Breaking The Silence. Diane Chamberlain

      He propped his head up with his pillow so he could see the aquarium on the wall opposite his bed. He’d built the huge tank into the wall between the bedroom and the living room so he could see the fish from either room. Right now, the tank diffused the light from the living room, sending shimmering blue waves across the ceiling of the bedroom.

      He put his arm around Bethany. “Is something bothering you?” he asked.

      She nestled closer to him. “No. Not really.”

      “Don’t believe you.”

      She drew in a long breath, and he braced himself for whatever was coming.

      “Well,” she said, “I feel a little spooked by that picture in your mailbox.”

      “Spooked? Why?”

      “I just don’t understand why it was there. Who put it there?” He sighed. One of the angelfish darted toward the surface of the tank, then down to the bottom, where it swam in and out of the ceramic castle. “This woman made an appointment to go up in the balloon today,” he said. “Alone. When she got me up there with no place to hide, she told me I’m her daughter’s father. I didn’t even recognize her—the woman. Not her face or her name. And I was royally pissed off. Took her back down after only ten minutes in the air. She must have stuck the picture in my mailbox on her way out.”

      “So…” Bethany said.

      “So?”

      “Could it be true?”

      “I don’t know what her scheme is. Her daughter’s five, so it would have been six years ago. You’d think I’d at least remember something about her, wouldn’t you? And you know how obsessive I am about birth control.”

      Bethany was quiet for a minute. “That was your bad time, though.”

      He hadn’t wanted to think about it, but she was right. It was possible he might have fathered a child back then. He might have fathered any number of children. And although he liked to think of himself as cautious, he’d been drinking a lot in those days. Anything was possible.

      “Yes,” he admitted. “That was my bad time.”

      “So, maybe she’s yours.”

      “And what am I supposed to do about it even if she is? The woman says she’s not after money, which is good since I have none to give her. But I have even less to offer on the fatherhood level.”

      Bethany stroked his chest. “You think you have nothing to offer, but that’s not true. Sometimes I wish…” Her voice trailed off.

      “Wish what?”

      “You’d make a good father, Dylan. You’re fun. You’re a kind and caring and honest person.”

      He remembered Laura Brandon’s use of the word caring. Her daughter needed a caring male figure in her life.

      “I’m not terrific at commitment,” he said, “in case you haven’t noticed.”

      “Maybe someday you will be.”

      “Bethany…I worry you’ve got plans for me that will never materialize.”

      “Yeah. I worry I do, too.”

      He touched her cheek. “I’ve been as honest as I can be with you.”

      “I know.” Her voice was thick.

      He wrapped both arms around her and held her close, knowing the gesture would have to suffice. There was nothing more he could offer her.

       14

      A CORNER OF THE BLACK MOVIE PROJECTOR CUTOUT WAS coming loose from Sarah Tolley’s apartment door, and Laura pressed it back into place before ringing the bell. She could hear the television set blaring, and it was a moment before Sarah opened the door.

      “Hi.” Laura smiled.

      Sarah smiled as well, although Laura knew from the blank look in her eyes that on this, Laura’s third visit, Sarah was still not certain who she was.

      “Is today the walk day?” Sarah asked.

      “Yes,” Laura said, pleased Sarah was able to make that connection. “I’m Laura, do you remember? I took you for a walk last week, and thought I’d see if you wanted to go for another one.” Maybe she should try to come on the same day each week so Sarah would have something to look forward to.

      “Yes, very much.” Sarah stepped back to let Laura into the living room. “I remember you,” she said. “You had a picture of a man.”

      “My father. Right. And I have some very old pictures of him with me, in case you might be able to recognize him from long ago.”

      Sarah walked over to the sofa to turn off the TV with the remote, then returned to Laura’s side. She took the pictures from Laura’s hand, holding them in the light, squinting and frowning and shaking her head. Her frustration at not being able to place the man in the photographs was obvious, and Laura wished she hadn’t brought them.

      “It doesn’t matter,” she said, slipping the pictures back into her purse. She noticed that Sarah’s skirt was on inside out. “Let’s fix your skirt,” she said, “and then we can go for our walk.”

      “My skirt?” Sarah looked down at the pale fabric. “Oh, is it wrong side out?”

      “Yes. Can I help you with it?”

      Sarah struggled with the zipper, and Laura lowered it for her, wondering how Sarah had ever gotten the skirt on this way in the first place. She slipped the skirt down over Sarah’s narrow hips and lacy white slip, and up again, right side out this time.