“I don’t know. I didn’t even know his name until this week. Where is he?”
“He’s not from Connecticut. He got arrested here, a pot conviction; that’s why they sent him to Ainsworth. When he was released, the plan was for him to go back to Warwick, Rhode Island. That’s where he lived before, where his family lives. He had to return there; that would have been his parole arrangement.”
“Warwick’s not far from New London. Where did he get caught?”
“The shoreline somewhere.” Her father nodded slowly. “Maybe New London, I’m thinking. Maybe it was. But still, Beth lived in Black Hall—that’s a world away from drugs and the back streets.”
“She volunteered in New London; didn’t she tell you?”
“She sure did. I was proud of her.”
“And Jed wound up at her soup kitchen. They became friends,” Kate said, watching for his reaction.
“She appreciated talent, and he was a master of the line,” he said, frowning slightly. “He had a touch of Matisse in him.”
“I’ve seen his work,” she said.
“You did? What did you think?”
“I think he caused her problems,” Kate said.
“What problems? What did he do?”
“Worked at getting close to her. Complicated her life,” Kate said.
“He wasn’t a user, Kate. I know a little about people in here, after all that time, and I didn’t get that from him at all. Beth had good sense, and if she liked him, it was because he is a decent person. And I’m sure she saw his talent. Like I did. In fact ...” He stopped himself.
“In fact what?” she asked.
“Well, he missed nature in here. It ripped him apart. He was always sketching rivers, hills, trees. When he was getting out, I told him he should draw the gardens at the Ledges.”
The Ledges was an abandoned estate a few miles north of Mathilda’s house, also on the Connecticut River. Years ago, a nonprofit group had restored and operated it as a state park. There was a sunken garden full of lavender and old roses. Concerts and plays had been held in an amphitheater beside the rock ledge sloping into Long Island Sound. Many Sunday nights, her family had gone there to picnic and fly kites and listen to Mozart or bluegrass, see performances of Gilbert and Sullivan and once a production ofHenry V. But there were financial misdeeds on the part of the nonprofit’s board, and the Ledges went untended. Kate didn’t tell her father that the mansion had fallen into ruin, the gardens now overtaken by weeds and tall grass.
“Jed was never violent,” her father said, a ravaged tone in his voice. “He was peaceful. I worried about him in here. He wasn’t tough enough. I can’t believe he would have ... that he could have attacked anyone. He was always one of the ones who needed to go home, who didn’t belong in this place. But I swear to God, if he fucking hurt her ...”
“Howdidyou find out she died?” Kate asked.
“Scotty Breen told me,” he said, using Scotty’s maiden name. “She called. It was the worst day of my life. The second worst.”
“Those two days are connected,” she said.
“I don’t dare ask you to forgive me,” he said. “I don’t even want you to. I don’t deserve it.”
Kate knew she should get the words out. This was her chance. Everyone always said forgiveness is not forgetting, that the act is as full of grace for the forgiver as the forgiven. This would not hurt her. She gazed at the old man across from her. She knew that she would never see him again, and she also knew she could never absolve him.
“It’s okay,” he said, as if he knew her struggle.
Kate pushed her chair back, ready to go, the words caught in her throat.
“Kate,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
She nodded.
“You haven’t called me Dad,” he said.
She knew she hadn’t. She had told herself, long ago, that she no longer had a father. Gazing into his hazel eyes now, she went back a thousand years, was jumping up and down, wanting him to put her on his shoulders so they could be a two-headed giant.
What are we?he used to ask.
