I, Richard Part 8

"There're some questions you never get answered in life. Why? Why? is generally one of them." Bethany hugged her one-armed, a squeeze to tell her that she wasn't alone no matter how she felt, no matter how it seemed and was going to seem in the big, expensive, suburban house that they'd bought three years ago because "It's time for a family, Char, don't you think? And no one believes cities are good for kids." Declared with an infectious smile, declared with that spurt of Eric energy that had always kept him active, curious, involved, and alive. is generally one of them." Bethany hugged her one-armed, a squeeze to tell her that she wasn't alone no matter how she felt, no matter how it seemed and was going to seem in the big, expensive, suburban house that they'd bought three years ago because "It's time for a family, Char, don't you think? And no one believes cities are good for kids." Declared with an infectious smile, declared with that spurt of Eric energy that had always kept him active, curious, involved, and alive.

Charlie said, looking at the a.s.sembled guests, "I can't believe his family didn't come. I phoned his ex-wife. I told her what happened. I asked her to tell the rest of his family-well, to tell his parents... who else is there, really?-but none of them even sent a message, Beth. Not his father, not his mother, not his own daughter."

"Maybe the ex didn't-what's her name?"

"Paula."

"Maybe Paula didn't pa.s.s on the word. If the divorce was nasty...was it?"

"Fairly. There was another man involved. Eric fought Paula for custody of Janie."

"That could've done the trick."

"It was years years ago." ago."

"Put the screws to him in death. Some people can never let go."

"D'you think she might not have told his parents?"

"Sounds about right," Bethany said.

It was the thought that Paula, in a last stroke of posthumous revenge upon her erstwhile husband, might have refused to pa.s.s along the news to Eric's parents that made Charlie decide to contact the elder Lawtons herself. The problem was that Eric had long been estranged from his parents, a sad fact that he'd revealed to Charlie during their first holiday season together. Close to her own family despite the distance that separated them all, she'd brought up "making arrangements for the holidays. D'you want to spend them with your family or mine? Or should we divide them up? Or have everyone here?"

Here at that time was a two-bedroom condo in the Hollywood Hills from which Eric ventured forth each day to his job in the distant suburbs while Charlie dashed off to her casting calls with the hope that something other than being the mom-with-the-perfect-family on WoW! soap commercials might be in her future. A two-bedroom condo with an airliner-sized kitchen and a single bathroom was not the ideal spot for entertaining mutual families, so she had prepared herself for the inevitable division of time between the end of November and the beginning of January: Thanksgiving in one location, Christmas Eve in another, Christmas Day at a third, and New Year's Eve together at home alone in front of the artificial fire, with fruit and champagne. Only, that wasn't how the holidays played out because Eric told her the painful story of his estrangement from his parents: about the hunting accident that had caused the estrangement and what had followed that accident. at that time was a two-bedroom condo in the Hollywood Hills from which Eric ventured forth each day to his job in the distant suburbs while Charlie dashed off to her casting calls with the hope that something other than being the mom-with-the-perfect-family on WoW! soap commercials might be in her future. A two-bedroom condo with an airliner-sized kitchen and a single bathroom was not the ideal spot for entertaining mutual families, so she had prepared herself for the inevitable division of time between the end of November and the beginning of January: Thanksgiving in one location, Christmas Eve in another, Christmas Day at a third, and New Year's Eve together at home alone in front of the artificial fire, with fruit and champagne. Only, that wasn't how the holidays played out because Eric told her the painful story of his estrangement from his parents: about the hunting accident that had caused the estrangement and what had followed that accident.

"I tripped and the gun went off," he confessed one night in the darkness. "If I'd known what to... I didn't know what to do. do. I had no first aid. He bled to death, Char. With me shaking him and yelling his name and crying and telling him, I had no first aid. He bled to death, Char. With me shaking him and yelling his name and crying and telling him, begging begging him, to hold on, to just hold on." him, to hold on, to just hold on."

"I'm so sorry," she'd said and she'd pulled his head to her breast because his voice had broken and his body trembled and he clung to her and she wasn't used to a man showing emotion. "Your own brother. Eric, what a horrible thing."

"He was eighteen. They tried to forgive me. But he was... Brent was like the crown prince to them. I couldn't take his place. I drifted off eventually. Just a bit at first. Then more and more. They decided to let me. It was best for us all. We couldn't get over it. We couldn't get past it."

Charlie tried to imagine what it had been like for him: growing to adulthood and then toward middle age and always knowing he'd shot his own brother. They'd been birding, out at dawn at the edge of the desert where the doves wintered. They'd hunted birds from childhood, first with their father and then- when Brent was old enough to drive-on their own. And on their second such trip together, the worst had happened.

"They probably forgave you years ago," she'd said to her husband loyally. "Have you tried to contact them?"

"I don't want to see it in their eyes. The looking at me and trying to seem like there's nothing beneath that look but love."

"Well, there's not hate beneath it."

"No. Just sorrow, which I put there. Being dumb. Being slipshod. Not holding the gun right. Not watching my feet."

"You were only fifteen," Charlie protested.

"I was old enough."

For what? she'd wondered. But she worked out the answer eventually: old enough to disappear. she'd wondered. But she worked out the answer eventually: old enough to disappear.

They had a right to know that he was dead, however. So even though Charlie had no idea where Marilyn and Clark Lawton lived, she determined she would find them and give them the information. She knew that Eric would want it that way. The very fact that he had a virtual gallery of family pictures told her that he had never stopped feeling the aching loss of a place in his parents' hearts.

She went to these pictures the day after his funeral, lightheaded and sore-muscled after the trauma of the past week. The grieving tightness in her throat was still there-had been there since the night Eric died-and so was the sickly, feverish sensation she'd had for days. She couldn't remember how it was to feel normal any longer. But things had to be done.

The pictures were in the living room, standing like deliberate, intrusive thoughts at intervals among the books on either side of the fireplace. She knew who every individual was because Eric had told her several times. But he'd identified most of them by first name only, which wasn't helpful in the present circ.u.mstances: Aunt Marianne at her high school graduation, Great-Aunt Shirley with Great-Uncle Pat, Grandma Louise (on which side of the family, Eric?), (on which side of the family, Eric?), Uncle Ross, Brent at seven, Mom at ten, Dad at thirteen, Mom and Dad on their wedding day, Grandpa and his brothers, Nana Jessie-Lynn. But aside from his parents' last name, she knew no one else's. And a look in the phone book told her no Lawtons named Clark or Marilyn lived nearby. Uncle Ross, Brent at seven, Mom at ten, Dad at thirteen, Mom and Dad on their wedding day, Grandpa and his brothers, Nana Jessie-Lynn. But aside from his parents' last name, she knew no one else's. And a look in the phone book told her no Lawtons named Clark or Marilyn lived nearby.

Not that she had expected them to be near. She'd hoped for that, but at the same time she'd already realized that hunting trips taken by teenaged boys to the edge of the desert suggested a town not far away from a place even more arid than the LA suburb where she and Eric had bought their home.

She got out a map of California and considered beginning her search in the south, right at the state border. She could call information for every town that sided the slice of land that was Highway 805. But she got not much farther than Paradise Hills before she reconsidered this painstaking approach.

She went back to the pictures and took them down. She carried them into the kitchen and set them carefully on the granite counter. They were all old pictures, the most recent being Brent at seven, and some of them were tintypes a.s.siduously preserved.

Still, sometimes, she knew, families made note of the subjects of photographs and the locations where the pictures had been taken as well. And if that was the case with Eric's family pictures, there might be a clue as to the current whereabouts of his relatives.

So she eased off the back of each of the frames, and examined the reverse side of the photographs. Only two provided writing. A delicate hand had written Brent Lawton, seven years old, Yosemite Brent Lawton, seven years old, Yosemite on the back side of the picture of Eric's brother. A spidery pen had placed on the back side of the picture of Eric's brother. A spidery pen had placed Jessie-Lynn just before Merle's wedding Jessie-Lynn just before Merle's wedding on the picture of one of the grandmothers in Eric's life. But that was it. on the picture of one of the grandmothers in Eric's life. But that was it.

Charlie sighed and began to rea.s.semble the frames and their contents: gla.s.s, photograph, cardboard filler, and velvet-covered backing. When she got to the Lawtons' wedding picture, however, she discovered that something besides the gla.s.s, the photo, the filler, and the backing had been put into the frame. Perhaps it was because the more recent the photo, the thinner the paper on which it had been printed. But the wedding picture had required something extra to fill up the s.p.a.ce between it and the backing. This something was a folded paper, which unfolded turned out to be a blank receipt. Printed at the top of this was Time on My Side Time on My Side and an address on Front Street in Temecula, California. and an address on Front Street in Temecula, California.

Charlie got out her map again. A shot of excitement and certainty flashed through her when she found Temecula at the edge of the desert, sitting alongside another desert freeway, as if waiting for her to discover its secrets.

She didn't go at once. She planned to head out the very next day, but she awakened to find that the tightness in her throat had become a burning and the soreness in her muscles had metamorphosed into chills. It was more than simply exhaustion and grief, she realized. She'd come down with the flu.

She felt resignation but very little surprise. She'd been running on nerves alone for days: with virtually no food and even less sleep. It was no shock to find herself become a breeding ground for illness.

She forced herself to the drugstore and prowled the length of the cold-and-flu aisle, blearily reading the labels on medicines that promised a quick fix for-or at least temporary relief from-the nasty little bug that had invaded her body. She knew the routine: lots of liquids and bed rest, so she stocked up on Cup of Soup, Cup of Noodles, Lipton's, and Top Ramen. As long as the microwave worked, she would be all right, she told herself. Eric's family could wait the twenty-four or forty-eight hours it would take for her to regain her strength.

Thus, it was two days later when Charlie set out for Temecula. Even then, she did so in the company of Bethany Franklin. For although she felt somewhat buoyed by the forty-eight hours of bed rest interrupted only by forays to the refrigerator and the microwave, she didn't trust herself to drive such a distance without a companion.

Bethany didn't like the idea of her going at all. She said bluntly, "You look like h.e.l.l," when she roared up in her pride and joy, a silver BMW sports car. "You should be in bed, not traipsing around the state looking for... who're we looking for?" She'd brought a bag of Cheetos with her-"absolute nectar of the G.o.ds," she announced, waving the sack like a woman flagging down a taxi-and she munched them as she followed Charlie from the front door into the kitchen. There, the family pictures stood where Charlie had left them. Charlie took up the photo of Eric's parents, along with the receipt from Time on My Side.

She said, "I want to tell his family what happened. I don't know where they are, and this is the only clue I have."

Bethany took the picture and the receipt as Charlie explained where she'd found the latter. She said, "Why don't we just phone this place, Charles? There's a number."

"And if Eric's parents own it? What do we say?" Charlie asked. "We can't just tell them about..." She felt tears threaten, again. Again. Remember, I'll always love you, Char. Remember, I'll always love you, Char. "Not on the phone, Beth. It wouldn't be right." "Not on the phone, Beth. It wouldn't be right."

"No. You're right. We can't do it on the phone. But you're in no shape to cruise up and down freeways. Let me go if you're so set on this."

"I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm feeling better. It was just the flu."

The compromise was that they would travel with the top up and Charlie was to bring with her a Thermos of Lipton's chicken noodle and a carton of orange juice as well, which she was to use to minister to herself during the long drive to the southeast. In this fashion, they made their way to Temecula, down Highway 15 which squeezed a concrete valley through the rock-strewn hills that divided the California desert from the sea. Here, greedy developers had raped the dusty land, planting it with the seed of their neighborhoods, each identical to the last, all colored a uniform shade of dun, all unshaded by even a single tree, all roofed in a pantiled fashion that had prompted the builder of one site to name the monstrosity, ludicrously, "Tuscany Hills."

They arrived in Temecula just after one in the afternoon, and it was no difficult feat for them to find Front Street. It comprised what the city council euphemistically called "The Historic District" and it announced itself from the freeway some mile and a half before the appropriate exit.

"The Historic District" turned out to be several city blocks separated from the rest of the town-its modern half-by a railroad track, the freeway, a smallish industrial park, and a public storage site. These city blocks stretched along a two-lane street, and they were lined with gift shops, restaurants, and antique stores, with the occasional coffee, candy, or ice-cream house thrown in for good measure. In short, "The Historic District" was another name for tourist attraction. It might have once been the center of the town, but now it was a magnet for people seeking a day's respite from the indistinguishable urban sprawl that oozed out from Los Angeles in all directions like a profitable oil slick. There were wooden sidewalks and structures of adobe, stucco, or brick. There were colorful banners, quirky signs, and a you-are-here billboard posted at the edge of the public parking lot. It was Disneyland's Main Street without having to pay the exorbitant entrance fee.

"And you ask me why I hate to venture out of LA," Bethany commented as she pulled into a vacant s.p.a.ce and gazed around with a shudder. "This is SoCal at its best. Phony history for fun and profit. It reminds me of Calico Ghost Town. You ever been there, chickadee? The only ghost town on earth that someone's managed to turn into a shopping mall."

Charlie smiled and pointed at the you-are-here billboard. "Let's look at that sign."

They found Time on My Side listed as one of the shops in the first block of the historic district. Between them, they'd decided on the drive that it was probably an establishment selling clocks but when they got to it, they discovered that it was-like so many of its companion businesses-an antique shop. They went inside.

A low growl greeted them, followed by a man's voice admonishing, "Hey you, Mugs. None of that," which was directed to a Norwich terrier who was curled on a cushion on an old desk chair. This stood next to an ancient rolltop desk at which a man was sitting beneath a bright light, studying a porcelain bottle through a jeweler's lens. He looked over the countertop at Bethany and Charlie, saying, "Sorry. Some folks take her amiss. It's just her way of saying h.e.l.lo. You go back to sleep, Mugs." The dog apparently understood. She sank her head back to her paws and sighed deeply. Her eyelids began to droop.

Charlie scanned the man's face, seeking a likeness, hoping to see projected on its elderly features an Eric who would never be. He was the right age to be Eric's dad: He looked about seventy. And he was wiry like Eric, with Eric's frank gaze and an Eric energy that expressed itself in a foot that tapped restlessly against the rung of his chair.

"Make yourself to home," the old gentleman said. "Have a spec around. You looking for anything special?"

"Actually," Charlie said as she and Bethany approached the counter, "I'm looking for a family. My husband's family."

The man scratched his head. He set the porcelain bottle down on his desk and placed the jeweler's lens next to it. "Don't sell families," he said with a smile.

"This one's called Lawton," Bethany said.

"Marilyn and Clark Lawton," Charlie added. "We were... Well, I I was hoping that you might... Are you Mr. Lawton, by any chance?" was hoping that you might... Are you Mr. Lawton, by any chance?"

"Henry Leel," he said.

"Oh." Charlie felt deflated. More, the knowledge that the man wasn't Eric's father struck her more forcefully than she thought it would. She said, "Well, it was always only a chance, driving out here. But I hoped... You don't happen to know any family called Lawton in town, do you?"

Henry Leel shook his head. "Can't say as I do. They antiques people?" He gestured at the shop around him, crowded to a claustrophobic degree with furniture and bric-a-brac.

"I don't..." Charlie felt a slight dizziness come over her, and she reached for the counter.

Bethany took her arm. She said, "Here. Take it easy," and to Henry Leel, "She's just getting over the flu. And her husband... He died about a week ago. His parents don't know about it and we're looking for them."

"They the Lawtons?" Henry Leel said, and when Bethany nodded, he cast a sympathetic gaze on Charlie. "She looks mighty young to be a widow, poor thing."

"She is is mighty young to be a widow. And like I say, she's been sick." mighty young to be a widow. And like I say, she's been sick."

"Bring her behind here then and sit her down. Mugs, get off that chair and give it to the lady. Go on. You heard me. Here. Let me get the pillow off, Miss... Mrs... What'd you say the name was?"

"Lawton," Charlie said. "Forgive me. I haven't been feeling well. His death... It was sudden."

"I'm sure sorry about that. Here. I'm making you some tea with a tot of brandy in it. It'll set you up. You stay where you are."

He locked the front door of the shop and disappeared into the back. When he returned with the tea, he brought a local telephone directory with him, eager to be of help to the ladies. But a search through its pages turned up no Lawtons in the area.

Charlie quelled her disappointment. She drank her tea and felt revived enough to tell Henry Leel how she and Bethany had come to choose this shop in Temecula as the jumping-off point to find Eric's family. When she'd completed the story and brought forth the wedding picture of Eric's parents, Henry gazed at it long and hard, his brow furrowed as if he could force recognition out of his skull. But he shook his head after a minute of study. He said, "They look a touch familiar, I'll give you that. But I wouldn't want to say that I know them. Sides, I sell old pictures not much different from this, so after a while everyone everyone in a picture looks like someone I've seen somewhere. Here. Let me show you." in a picture looks like someone I've seen somewhere. Here. Let me show you."

He went to a dark far corner of the shop and brought out a small bin that stood on the shelf of a kitchen dresser. He carried this back to Charlie and Bethany saying, "I don't sell many. Mostly to tearooms, theater groups, frame shops wanting to use them for display. That sort of thing. Here. Have a look-see yourself." He plopped the bin on the desk. "See. This here one of yours... it fits right in with this last bunch in the bin. A little more recent, but I've got some that age. Looks like... let me see for a second. Yep. It looks like a fifties shot. Late fifties. Maybe early sixties."

Charlie had begun to feel uneasy with the first mention of the photographs. She didn't want to look at Bethany, afraid of what her own face might reveal. She fingered through the photographs cooperatively, unable to avoid noticing the fact that they represented all styles and all periods of time. There were tintypes, there were old black and white snapshots, there were studio studies, there were hand-tinted portraits. Some of them had handwriting on the back, identifying either the subjects or the places. Charlie didn't want to think what this meant. Jessie-Lynn just before Merle's wedding. Jessie-Lynn just before Merle's wedding.

Henry Leel said, "So how'd you come to think these Lawton folks'd be here? At this shop in Temecula."

"There was a receipt," Bethany responded. "Charlie, show him what you found in that frame."

Charlie handed over the slip of paper. As Henry Leel squinted down at it, she said, "It must have been a coincidence. The picture ... this one of his parents... it was a bit loose in the frame, and he must have been just using it to fill in the gap. I saw it and... Since I was hoping to track down his family, I made a leap that wasn't warranted. That's all."

Henry Leel pulled thoughtfully at his chin. He c.o.c.ked his head to one side and tapped his index finger-its nail blackened by some sort of fungus-against the receipt. He said, "These're numbered. See here? One-oh-five-eight in the top right-hand corner? Just hang on a minute. I might be able to help you." He rustled within his rolltop desk, rousing Mugs from her slumber at its side. She lifted her head and blinked at him sleepily before pillowing herself once again in her paws. Her master brought forth a worn, black, floppy-covered book of an official nature and he plopped it onto his desktop, saying, "Let's see what we can come up with in here."

In here turned out to be copies of the sales receipts for merchandise for Time on My Side. Within a moment, the shop owner had leafed back through them to find what was on either side of 1058. 1059 had been made out to a Barbara Fryer with a home address in Huntington Beach. "Not much help there," Henry Leel said regretfully, but he added, "Say now. Here's what we want," when he saw the receipt that preceded it. "Here's who you're looking for. You said Lawton, didn't you? Well, I've got myself a Lawton right here." turned out to be copies of the sales receipts for merchandise for Time on My Side. Within a moment, the shop owner had leafed back through them to find what was on either side of 1058. 1059 had been made out to a Barbara Fryer with a home address in Huntington Beach. "Not much help there," Henry Leel said regretfully, but he added, "Say now. Here's what we want," when he saw the receipt that preceded it. "Here's who you're looking for. You said Lawton, didn't you? Well, I've got myself a Lawton right here."

He swung the accounts book in Charlie's direction, and she saw what she'd antic.i.p.ated seeing-without knowing or understanding why why she would be seeing it-the moment she began fingering through the old pictures. she would be seeing it-the moment she began fingering through the old pictures. Eric Lawton Eric Lawton was written on receipt number 1057. Instead of an address anywhere at all, there was only a phone number: Eric's work number at the pharmaceutical company where he'd been director of sales for the seven years that Charlie had known him. was written on receipt number 1057. Instead of an address anywhere at all, there was only a phone number: Eric's work number at the pharmaceutical company where he'd been director of sales for the seven years that Charlie had known him.

Beneath Eric's name was a list of purchases. Charlie read gold locket (14 ct), 19 gold locket (14 ct), 19th century porcelain box, woman's diamond ring, century porcelain box, woman's diamond ring, and and j.a.panese fan. j.a.panese fan. Beneath this last was the number ten and the word Beneath this last was the number ten and the word pix. pix. Charlie didn't need to ask what that final notation meant. Charlie didn't need to ask what that final notation meant.

Bethany pointed to it, saying, "Charles, is this-"

Charlie cut her off. Her limbs felt like lead, but she moved them anyway, turning the account book back to the shop owner and saying, "No. It's... I'm looking for Clark or Marilyn Law-ton. This is someone else."

Henry Leel said, "Oh. Well, I s'pose it wouldn't be this fellah. He was too young to be who you're looking for anyway. I remember him, and he was... say... fortyish? Forty-five. I remember because look here, he spent near seven hundred dollars-the ring and the locket were the big-money items-and you don't see that kind of sale every day. I said to him, 'Some lady's going to get lucky,' and he winked. 'Every lady's lucky when she's my lady,' he said. I remember that. c.o.c.ky, I thought. But c.o.c.ky in a good way. You know what I mean?"

Charlie smiled faintly. She got to her feet. She said, "Thanks. Thanks so much for your help."

"Sorry I couldn't've been more of a one," Henry Leel replied. "Say, you want to head off right now? You're looking green around the gills. Ask me, you need a straight shot of brandy."

"No, no. I'm fine. Thanks," Charlie said. She gripped Bethany's arm and drew her steadily from the shop.

Outside, an old-time hitching rail ran along the wooden sidewalk, and Charlie clutched onto this, looking out into the street. She thought about 10 pix 10 pix and what that meant: a family conveniently purchased in Temecula, California. But what did and what that meant: a family conveniently purchased in Temecula, California. But what did that that mean? And what did it tell her about her husband? mean? And what did it tell her about her husband?

She felt Bethany come close to her side and she blessed her friend for the gift of her silence. It continued while out in the bright street, cars cruised by and pedestrians dodged between them to dart into yet another shop.

When she was finally able to speak, Charlie said, "What happened was that I accused him of having an affair. Not that night. A week or so before."

Bethany said, voice glum, "He never gave you that locket, I guess. Or the ring."

"Or the porcelain box. No. He didn't."

"Maybe he sent them to Janie? Trying to be a good dad?"

"He never said." In spite of an attempt to control them, Charlie's tears welled anyway, spilling onto her cheeks in a silent trail of misery. "He'd been acting different for about three months. At first I thought it was work-sales being down or something. But there were the phone calls he hung up on when I walked into the room. There were the times he came home late. He always phoned me, but the excuses were... Beth, they were so transparent."

Bethany sighed. "Charles, I don't know. It looks bad. I can see that for myself. But it just doesn't seem seem like Eric." like Eric."

"Did a Harley-Davidson seem like Eric? A tattoo of a snake crawling up his arm?" Charlie began crying in earnest then, and the rest of her fears, her suspicions, and her covert activities in the final week before Eric's death spilled out of her for her friend's ears. He'd denied an affair earlier when confronted, she told Bethany. He'd denied it with such incredulous outrage that Charlie had decided to believe in him. But three weeks later, he suggested casually that she slow down in her decorating of their house and especially that she hold off on their plans for a nursery since "we don't really know how much longer we're going to live in this place," which set fire to her suspicions again.

She'd hated the part of herself that had doubts about Eric, but she'd not been able to stop herself from dwelling on them. They led her to snooping in a despicable fashion she was embarra.s.sed to admit to, stooping so low as to even go through his bathroom-for G.o.d's sake-for signs that there was another woman who might have been in the house with Eric when she herself was gone.

As she told the tale, Charlie wiped her eyes and even laughed shakily at her own behavior: She'd been like a character in an afternoon soap opera, a woman whose life goes from bad to worse but all the time at her own hands. She'd studied telephone bills for strange numbers; she'd gone through her husband's address book, looking for cryptic initials that stood in place of a mistress's name; she'd examined his dirty laundry for telltale signs of lipstick that was not her own; she'd rustled through his dresser drawers for mementos, receipts, letters, messages, ticket stubs, or anything else that might give him away; she'd picked the lock of his briefcase and read every doc.u.ment inside it as if the convoluted reports from Biosyn Inc. were love letters or diaries written in code.

She'd been forced to confess to all of this, however, when she sank to the depths of opening up a prescription cough syrup she'd found in his bathroom-not even knowing why why she was opening it...what did she expect to find in there? A genie who would tell her the truth?-only to have it slip from her fingers and smash and spill upon the limestone floor. That had served to bring her to her senses: that rising sense of frustration at not being able to prove what she believed to be true, that muttered she was opening it...what did she expect to find in there? A genie who would tell her the truth?-only to have it slip from her fingers and smash and spill upon the limestone floor. That had served to bring her to her senses: that rising sense of frustration at not being able to prove what she believed to be true, that muttered aha! aha! when she saw the bottle, that clutching to her bosom of the medicine itself and uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g its top with unsteady hands and watching dumbly as it flew from her fingers and broke on the floor, spilling out the syrup in an amber pool. When this occurred, she had realized how futile her investigation was and how ugly it was making her. Which was why she finally confessed to her husband. It seemed the only way to get herself beyond what was troubling her. when she saw the bottle, that clutching to her bosom of the medicine itself and uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g its top with unsteady hands and watching dumbly as it flew from her fingers and broke on the floor, spilling out the syrup in an amber pool. When this occurred, she had realized how futile her investigation was and how ugly it was making her. Which was why she finally confessed to her husband. It seemed the only way to get herself beyond what was troubling her.

"He listened. He was terribly upset. And after we talked, he just went into himself. I thought he was punishing me for what I'd done, and I knew I deserved it. What I did was wrong. But I thought he'd get past it, we'd both get past it and that would be the end of it. Only, a week later he was dead. And now..." Charlie glanced at the door of Time on My Side. "We know, don't we? We know what. We just don't know who. Let's go home, Beth."

Bethany Franklin was reluctant to believe the worst of Eric Lawton. She pointed out to Charlie that Charlie's own search had turned up nothing and that, for all she knew, Eric had been squirreling away Christmas presents for her. Or birthday presents. Or Valentine's presents. Some people buy things when they see them, Bethany pointed out, and just hang on to them till the appropriate day.

But that hardly explained the pictures, Charlie said. He'd "bought" his family at Time on My Side. And what did that that mean? mean?

That he had another family somewhere, she decided. Beyond his earlier marriage to Paula, beyond his daughter Janie, and beyond herself.