Carol beamed even more, and that was Elizabeth’s final gift, not of forgiveness but silence, the chance for one good thing to remain when she left.
“Good-bye, Charlie.” She stepped off the porch and left them there. “I’m sorry about the wheelchair.”
“Liz—”
“Take care of each other.”
“Liz, wait.”
But Elizabeth didn’t wait. She walked away and took a final look from the truck. Beckett was in the chair and unmoving, his hands spread on the quilt as his wife leaned close and smiled and kissed his cheek. What would Adrian do with what she’d learned about Beckett’s betrayal and Carol’s original sin? She didn’t know for sure, but a stillness had been in Adrian these last weeks, a keenness to lift his arm and let life break like a current around him. Like her, he cared more for the future than the past, more for hope than anger.
She thought Charlie would be okay.
Starting the truck, she worked it past the abandoned plants, and down the long hill on the bad side of town. She followed the creek and found Gideon’s home as abandoned and broken as the one she’d left behind the clapboarded church. A foreclosure notice was nailed to the frame, but it seemed the bank didn’t care too much for the house. The door stood open. Dead leaves stirred on the threshold. Elizabeth sat for a long time and worried for the boy. Without her, the house was all he had: the sad, small house and the sad, small father. Turning across the broken road, she went to the fourth place on her list and found Faircloth on the front porch of his grand old home. He was draped in blankets and safeguarded by a round-faced nurse with a sunny disposition. “Are you here to see Mr. Jones? How lovely.” She bustled across the porch and met Elizabeth at the top step. “He gets so few visitors.”
Elizabeth followed her to Faircloth’s side. His mouth and left eye drooped. At his right hand was a table with pen and paper, and an old-fashioned with a straw that was curved and damp and as red as the cherry in the bottom of the glass. “He can’t speak,” the nurse said, “but he’s in there all the same.”
Elizabeth took a seat and studied the old man. He was thinner and older, but the eyes were still bright. His hand shook as he wrote. “So happy.”
“I’m happy, too, Faircloth. So very happy to see you.”
“But dangerous,” he wrote.
She took his curled left hand and held it in both of hers. “I’m being careful. I promise. Our mutual friend is fine, too. He’s far away and safe. Channing is with us.”
Faircloth began to rock minutely. Tears brightened the seams of his face. “Give love,” he wrote.
“That’s why I’m here. We have room for you, too. We have space and time and money for nurses. Come back with me.” His head moved as if he were shaking it. “It would be no inconvenience. We’ve talked about it for months.”
He looked at the pad. His hand moved. “Lived here. Die here.”
“There’s no need for you to be alone.”
He wrote again. “Pretty nurse. Soft hands.” Elizabeth looked up from the pad and saw the smile in his eyes. “Belvedere?” he wrote.
“Faircloth…”
“I’ll get it.” The nurse stood. “He asks me all the time, this time of day. But I’m not much for alcohol or forward men.”
Faircloth wrote, “Tease.” The nurse kissed his forehead, then went inside to fix Elizabeth’s drink. When she was gone, he wrote, “Gideon?”
“That’s part of the reason I’m here.”
He wrote an address, then, “Foster.”
“Foster parents.”
“Not good.” The light left his eyes.
Elizabeth squeezed again. “I’ll find him. I’ll make it right.”
The nurse returned and handed Elizabeth the drink. “I’m going to start dinner. Will you sit with him for a while?”
“There’s nothing I’d rather do.” She waited for the nurse to leave, then lifted the old-fashioned so Faircloth could take a sip.
“You and Adrian?” he wrote.
“He’s a strong man, and healing. I think we’re doing well.”
“How well?”
She saw the twinkle that time and took the question exactly as Faircloth meant it. “The next man I kiss will be forever. Adrian knows that.”
“So kiss him.”
“Soon, I think.” She lifted her glass and sat beside the old man.
“Happy,” he wrote. “Will die happy.”
*
Elizabeth found Gideon in a neighborhood park three houses down from the one his foster parents owned. He was alone on a swing, and she watched from beneath the brim of her hat. None of the other kids called out or looked at him. He sat still on the plastic seat, his sneakers scuffing in the dirt. She watched for a long time as if her own heart beat in the emptiness of that park.
He never looked up.
He barely moved.
Even when her shadow stretched across his feet, his interest was perfunctory. That changed when he looked up and the hat came off.
“Hello, Gideon.”
He didn’t say a word, but came off the swing in a tangle of limbs. His face was hard and hot as he squeezed her.