The Secret Hour (15 page)

 
The marriage had lasted seven years. Had he been faithful for any of them? Kate wasn’t sure. She didn’t think so. He had a weakness for women in need, and there had seemed no shortage: assistants in need of more money, interns in need of more excitement, lobbyists in need of his time and attention, constituents in need of his boss’s ear. Andrew, in his generosity, had been willing to give to everyone.

 
Or, he was a predator for the women who looked to him for help—another way to look at it.

 
By the time Willa had started working for him—to make money while she pursued her art—Kate had given up on the marriage. Perhaps she had harbored one last hope; that having her sister at work in his office would keep Andrew in line. She had never dreamed that Willa would become his next conquest. And she felt a sickening combination of guilt and fury for encouraging her sister to take the job.

 
What if Kate had received the card in time? Sitting in her car now, she reread those words: “I wish you could be here…” Would she have gone?

 
Bonnie whimpered, wanting the car to start moving again, but Kate just stared at the postcard. What if she hadn’t moved out of the Watergate apartment she and Andrew had shared, if Willa’s card hadn’t gotten stuck in a pile of third-class mail for half a year?

 
If she had received Willa’s card, would Kate have been able to save her sister? The answer to that question hung upon the answer to another one: Would she have been able to bury her pride, head north to meet Willa at the East Wind, talk things out?

 
No.

 
Kate knew that now—had admitted the truth to herself during this long dark night of her soul. She hadn’t been ready. She had still been too angry. She had
wanted
Willa to disappear, had longed for the red slippers’ opposites:
Click your heels three times and go away forever
, had hated her little sister, the person she’d loved and protected most in the world, with a sudden and powerful passion.

 
Bonnie cried again.

 
Kate blinked her eyes open. The sea wind rose. With darkness falling, the lighthouse came alive, its beam resuming its journey through the sky.

 
Time had changed everything.

 
Six months had bleached the bones of Kate’s hatred, had scoured them clean, purified them, left them brittle and crumbling, ready to be washed away by the tide. The only thing left behind was a burning love.

 
Kate’s love for her little sister burned like a star. It glowed in her chest with white heat, where her heart should be. The love filled her blood, and it flowed with everything good: Christmas trees hung with oyster shells and sand dollars; spying on the wild ponies from sea-grass dunes.

 
Staring at John O’Rourke’s house at dusk, Kate watched the lights come on—snap!—at six o’clock, and she thought of John. Had this been a difficult time of night for him? Had his wife been home where she was supposed to be, cooking dinner for the family? Or had she been off…who knew where? Six o’clock had always been the hardest time for Kate. Because she had known Andrew had left the office but wasn’t home yet…

 
Kate blinked, forcing herself back to the present. Where had John taken Teddy and Maggie? Kate wanted to know—not only because she hadn’t given up, because she planned to hound the lawyer till he either begged for mercy or agreed to ask Merrill about Willa—but because she longed to see the kids. They had lodged in her heart on that brief, intense morning she had first come to this house.

 
Maggie and Teddy O’Rourke. In a different life, she’d like to be their baby-sitter. They were sweet kids, loyal to their father, devoted to each other. They reminded Kate of herself and Willa when they were young; she had no doubt that Teddy had helped Maggie with a book report or two.

 
The O’Rourkes were siblings without a mother, and Kate was a woman without her sister. She cared about them. Whether their father decided to help her or not, she needed to know they were okay. Disappearances—even ones that could be explained—were not to be borne.

 
Heading back to the East Wind, Kate knew that although this was her fifth cruise past the O’Rourkes’ house, it wouldn’t be her last.

 
Friday morning, Teddy woke up early. He had a big day ahead of him—a soccer game against Riverdale High. Their archrivals, the Riverdale Cannons, were nicknamed the “Cannibals”—because they killed their opponents and ate their dead. Shoreline Junior Varsity had lost in overtime on their last encounter, and Riverdale had promised to kick their butts again today.

 
The family was staying in his grandfather’s house, with the idea that Gramps and Maeve could pitch in with him and Maggie till a new baby-sitter came along. Although Maggie was homesick for her room, Teddy liked it here, even more than his own house: The hole left by his mother wasn’t as obvious.

 
Padding barefoot down the hall, he entered the laundry room. Things were different here than at home. For one thing, the clothes got washed. For another, everything was starched and bleached. Maeve came from Ireland, where she’d learned to be a washerwoman. She made the Judge’s shirts so white they were almost blue.

 
Teddy’s soccer uniform had never been so clean. The white letters and numbers popped, like 3-D. But the nylon fabric was also stiff as a board with starch: Teddy practically had to crack it to stuff it into his gym bag. Brainer’s tail thumped against his legs as he followed Teddy down the hall.

 
Irish oatmeal simmered on the stove. Maeve made the long-cooking kind, and she stood in the avocado green kitchen—all the appliances rounded, old-looking—stirring the oatmeal with a long-handled wooden spoon, when Teddy walked in.

 
“Morning, Maeve,” he said.

 
“Morning, Luke, darlin’,” she said in her soft brogue, smiling and giving him a kiss. She was small and plump, and when she hugged him, it felt soft and safe.

 
Teddy didn’t bother correcting her on the name. She used to know who he and Maggie were, but lately she’d been forgetting. Her hair was white, so thin on top that her pink scalp showed—a lot like Gramps. They seemed like a pair, a married couple growing old together; since Teddy had never known his real grandmother, Leila, he loved Maeve and wondered what would happen to her when she retired.

 
His father sat at one end of the table, reading the paper. His grandfather sat at the other, doing the crossword puzzle. Eating his oatmeal, Teddy watched the two men drink their coffee—they both had thick white mugs, and they both gripped the handles with tension and might, as if they were going to finish breakfast, try cases, and slay the world.

 
“Hey, Dad,” Teddy said.

 
His father didn’t look up from the paper; it was early, and his father woke up slowly—only after reading all the football scores and drinking two cups of coffee—but did manage to make a sound like “What?”

 
“I have a game today. Against Riverdale.”

 
“Your big rivals,” his grandfather said.

 
“Yeah,” Teddy said, grinning.

 
“You’d better cream ’em,” his grandfather said. “Great rivalries deserve extra effort.”

 
“It’s only Junior Varsity—”

 
“Junior Varsity, nothing! Make no apologies! Great rivalries are all alike in character. Army and Navy, Yale and Harvard…”

 
Teddy laughed. “Riverdale and Shoreline…”

 
“‘Go Shoreline, Beat Riverdale,’” his grandfather chanted, beating his spoon on the table.

 
“More, dear?” Maeve asked in her pretty brogue, thinking the Judge was demanding more oatmeal.

 
“No, thank you, Maeve,” his grandfather said, suddenly stern. Was he embarrassed because Maeve had called him “dear”? Yes, he was! Teddy saw the red begin just above the knot of his grandfather’s tie, spread into his face. Teddy felt himself grinning. Now, to chase away the blush, the old man rattled his son’s paper. “Hear that, Johnny? Big game today!”

 
Teddy’s grin wavered. He tried to eat his oatmeal, but he couldn’t swallow. He hoped, he hoped…
Come on, Dad
.

 
“I’d be there myself,” Gramps said, “but I’ve got to get my foot looked after. Got an appointment with the podiatrist…”

 
Teddy didn’t speak. He knew his grandfather was lying; it was Maeve’s appointment, not his. Teddy knew, because he’d seen Maeve limping for two days. He’d spied his grandfather sitting beside her on the sofa yesterday, helping her take her sock and heavy shoe off, examining her bare foot with such tenderness Teddy had longed for his mother. And then he’d heard his grandfather call the podiatrist…

 
“You’ve got a game this afternoon?” his father asked, lowering his paper.

 
“Yes,” Teddy said.

 
“Go on, tell him what time, so he can set his clock for it,” his grandfather urged.

 
“Four o’clock. At home.”

 
By the devastated look on his father’s face, Teddy could see it wasn’t going to happen. His father opened his mouth—probably to explain about a motion hearing or a conference call or a meeting in chambers—but Teddy didn’t wait around to hear.

 
“That’s okay, Dad,” he said, smiling so his father couldn’t see his disappointment, hurrying out of the kitchen—Brainer at his heels—as Maggie walked in, bleary-eyed, saying she didn’t like oatmeal and needed a Halloween costume for the pageant.

 
“Teddy, what should I be?” she called, wheeling to run after him.

 
“Anything you want, Maggie,” he said.

 
“You don’t want to help…”

 
“I’m sorry,” he said, seeing the injury in her eyes. His dad’s busy schedule wasn’t her fault, and Teddy felt bad for hurting her feelings. The thing was, Teddy was hurt inside, too. His dad hadn’t been to one game all month. Teddy had blown one game and scored two goals in another, and no one from his family had been there to see.

 
“Can I go as a soccer player?” Maggie whispered. “In your old uniform?”

 
“Mags, you wear it to school,” Teddy said, his throat aching. “The kids have seen it already. But if you want to, yeah. Sure you can…”

 
He grabbed his jacket and gym bag. His book bag was wedged against the table in the front hall, and when he bent down to get it, he knocked against Brainer, who bumped into the table; a flurry of papers fell to the door.

 
Things from his father’s pockets: He always emptied them out at night, wherever he was. Keys, wallet, business cards, scraps of paper picked up through the day. Teddy’s mother had called the piles from his father’s pocket “archaeology.” Meaning that if she sifted through them, she could learn what he’d been doing all day.

 
Restoring the papers to the table, Teddy noticed a woman’s picture. Smiling, head tilted prettily, she reminded him of someone. Wide-open eyes, straight brown hair…Eyes the color of river stones, Teddy thought, and then he had it: Kate.

 
Kate, his friend, the woman who had taken care of Maggie and Brainer. This picture was of her—of a younger Kate. Taken years ago? Or could it be someone else…her daughter?

 
Suddenly the truth came to him: her sister. Kate’s younger sister, her “Maggie,” the person Kate Harris loved most. In the same pile of his father’s things, Teddy found a scrap paper with “East Wind Inn” written on it. Teddy just knew—why else would his father care about the East Wind? Kate had to be staying there. He thought of her soft voice, her slightly southern accent, the way she’d helped him.

 
Although the inn wasn’t on his direct route to school, it wasn’t far out of the way. Teddy checked his watch. It was early, just seven-fifteen. He didn’t want to wake her up, but he had an idea. He could leave her a note…

 
Even if his father and grandfather couldn’t come to his soccer game, maybe someone could.

 
The crowd was wild. Parents lined the field, screaming encouragement. Classmates jumped up and down. Girlfriends couldn’t look. The coaches yelled. Cheerleaders had dressed in pumpkin heads and witches’ hats. Dark clouds raced overhead, threatening rain or snow. The J.V. squads were on fire, and the game was tied, 1-1.

 
Kate pulled her green wool jacket tighter, watching Teddy race down the field. Sure on his feet, he had the ball, deftly weaving between Riverdale players. Although she didn’t know much about the game, she found herself screaming louder than anyone.

 
“Go, Teddy!” she cried, holding Bonnie’s red leash.

 
The crowd joined in, calling his name.

 
“You can do it, O’Rourke! Go, go, go!”