He heard Nathan’s hoarse voice, ‘Eyes. Her eyes. I can’t erase them from my memory. I can’t close my own eyes without seeing hers. Will they be staring at me for eternity in hell? Lord have mercy on me. I don’t want to see her eyes ever again, those black pools of comprehension and pain …’
With his weakened knees nearly giving out, Spencer finally whispered, ‘Believe in the Lord, and you shall be saved.’
Nathan let go his leg and sank to the floor, his body slowly emptying of life. Spencer crossed himself and waited.
Almost inaudibly, Nathan Sinclair said, ‘For her, I deserve it.’
Five minutes later, Spencer left the house, carefully locking the kitchen door behind him. He walked on the side of Sound Beach Road toward the intersection and then he made a left and walked another mile and a half to the train station, where he took off the top layer of his clothes outside his car. He took the Saturday-night special and put it into a black plastic bag. With his knife, he ripped apart the clothes he had worn to Nathan’s house, the gloves, and the boots. He put everything into the black travel bag and drove toward Long Island. On the way, he stopped in the Bronx in Co-Op City – a minimetropolis of anonymous thirty-story buildings and vast parking lots. He threw the plastic bag with the gun in one of the overflowing public trash receptacles near the multiplex theater. He burned the black travel bag in another trash can in an empty lot. Then he went home and did something he hadn’t done in the three and a half years since Kristina Sinclair had died. Spencer slept through the night.
EPILOGUE
The children were sitting on the bench up at the castle afterward. They didn’t usually stay in the enclave covered by yellow forsythia. This afternoon also, they came out and sat on the bench overlooking the peaceful water. After a few minutes, the girl’s hands steadied. She primped her hair and touched the creases on her jeans, as if for comfort. There was comfort in neatness, in orderly things. It made her feel in control. Control was important to her.
‘How come you don’t like to swim?’ she asked the boy.
He shrugged. ‘Never learned how.’
‘So why don’t you learn now?’
‘Not interested.’
‘Why not? Swimming is such fun.’
‘I don’t like it.’
‘Are you scared of the water?’ she said teasingly. But he didn’t smile, and the smile fell from her face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. She didn’t like the look in his eyes. It was cold, almost hateful.
‘So why do you walk that stupid wall? There’s water on one side of it – you could fall in.’
He laughed. ‘I’m not going to fall in.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’m steady on my feet,’ he said, ‘and I’m quick.’
‘You could fall in.’
‘I’m not going to fall in. You, now you might fall in.’
‘I hate walking that thing,’ she admitted.
‘Scaredy cat!’ he teased.
‘Not scaredy! Just … careful.’
‘So? Be careful not to fall in,’ he said, and she flinched; she didn’t like his playing with her words like that.
‘If I fall, who’ll save me?’ she said petulantly.
‘I would.’
‘You would? But –’
‘I’d run with all my might and call for help.’
‘I’d be dead and drowned by the time you got somebody.’
‘I’d run fast. I’m very fast. Very quick.’
‘You can’t swim,’ she repeated. ‘You should learn how.’
‘What are you so afraid of? If I fell in, who’d save me?’
‘I would,’ she said without hesitation. ‘I’d jump in and save you.’
He laughed. ‘We’d both die.’
‘We wouldn’t,’ she said, offended. ‘Princesses can rescue their princes, too.’
He shook his head. ‘Yeah, and we’d live happily ever after.’
‘Yes, we would,’ she said earnestly.
He looked at her, equally earnestly. ‘Promise?’
She crossed herself. ‘Swear.’
‘Don’t do that,’ he said quickly. ‘Just say “swear,” that’s enough. You don’t have to cross yourself.’ The girl saw him shudder. She fell silent. Sometimes she didn’t understand him, not one bit.
‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Did you ever know your real mom and dad?’
The boy paused. ‘No, never did. Don’t remember them at all.’
‘That’s too bad,’ said the girl, looking out onto the sound. ‘That’s kind of sad, isn’t it?’
‘No, not really. I mean, how can you miss what you’ve never had?’
T guess,’ she said uncertainly, thinking. ‘You have it now, though, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘You know, with you around,’ said Kristina, ‘I’m not lonely anymore.’
‘I know,’ he said.
‘Before you I was so lonely,’ she continued. ‘Now I feel like I have a brother for life.’
‘You do,’ he said. ‘For as long as you live, I’ll be your brother.’
‘Thank you,’ she said in a heartfelt voice. ‘I know Momma and Daddy love you to death, too. They’ve always wanted a little boy, you know.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
She kicked a stone hard against a low stone wall. ‘It’s true. They only wanted a son. They love me and everything, but I overheard them talking one night, just before you came to live with us. Daddy was saying that if they were meant by God to have only one child, why couldn’t my real twin brother have been saved instead?’
‘And what did your momma say?’
‘She said she was happy with whatever God had given them, but she just wished she could have another little baby to love.’
‘She’s really nice, your momma.’
Kristina smiled. ‘Well, she’s your momma now.’
He smiled, too. ‘I suppose she is,’ he said, sounding unconvinced. T suppose she is.’
‘Do you like me?’ she asked him.
‘You know I like you,’ he replied, adding, ‘You’re the only thing I like.’
‘Is that true?’
‘That’s true.’
‘What about Momma and Daddy?’
‘They’re nice. But they’re kind of busy a lot, aren’t they? Your mom, she’s never home.’
Kristina smiled. ‘She likes to keep busy.’
‘We’ve got to stick together,’ said the boy.
‘I know.’
He stood up from the bench. ‘In sickness and in health, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, till death do us part.’
The girl was silent. ‘Isn’t that what married people say?’
‘They say it because it makes sense,’ the boy replied. ‘And I’m saying it because it makes sense.’
‘Okay,’ said Kristina. ‘Till death do us part.’ She fell silent again.
‘But,’ she said, disturbed, ‘I don’t really want to die.’
‘Who does?’ he said. ‘We’re not going to die. We’re too young to die.’
‘So maybe we don’t have to say that part?’ she asked.
He sighed. ‘You’re a pain. Okay, we won’t say that part. Come on, let’s go. It’s getting late.’
The children left their secret place amid castle ruins, rolled down the hill, and ran down the stone stairs.
There was no one else in the park. Only a little boy balancing himself on the wall that separated the land from the sea, and a little girl, arms out, stepping carefully behind him, looking at her feet and at him. The salty air carried the sounds of the wind and the rustling leaves, and the girl’s voice, calling out, ‘Wait for me … wait for me …’
Keep Reading
If you enjoyed this novel, then make sure you look out for the brand new epic love story, Lone Star, from Paullina Simons.
Life isn’t about the destination, but the jo
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Chloe is eager to drink in the sights and sounds of the Old World as she embarks on a European adventure with her closest friends. Buried in the treasures of the fledgling post-Communist world, Chloe finds a charming American vagabond named Johnny, who carries a guitar, an easy smile — and a lifetime of secrets.
As she and her unlikely travelling companions traverse the continent, a train trip becomes a treacherous journey into Europe's and Johnny's darkest past — a journey that shatters Chloe's future plans and puts in jeopardy everything she thought she wanted.
From Treblinka to Trieste, from Carnikava to Krakow, the lovers and friends crack the facade that sustains their lifelong bonds to expose their truest, deepest desires and discover only one thing that's certain: whether or not they reach their destination, their lives will never be the same.
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Acknowledgments
This is a work of fiction. Any inaccuracies are intended, and any mistakes are mine.
To Bob Wyatt, for being my friend, for making me laugh aloud in the most unexpected places of the edited manuscript, and for living this book with me for nine months, and to Joy Harris, thank you.
Thanks to police officers Patrick O’Neill and E. Douglas Hackett for your details and patience.
To Oron Strauss, editor in chief of the Dartmouth Review, for letting us play with your Labrador.
To Clint Bean of the Hanover Chamber of Commerce, and to Kris Wielgus of the Dartmouth women’s basketball team, thank you.
A heartfelt thanks to Jackie Feldmann and Kerri Basso for looking after our little Mishie-guy. Where would I be without you guys?
Natasha, Misha, and our yet unborn – Mommy loves you.
About the Author
Paullina Simons was born in Leningrad and emigrated to the United States in 1973. She lives close to New York with her husband and four children. Go to her website paullinasimons.com, for more information about he novels.
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Visit Paullina Simons’ website, www.paullinasimons.com, to learn more about the author, read exclusive interviews, and read an excerpt from Tully.
The live message board allows you the opportunity to chat with Paullina’s online community and read her live blog. The website also features reviews, news updates and details of Paullina’s forthcoming tours.
“Simon’s characterizations are excellent, and she quickly draws the reader deeper into the nuances of the story.”
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Paullina also discusses her research trip to Russia for The Bronze Horseman and reflects on life growing up there.
Ever wanted to know how Paullina began her writing career? Then log on to find out this, and much, much more!
About the Publisher
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United Kingdom
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United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
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New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com
Paullina Simons, Red Leaves
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