Before They Left

Martin had lost weight.

He tried to make that Damian's fault before anybody asked him a question.

"Does Clara know what kind of man she's married?"

Damian set a chair in front of him and sat down.

"She knows you tried to kill her."

Martin looked away.

Dylan sat on the other side of the room, one eye bruised from the struggle when Vince found him. He kept looking at Martin as though waiting for instructions that no longer had any use.

Owen put a recorder on the table.

"Nathan's on his way. You can explain it to him. Or you can start now."

Dylan's gaze moved to the door.

"Shelby didn't know."

"I asked about the bridge," Damian said.

"She told me to take Clara where she wanted. She didn't tell me to cut anything."

"Who did?"

Silence.

Martin shifted in his chair.

Damian didn't raise his voice.

"He left you on this side of it. Remember that before you decide whose future you're saving."

Dylan looked down at his hands.

"He promised me a share."

Owen leaned forward.

"Of what?"

"The street. The money when the development went through. He said with her divorced and no children, it could come back to the family. He said he knew how to get it."

Martin laughed once.

"Listen to him. Doesn't understand a word of what he's talking about."

"You told him he could marry Shelby on it," Damian said.

Dylan nodded.

"I thought—"

"You thought you could kill my wife and buy yourself a life."

The young man began crying.

Damian got up and walked to the far wall before he did something that would turn another confession into another disaster.

Owen asked the remaining questions.

The plan was older than the August inspection. Dylan had taken driving work at the hotel months before, waiting for an opportunity. Shelby's message about the pavilion had supplied one.

Martin had been on the hill to make sure Clara didn't return if the broken bridge failed to kill her.

The gray figure in the photograph hadn't been a stranger.

Damian braced his hands against the wall.

He thought of her curled beneath a tree, still holding her ridiculous canvas bag.

Then he turned.

"What happened to her parents?"

Martin's face went still.

***

The story he told was the story Clara knew.

A wet road. A car in the river. Two people gone, leaving a little girl behind.

Damian let him finish.

"You reported them missing."

"Somebody had to."

"You and Lorraine."

Martin shrugged.

"What are you accusing me of? Making it rain?"

Dylan stared at the floor.

Damian noticed.

"Anything you want to add?"

The young man shook his head too quickly.

Before Damian could ask again, Vince came in with his phone.

Nathan had been diverted to an emergency outside town. He wanted the recordings sent at once and the men ready for collection by another team.

Owen went out to arrange it.

Damian remained beside Martin.

"You have one thing left you can give her," he said. "The truth."

Martin smiled without showing his teeth.

"You think she'd thank you for all of it?"

***

Damian told Clara about the bridge that evening.

They sat in her studio at Bennett Row, where the light was kinder and the door stood open.

He told her Dylan's name, Martin's role, the money they'd expected to take.

She listened without interrupting.

"Shelby?"

"He says she didn't know. We don't know whether that's true."

"And my parents?"

He took a breath.

"Martin said something that makes me think there's more to find. I haven't got an answer yet."

She looked at the old photograph on her desk.

He waited for her to accuse him of keeping it from her.

Instead she reached for his hand.

"Tell me when you do. Even if you think it will hurt."

He nodded.

"All right."

She kept his hand when he tried to stand.

"You haven't eaten."

"Later."

"That was what I said for years. You never accepted it."

He looked at her, caught.

She pulled out the chair beside her desk and went to the kitchen herself.

When she came back, the soup was too hot and the bread unevenly cut. She had found cheese, apples, and a jar of pickles that probably didn't belong with any of it.

He ate everything.

"You don't have to prove it's good," she said.

"I'm hungry."

She watched him reach for another piece of bread.

Then she sat on the edge of the desk and told him how frightened she'd been after the bridge went down. Not the practical account she'd given before. The part where she had wanted him and been too proud even to admit it to herself.

He put down the bread and listened.

By the time she finished, the soup had stopped steaming.

He took her hand again.

Neither of them tried to improve the moment by making it into a joke.

***

The wedding they finally had fit around one table.

No motorcade. No ballroom full of people who knew the company better than the couple. Just the courtyard, winter roses, friends, the men who had become family, and a meal Damian kept trying to check on while he was supposed to be getting married.

"Sit down," Clara whispered.

"The fish will overcook."

"Then let it."

He looked at her.

"This is important."

"So is this."

She took his hand across the table.

He stayed.

They made the promises again without pretending the first ones hadn't cost them anything. He promised to tell her the truth when it was difficult. She promised not to make him guess whether he belonged in her life.

When he kissed her, nobody shouted for a better photograph.

Vince cried and blamed the cold.

Owen handed him a napkin and said nothing.

***

That night, Clara found Damian sitting on the bed with a small box in his hand.

He looked embarrassed.

"I wanted to ask you something."

"You already asked me to marry you. Twice."

"Something else."

She sat beside him.

He looked at the doorway, then back at her.

"The baby. I know you have school. I know now may be a bad time."

She took the unopened box from his hand and set it on the bedside table.

"Do you want to wait?"

He laughed softly.

"That's not the problem."

"Then listen to my answer before you start arguing with it."

He went quiet.

She put her hand over his.

"I don't want a baby because it might keep us together. I want one because I want our family. Those are different things."

He stared at her.

"And school?"

"We'll plan it. Like people who talk to each other."

His mouth trembled at the edges.

"You're sure?"

She nodded.

He held her so carefully at first that she laughed against his shoulder.

"I haven't become breakable overnight."

"Give me a minute."

She gave him as long as he wanted.

***

The travel arrangements occupied the following week.

Interviews first. Time to look at neighborhoods. Then home again before any permanent move. Owen had a list for every part of it. Vince had packed as though he intended to open a restaurant wherever they landed.

At Bennett Row, boxes stood beneath the stairs.

Clara walked from room to room, checking windows, touching things she wasn't taking.

"Someone needs to water the roses."

"Arranged," Damian said.

"And the pond."

"Arranged."

"The fish—"

He came behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Will survive our holiday."

"It isn't entirely a holiday."

"Tell that to Vince."

She laughed, then rested back against him.

For once the packed bags didn't feel like an escape.

Outside, a van braked hard.

A shout came from the gate.

Damian released her and turned.

Someone fell across the threshold.

Blood marked the courtyard stones.

"Clara," Shelby said.

Then she collapsed.