe, and paid him in kind for what he’d done to my sweet, darlin’ girl.”

After a moment, he placed his hands on his chest. “I know I don’t look strong, but I’ve worked every day of my life. It was over quick enough, but it felt like I was watchin’ myself from far away. I barely remember doin’ it. Then I saw the book . . .”

“You stopped to read the scene in
The Barbed Wire Flower
, the one that had upset Evelyn so much, the one depicting you as the villain,” Olivia finished for him. When he still didn’t say anything, she said, “It brought back all you’d lost.”

But Wheeler had retreated somewhere within himself, and Olivia didn’t try to draw him out. Her time was almost up and she wanted to say something comforting and poignant before Rawlings arrived, but when she most wanted to have the right words at her power, they zipped off like dragonflies.

“Evelyn always believed in your innocence,” she spoke into the silence. “I visited her old friend Mabel in a nursing home. She told us that Evie never doubted you.”

A light surfaced in Wheeler’s eyes. “We showed her the painting Evelyn hid inside her house,” Olivia continued. “Do you remember it?”

Wheeler smiled. “It was her favorite. She’d never seen snow, so I made her snow. She wanted me to paint a place in the woods, a place we’d build someday up in the mountains. Every time we had an art lesson, she’d ask me what a snowflake felt like. If they were really as different as stars. I promised her a million snowfalls as soon as the war was over.” He sighed heavily, decades of sorrow in his breath.

“It’s a beautiful piece,” Olivia said softly. “People all over the country admire your work. Your paintings are worth tens of thousands of dollars.”

At this, Wheeler released a dry laugh. “There’s a sucker born every minute. I’ve got a pile of them in the bedroom. Besides fishing, it’s how I pass the time. You can have the lot, ’Livia. I won’t be takin’ them with me.”

Olivia heard the rumble of a car engine and knew that her hour was up. She needed to tell Wheeler that Evelyn had given birth to a child, his child, but she was still taking in everything he’d told her. She was overwhelmed by stories and images, by the past and the frightening future that would become the present the moment Chief Rawlings knocked on Wheeler’s door.

Wheeler stood up and made his way to the bedroom. He walked over to a large pine storage chest and lifted the lid. Removing a stack of unframed watercolors tucked between two pieces of cardboard, he untied the twine securing the package and fanned out a half dozen paintings on the top of the pile, Olivia observing him in mute awe.

There were scenes of men working at a paper mill, men and women harvesting peanuts, fishermen at the docks, shopkeepers sweeping their sidewalks, and a baker kneading dough. Olivia’s favorite was a landscape featuring an elderly couple strolling hand in hand on a white beach. They were just smudges of peach skin and gray hair, disappearing into a large blur of blue sea and sky, but she couldn’t take her eyes from them.

“Take it,” Wheeler said tiredly. “Take ’em all.”

Olivia stared unblinkingly at the watercolor couple, walking shoulder to stooped shoulder, two people who’d loved a lifetime together and knew how to take the time to enjoy a moment of peace and beauty.

She could not condone what Wheeler had done. Even in the name of revenge, even after what he’d suffered, she could not support his act of violence. Yet, his crime did not blot out the other things she knew about him, the other ways she knew him—all the years they’d shared snippets of gossip, laughter, or quiet conversation. He was still the man who supported a Little League team each year, who donated the day’s leftover bagels and pastries to the food bank, who supported local artists by hanging their work on the café’s walls. He’d always spoiled Haviland and treated Olivia like a daughter.

He was her friend. He was worthy of forgiveness.

To show Wheeler that nothing would stop her from caring about him, she took the painting. “Thank you.”

Car doors slammed at the top of the driveway.

Olivia’s heart beat faster at the sound. “Even though I’d be honored to take them all, I’m happy to have just one. There is someone else you might want to give the rest of these to, someone you’ve never met.”

Wheeler wasn’t listening. He’d raised his head at the sounds coming from outside and squared his shoulders. Without looking at Olivia, he headed into the kitchen, where he stood in front of the window and peered out toward the driveway.

“That’s a good fellow, our chief, and a fine artist to boot. You could do worse, girlie.”

Rawlings had parked at the top of the long drive and was now making his way with slow deliberation down the unpaved road, a giant of a man by his side.

“Who’s the big guy?” Wheeler asked.

Exhaling, Olivia put her arm around the old man’s back. “His name is Raymond Hatcher. He was raised by Agnes Hatcher, James’s widow, but I believe he’s your son. Yours and Evelyn’s.”

Wheeler’s eyes fixed on Raymond, his face filling with wonder. Olivia could see it spread over his features, glowing like a full moon over the ocean. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. There was nothing but the radiance of this new discovery. It flowed out of his eyes, smoothing his wrinkles until he seemed young again. A young soldier. A young lover.

“We did have the one night together, but I never thought . . .” Wheeler whispered in awe. He refused to blink, drinking in every inch of the approaching figure. A smile began to form on his lips, and the closer Raymond drew, the bigger the smile became. “I’ll be damned! Look at that boy. Evie, he’s such a fine, strappin’ man.”

Olivia cast him a sidelong glance. Was he confusing her with his lost love, or was he speaking to Evelyn’s ghost?

She moved away from him, opening the door and wordlessly inviting Rawlings inside.

Raymond waited on the stoop while the chief explained the charges and read the Miranda. His tone was soft and calm and held no judgment. Not for the first time, Olivia was grateful for his professional poise, his kind heart.

Wheeler ignored him completely. He didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. He passed him by, his eyes locked on Raymond’s. They were shining with joy. It was what every child hopes to see on their parent’s face, and despite Raymond Hatcher’s sixty-odd years, he reacted as any little boy would. He opened his huge arms and enfolded his father into them, holding him tenderly and murmuring his happiness through muffled sobs.

Rawlings and Olivia retreated deeper into the kitchen to give the men some privacy. They sat at the table and waited.

“Does Ray know?” she whispered.

“He knows everything about Heinrich Kamler. That he didn’t kill James Hatcher and that he’s his father. I showed him the records. I also told him about Wheeler Ames. And that while he was innocent of one murder, he was guilty of another.”

Having seen the embrace between father and son, Olivia could tell that Ray Hatcher was prepared to accept these truths, if only to have a few minutes with a man he’d longed to meet all of his life.

Olivia reached under the polished laminate and searched for Rawlings’ hand. He clutched hers in return, and they sat in silence, seeing the echoes of the last weeks’ anguish and worry and wonder reflected in each other’s eyes.

Listening to the soft murmurs being exchanged between Ray and Wheeler, Olivia wanted nothing more than to put her head on the chief’s solid shoulder. She wanted to tell him that she was in love with him, but this was not their moment. Their time would come.

Easing her hand free, she placed her Heinrich Kamler watercolor on the table and smiled at the chief. Rawlings stared at the couple on the beach for a full minute and then brushed her cheek with his fingertips. He understood what she was silently conveying. The kiss of his fingers on her flesh was a clear message of “I’m in love with you too.”

 

 

Several evenings later, Olivia and Haviland pulled in front of the Salters’ house. A blue “Welcome Baby” balloon bounced from the mailbox, and Caitlyn was on the front lawn creating enormous, magical-looking bubbles by running across the grass with a hoop filled with a film of soapy water.

As Olivia watched, enthralled, a Chinese dragon of a bubble rippled from Caitlyn’s hoop, wriggling and glistening with oil-slick rainbows in the fading light until it popped to the sound of the little girl’s laughter.

This was why Olivia had come. She needed to be with this family,
her
family, to see them revolving around one another like a group of planets in orbit. She needed the noise and the joking and the certainty that Anders was truly okay.

Kim squealed upon seeing her, gushing thanks over the nursery and hugging her repeatedly. Olivia left Haviland outside to snap at bubbles and tiptoed down the hall after Kim.

“He’s asleep, but I want you to see how happy he is in the room his auntie made for him.”

Olivia waited as Kim eased the door open and then stepped back. “Take your time. I love to watch him sleep. It makes me feel like all is right with the world.”

Anders was on his back. The curtains were closed but the lamp was lit and the scattering of stars on his ceiling bathed his face with an angelic glow. He had filled out since Olivia had last seen him, and she marveled at his plump cheeks and chubby wrists, delighting in the rise and fall of his sturdy chest and the strands of silky hair covering his head.

He sighed and then smiled in his sleep. This was followed by a nearly inaudible coo. Olivia’s breath caught.

As she stood wondering what Anders dreamed of, she felt someone coming into the room. Caitlyn crossed the carpet to Olivia’s side without a sound and took her hand. Gazing up at her with compassion, she whispered, “They fixed his heart, Aunt Olivia. He’s all better now. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Olivia couldn’t believe that such a young child had seen that she was in need of comfort. She knelt down and tucked a strand of loose hair behind Caitlyn’s ear, her heart overflowing. “Thank you, honey. I really wanted someone to say those exact words to me.”

And then Olivia held her niece close, trying her hardest to believe the little girl’s promise.

—D.H. LAWRENCE

 

 

 

 

 

I
t would take Oyster Bay a long time to recover from the shock.

From the outside, everything looked the same. The shops and beaches were filled with tanned tourists, and the rental homes and hotels were booked right through the first weekend of September. The locals smiled and appeared to be as merry and carefree as always, preserving the utopian image of their seaside town.

But in the privacy of bars like Fish Nets, the less glamorous hair salons, and on the fishing boats, people whispered about what had happened. They talked and wondered and argued over Wheeler’s crime and then tied on their aprons or rolled up their sleeves and got back to work.