Burden of Proof Page 13

  “One hour.”

  She settled back in her seat, lifted her glass, and sipped. “Isn’t this a lovely night? Adrian insists there’s a major storm brewing out there somewhere. Do you agree?”

  “You were never after more than an hour, were you?”

  She smiled. “One can always hope. But no. An hour should be enough. Maybe a smidgen—”

  “No.” He studied her. “I would hate to play poker with you.”

  “Adrian loves the occasional game. He keeps saying that sooner or later he’s bound to win one hand.” She sipped again. “We’ll see.”

  “I don’t know a thing about you,” he said. “All I remember from before is how we fought.”

  Sonya turned to the night and went quiet. Ethan waited with her, content to watch distant lightning illuminate the sky. It truly was a lovely evening.

  “My father was a pipe fitter and a mean drunk.” Sonya spoke to the darkness beyond their enclosure. “My mother was a dessert chef in an Orlando restaurant. She had the ability to become a shadow when my father was bingeing. My brother ran away when he was fourteen. I learned later he joined the merchant marine. When Adrian and I were getting married, I tracked him down. He’s a captain now of one of the world’s largest container ships. The people serving under him had nothing but good things to say. The word I heard most often was kind. My brother, the kind and soft-spoken skipper. His crew worships him.”

  Ethan could hear Adrian and Gina talking inside the kitchen. Gina’s voice was too soft for him to make out the words, but it didn’t matter. Adrian said something, and she responded with a quick burst of musical laughter, easy and fine. The two of them walked a course that had not existed in his previous world. Just like this conversation. He and Sonya, seated together as if they were friends.

  Sonya went on, “I ran too, in my own way. When I was nine, I went to the police. I’m told that almost never happens, a child breaking with the family pattern and seeking help.”

  “You were special even then,” Ethan said.

  She acknowledged his compliment with a nod. “Social services became involved, and things became better. Not great. Not even good. But better. I hid in my books. Study became my refuge. Two of my teachers took an interest in me and helped prepare me for early release. That’s what I secretly called my home life—a cage I was desperate to escape from.”

  The night wind rippled across the pool’s surface, scattering the underwater lights. Their reflection shone against the boundary of oleanders. Their blossoms weaved a soft dance in tones of lavender and rose.

  “I started at Princeton three weeks after my fifteenth birthday. It was absolute bliss. I was still an outcast, of course. The youngest in my class and small for my age. I didn’t care. None of their looks or comments could touch me. I did what I always did. I lived for my work.”

  Ethan looked up as a soft rumble of thunder echoed across the starlit sky. Despite the calm and the beauty of this one night, the storm was out there. And it was headed his way.

  “I earned my doctorate at twenty and went straight into research. Princeton made me a lecturer—teaching just one class a week, my own lab, two assistants. In a tight market for science grads, it was a dream position.” She went quiet.

  “What happened?”

  Sonya rose from her chair and walked to the pool’s edge. She stared into the water with her own brand of singular intensity, as if she could parse the weaving blue waters and discern the future. Finally she said, “I grew so restless. When the University of Florida offered me the post, I leapt at it. Two years later I realized I had changed nothing. It was this same restless urgency that drove me to start my own lab. For years I feared I was never made for happiness. Getting what I wanted in life would only make me want to move on.” She looked at him, revealing a stricken gaze. “When I fell in love with your brother, I was so happy, and so terrified. Some nights I wake up and feel so helplessly in love, so afraid this bad part of me will rise up and tear us apart.”

  He breathed in and out, trapped by the sense of walking farther and farther down a path that only existed because of who he had never been before. What was it, he wondered, that had made him so willfully blind? If he had been different, if he had tried harder, could he have captured just a tiny fraction of this goodness?

  Finally Sonya’s sorrow drew him back from the dark edge, and he said, “If I know anything at all, it’s this. You and Adrian will have bad times, just like everybody. But you love him.”

  “So much,” she whispered.

  “And he loves you. And you’ll find a way through. Together.”

  Adrian chose that moment to pop his head out the back doors and demand, “What are you two up to out here?”

  Sonya walked over and placed her hand on Ethan’s cheek. “Becoming friends.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  They dined on the rear veranda beneath slow-moving Bermuda fans. They talked in the easy manner of longtime friends, mostly about Gina’s plans for the future. Twice the lovely young woman dabbed unshed tears from the corners of her eyes as she discussed life after Ethan. No one saw any need to comment. Gina was majoring in business and had already been accepted by UF’s law school. Adrian had studied there and regaled them with tales of horrible professors. Ethan continued to smile around the beat of his swollen and wounded heart.

  Afterward the two brothers cleared the table. The women remained under the veranda’s extended roof, safe from passing storms.

  As he made coffee, Adrian asked, “What did you two talk about before dinner?”

  “Sonya told me a little about her past.” Ethan finished loading the dishwasher and shut the door, and as he straightened he saw his brother was staring at him. “What?”

  “She never talks about that.” Adrian resumed putting coffee in the filter. Slow, deliberate motions. “Once in a blue moon I’ll catch her sad, almost hiding in a corner. I have to squeeze it out of her.”

  Ethan leaned against the counter, uncertain what to say.

  Adrian closed the lid, hit the switch, and stood watching the coffee percolate. “It really is you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean, I know it. But accepting it down deep where it counts . . .”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “I’m still struggling to fit my head around it.” He studied the coffee maker like it wouldn’t work if he took his eyes off it for a second. “How old were you then?”

  “Just past fifty-five.”

  “Not that old.”

  “I guess you could say I’d lived a pretty hard life.”

  “But full, right? You traveled the world, you surfed. Was it worth it, Ethan? Did you find what you wanted?”

  “Does anyone?”

  Adrian watched the coffee drip through. “I have.”

  “I see that now. I missed it before.” Because it was Adrian, he went on, “There were some beautiful moments. But looking back . . .” Ethan was spared the need to find an answer because Gina stepped through the rear doors.

  “How long does it take two guys to make coffee? We’re getting lonely out here.”

  “Coming right up.” When she returned outside, Adrian asked, “Did you and she—”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.” It hurt too much just to think about it. “Let’s go join the ladies.”

  A bit later, Gina excused herself and entered the house. Sonya waited until they heard a door close, then asked, “Have you told her?”

  “Only that I don’t have long to live.”

  Adrian winced. “Bro, the way you say that . . . Like we’re discussing a hurricane that won’t reach land.”

  “You forget, I was on the way out back then.”

  “How long did you have?”

  “A couple of months tops. And there was pain. A lot of it.”

  “Back to my question,” Sonya said.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  In the candlelight and
the pool’s soft glow, Sonya’s blue eyes glittered like the deep Atlantic. “She loves you, Ethan. Very much.”

  He nodded. “You’re saying I should tell her everything?”

  Sonya’s response surprised him. She turned and looked at her husband. And softly said, “Yes. Definitely yes.”

  “Absolutely not,” Adrian said, meeting his wife’s gaze.

  Sonya continued to observe her man. “How can you say such a thing? Gina loves him.”

  “All the more reason.” Adrian looked at his brother. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it. But Ethan, it’s the elephant on the veranda.”

  “Gina waited for me to come back from surfing my way around the globe. Four years, almost.” Every word was a new conviction. “We married. And divorced seven years later.”

  “That’s so sad,” Sonya murmured.

  “I rest my case,” Adrian said.

  “There is no case.” A hint of Sonya’s potent rage resurfaced. “This is a woman’s heart.”

  “All the more reason.” Adrian pointed at Gina’s empty chair. “She loves him now.”

  “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

  “I understand him,” Ethan said. “And my gut says Adrian’s right.”

  “Ethan is doing his best by her now.” Adrian paused, almost as if he wanted to offer his wife an opportunity to object. “He is honoring her now.”

  “She needs to know.” Sonya’s voice was almost a whisper, as if she was speaking to herself more than the two men. “She needs to be a part of this.”

  “She is as much a part as anyone,” Ethan replied. “On the one hand, I want to tell her. And ask her forgiveness. And apologize.”

  “You should,” Sonya said. “You must.”

  “On the other, I’d rather just let her see me as I am now and hold on to this when I’m gone.”

  Adrian’s wince was so deep, the creases turned him ancient. “Are you sure you only have a few weeks?”

  “That’s what Sonya told me.” Then he amended, “You know, the other Sonya. Before she shot me back.”

  Before Sonya could shape her response, a door opened somewhere in the house and footsteps clipped across the wooden floor. She whispered, “This is terrible.”

  Adrian nodded. “At least on that we agree.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Ethan slept so well he woke up feeling an odd sense of guilt, as though everything he was putting in place required him to be stressed and fretful. The clock read a quarter past six. He was not due to meet Gina until eight. He didn’t feel up to a run. The jouncing motion would no doubt carry a price he would pay all day long. He donned swim trunks and walked down to the shore. A chest-high swell was piling in, and the outside break was dotted with surfers taking advantage of the windless conditions. The air felt dense to Ethan, as if he could sense the day’s coming heat. And something else. There was a major storm beyond the horizon—he was more certain with each passing day.

  As Ethan walked into the foamy shorebreak, he recalled a group of old-timers he had befriended in some distant land. Malaysia, he thought, but perhaps it was one of the Indonesian islands beyond the tourist havens on Bali. Each dawn these old fishermen gathered at their appointed spot on the beach, where untamed palms leaned in close and formed a living shelter against the sun. They would discuss the weather five days or a week out. They would gesture to the storm’s incoming direction, their hands laced with ancient wounds and curled into permanent half-fists by the fishing lines they could no longer hold. Some of the surfers like Ethan had gained the habit of stopping and asking their advice. Occasionally they would respond, warning them of storms or rip currents or dangerously large waves. Almost always the threat arrived on the day and tide they predicted. It was remarkable how often the old men had been right.

  Ethan reached chin deep, where he had to take little jumps to stay clear of the incoming shorebreak. The exercises that the hospital’s physical therapist had assigned him were pretty lame. But doing them here, where the currents demanded a constant adjustment for balance, was something else entirely. He worked through all nine exercises twice.

  As he started back toward the shore, he studied the lovely old hotel he was now calling home. The drapes still covered Gina’s window. He imagined her sleeping with easy grace. He recalled how it once had been, when she woke to find him watching her. The eyes of love that she showed in the soft light of another day they were destined to share together. Her heart was there in her gaze, the door she invited him to enter through simply because she had wrapped her life around his. Her arms were soft and warm and formed a shelter for his angry, restless spirit. He remembered how it felt to allow himself to be calmed and gentled by her embrace. As if he had been born to love this amazing woman. As if this was the haven he never thought he would know, and one he most certainly did not deserve.

  Breakfast was a Spanish omelet delivered to his room. Ethan ate alone, then rested a bit. He wrapped his morning meds in a Kleenex and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. His head was definitely on the mend, but the wound to his shoulder hurt quite a lot after the workout. Even so, it felt good holding off on the meds. His mind was clear, the day ahead etched in sharp lines.

  Gina was ready when he knocked on her door. Today’s outfit was a pale linen blouse with thin lavender stripes over cotton khaki-colored slacks and coral sandals with a cork heel. All he could think to say was, “Wow.”

  She smiled. “Nothing beats the wow factor in my book.”

  She didn’t start complaining until they pulled into the bank’s parking lot. The reason was, Ethan hadn’t told her where they were going. “I thought you said we had to meet with the police.”

  “This won’t take long.”

  “Ethan, no. You can’t—” She stopped because he had already risen from the car and was in the process of shutting his door. She rose and hurried to catch up. “I don’t want your money.”

  “You really look lovely today. How many outfits did you buy?”

  “Four. Ethan—”

  “We need to go back and get you a couple more. Four’s not enough, especially in this heat.”

  She planted herself on the bank’s bottom step. “Ethan, I am not going in there.”

  He returned to where she stood. There was a frantic defiance to the way she watched him. Her chin jutted out like she was barely able to keep from pouncing on him with everything she had, which was a lot. Her left hand was curled around the base of the purse slung from her shoulder. It was either that or take a grip around his neck.

  “Gina, please let me do this.”

  “Ethan, no. It makes me feel cheap, having you give me money.”

  “I understand.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not just saying that so I’ll let you drag me in there?”

  “I’m not dragging you anywhere.”

  “Then let’s go.” But she did not turn away.

  “If you insist, we’ll go. But will you at least hear me out?”

  “It won’t change my mind. Nothing will.” When he did not press, she relented, “Go ahead then. Say it.”

  “Your mother is right. Accepting payment for your work will make your taking time off from school look a lot better.”

  “That doesn’t change how I feel about this.”

  He shifted around slightly so as to block their discussion from a pair of businessmen entering the bank. “You know what I’m going to say next.”

  “Don’t you dare. You are not going to make me cry in public.”

  He nodded. “Just the same, it would be so very good if you would let me be part of what you do afterward. It’s my gift to your future.”

  She took a double-fisted grip on her purse and did not reply.

  “This is what friends do, Gina. You’re helping me through something I can’t do alone. I want to help you after. Please.”

  They left the bank twenty-one minutes la
ter. Gina had not spoken a single word during the entire process of opening an account and signing a deposit slip for sixty thousand dollars. She had given no sign of even hearing when Ethan had explained that he wanted to pay for twelve weeks in advance. What he didn’t say was how he wanted her to continue this work after, making sure his brother and sister-in-law stayed safe, even when Gina had to work on her own. If the bank clerk who handled the transaction found anything odd in Gina’s stone-like demeanor, he gave no sign.

  The Jacksonville central police station was located on East Bay Street, three blocks from Metropolitan Park on the river’s north side. Jacksonville’s law enforcement was a throwback to its early days, when the city and the port were both classed as small time. With Savannah less than a hundred miles north, Jacksonville was fated to remain its unimportant southern sister. Or so everyone assumed in the town’s early days. As a result, the city’s police department operated under the direction of the county sheriff. This joint city-county agency worked surprisingly well, and as the city had grown into a regional powerhouse, its leaders had seen no need for change.

  The sheriff’s office ran law enforcement, investigation, and corrections in both Jacksonville city and Duval County. The cheerless building occupied the better part of an entire block. Ethan pulled into the neighboring lot and spied Gary waiting just inside the glass-fronted entrance. By the time he cut the motor and slipped his arm back inside the sling, Gina had left the car and was halfway to the entrance.

  Gary greeted them with, “There’s been a delay. Hello, Miss Devoe. You’re looking lovely as usual.”

  Ethan asked, “Is there a problem?”

  “No idea. All they’d say is ‘urgent developments in an active case.’ Which is exactly what I heard yesterday.”

  “I’m due at Sonya’s lab in an hour. She wants to run more tests.”

  “That is one lady I wouldn’t want to keep waiting. Can you put her off?”

  “I suppose we can ask.” Ethan turned to Gina. “Would you see if you can reach her?”

  She cast him a single cold glare, then turned away.