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“Yes, how did you know?”
His eyes snapped into focus, catching the light like broken glass. “What kind of a son would I be, not to know?”
She blushed stupidly and couldn’t seem to find a natural position for her hands to settle in. He’d lost his mother too. “Yes, of course.”
“You forgot,” he said in a gentler voice.
She nodded, embarrassed. “But I felt that way, too, or like maybe it was a cruel joke, and everyone would confess to it real soon.”
“And then the anger,” he said, as if it were inevitable. “Anger at her for going away.”
“For ruining our lives,” she joined in.
“At God, “he said.
“At everyone around, for not understanding, for not having it happen to them.”
Simon nodded. “At myself, too, for not having been old enough at the time to understand, or perhaps to save her.”
“I thought sometimes, I’m being punished,” Zoë said, “but I didn’t know what for. I started looking for things to do to atone.”
A woman near the front of the bus turned to look at them, and Zoë realized the conversation had gotten louder. She lowered her voice. “Now I think, there’s no payoff, no matter how good you are. No one’s going to reward you. It’s not like getting good grades in school—there’s no logic, no prizes.”
He sighed. “It pains me to hear you speak like that. So young, and so bitter.”
She was surprised. “But what about you? After all this time, after all you’ve been through?”
“Yes, I suppose, but I’ve had much longer to become that way, and even then, isn’t the point to do what’s right for its own sake, even if there is no reward?” He gave a short snort of laughter. “But what am I talking about? What do I know of right and wrong? I’ve had to rationalize the wrong for so long, I’m not sure I could know the difference. It appears self-preservation is the strongest motivator of all—for everyone.”
Zoë noticed that they were passing the hospital. “Damn!” She leapt for the bell cord. The bus ground to a halt at the stop by the farthest entrance, and they scrambled to get off. At least the rain had stopped; a piece of luck, since she’d forgotten the umbrella.
On the way up the long driveway he put his arm around her. He should be dead, she thought, three hundred years ago, and yet he’s here comforting me. It doesn’t make sense.
“Zoë,” he said when they were halfway there, “don’t let the anger make you push people away. Don’t take it out on the people who love you. I cut myself off from my father, and look what happened to me. It tortures me to think of how it could have been. I should have recognized the form his grief took and comforted him. We could have stood against Christopher together. We could have won. I was a fool.”
Zoë hugged him closer to her. “We don’t ever have the benefit of hindsight in our decisions, let alone three hundred years’ worth.” Secretly she thought, Am I pushing them away? No, it’s them. But his words nagged at her; she still hadn’t phoned Lorraine.
As they neared the building, Simon slowed down. He tipped his head to examine its height like Jack facing the giant. She hesitated at the large glass doors. Would anyone really want to sit at the deathbed of someone he didn’t even know? “Are you sure you want to come in?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, but he looked frightened, unsteady.
“You could wait outside.”
“No.”
It didn’t look as if he was going to move, however, so she went in ahead of him. He followed her and kept close like a child at the dentist. His eyes flicked rapidly here and there. She was sure a sudden noise would give him a heart attack—if that was possible. He almost flinched when someone passed him in the corridor. They drew a few curious stares, but this was a hospital. They probably think I’m taking him to the psych ward, she decided.
“I’m not used to the light,” he said by way of excuse.
When the elevator doors closed, she wished for his sake they had taken the stairs. She could feel his panic like vibrations in the air. Thank goodness they were in there alone, because she didn’t think he could have taken a crowd.
“The problem is,” he said—and she could hear the click of his tongue in his dry mouth—“in my line of work you like to have an escape route.” He cut short a nervous giggle by biting his lip.
Zoë smiled politely at the plump nurse at the fifth-floor station. The nurse smiled back. “Which room?”
“Five twelve.”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Sutcliff. She said she was expecting her daughter.”
