Public Secrets

searching his face. “You’ve hardly changed at all.”
“That’s exactly the kind of flattery a man needs from a beautiful woman.”
She smiled, easily this time. “No, really. I’m studying to be a photographer so I try to observe and remember faces. It’s kind of you to see me again.”
“Don’t be silly. Sit, sit.” He spied the iced tea and chose a glass, wanting to give her time to be comfortable. “Is your father in town?”
“No.” She ran her fingers up and down her own glass, but didn’t drink. “He’s in London—or on his way. I’m living in New York now, going to college there.”
“I haven’t been to New York for years.” He settled back in a striped wing chair that suited him so perfectly Emma imagined he rarely sat elsewhere in that room. “Photography, you say. I remember, last time I saw you, you had a camera.”
“I still have it. Da often says he created a monster when he gave me that Nikon.”
“How is Brian?”
“He’s fine.” Though she was far from sure of that. “Busy.” Of that she was sure. Then she took a deep breath and plunged into the truth. “He doesn’t know I’m here. I don’t want him to.”

“Why?”
She lifted her hand, then helplessly let it fall again. “He’d only be upset, and miserably unhappy if he knew I’d come to see you, to talk about Darren.”
“Michael, will you give me a hand with something?” Marge started to rise, but Emma shook her head.
“No, please. There’s no need for you to go. It’s certainly not private. I suppose it never has been.” Agitated, she set down her glass. “It’s only that I wondered if there was something, something you might know, something the press didn’t get their hands on, and that I was considered too young to be told at the time. I’ve been able to put it aside, for long stretches of time anyway. But it never really goes away. And last night I remembered …”
“What?” Lou leaned forward.
“Just a song,” she murmured. “A song that was playing that night. I remembered hearing it coming from downstairs as I walked toward Darren’s room. It was all so clear, for a moment, so clear. The song, the lyrics, Darren crying. But I can’t get to the door, you see. In my head, when I try to remember, I can only see myself standing in the hall.”
“Maybe that’s all you did.” Lou frowned into his glass. Like Emma, he’d been able to put the case aside for long stretches. But it always came back. He knew the face of that little boy would always haunt him. “Emma, we were never sure you went into the room, or saw anything. At the time, you thought you did, but you were very confused. It was just as likely that you heard something that frightened you, ran to the stairs to call your father, and fell. You were only six, and afraid of the dark.”
Was, and am, she thought. “I’ve never been able to sort it out, you see. And I hate not knowing, not being sure I couldn’t have stopped it. Saved him.”

“I can put your mind at rest there.” He put the glass aside. He wanted her to see him as a cop now, an official. “There were two men in your brother’s room that night. The nanny claimed that she heard two people whispering as she was being bound. The forensic evidence corroborated it. The syringe found on the floor of your brother’s room contained a sedative, a child’s dose. From what we were able to piece together, the time that elapsed between the nanny being bound and your fall was less than twenty minutes. It was a bungled attempt, Emma, with tragic results, but it was well thought out. Something happened to confuse their plans, to confuse them. We may never know what it was. But if you had gone into that room, had tried to fight them off yourself, you wouldn’t have been able to save Darren, and in all likelihood would have been killed as well.”
She hoped he was right. She prayed he was right. But it did little to soothe her. When she left an hour later she promised herself she would try to believe it.
“You have wonderful parents,” she told Michael as he walked her to her car.
“Yeah. I’ve almost broken them in.” He put his hand on the door handle. There was no way he was going to let her walk out of his life so quickly again. He remembered how she had looked on the beach that day—had it been five years before? She’d looked sad—sad and beautiful. Something about her had struck a chord in him then. She struck the same one now.
“Are you staying in town