“Right, and we now know why. So that was a flaw of his, but the issue here isn’t me. It’s your mother. I don’t believe there was anything malicious in what he did with her that night.”

“She died.”

“And we don’t know how it happened, but do you seriously think he wanted her dead?”

He opens his mouth to argue but stops.

“Right,” I repeat, relieved that he is listening. “Think of his behavior when he returned to shore that night. Think of what Paul said about his recent visits. We know he was tormented—because, I’m sorry, Jack, even apart from the principles, Tom wasn’t much of an actor. If he had been, he might have treated me better all those years, which is neither here nor there right now. We do know that your mother’s death tormented him. We even know it tore his own marriage apart.” I lift a quick hand. “And yes, there was reason for that totally apart from her, but what happened that night and the scandal in the days after clinched it. I’m not taking sides. I’m just trying to make sense of this.”

His voice lowers in defeat. “How can I do that? I’ll never know what happened. Any answers there might have been are buried with Tom.”

“I’m saying,” I beg, with a hand on his chest, “that maybe he didn’t have the answers, and that maybe we don’t get them in life. And that maybe we can talk things through this time instead of walking away.”

With the ocean flowing and ebbing somewhere below the bluff, Jack studies me. He knows I’m right. I can see the sadness in his eyes. But his jaw remains taut. Good intentions aside, a habit of twenty years is hard to break.

Blowing out a long breath, he looks over his shoulder at his own house, as if debating whether to head there or back with me. Suddenly, a visible tension pulls at his shoulders and spine. At the top of his front steps, hidden in a far right corner on the porch, is the image of his mother.

It’s Lily, of course. But given our discussion, if the sight of her jolts me, I can only imagine what it does to Jack.

With a guttural WTF, he takes a step toward her before spinning back. His finger gestures me to Paul, then straightens in promise. We aren’t done.

Understanding that he needs to talk with Lily alone, I do everything I can not to look back as I return to the bench. Paul is sitting now, bent forward with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped between. He looks up when I lower myself to the other end.

“That’s her?” he asks softly.

I nod. “Weird timing.”

“What do you think she wants?”

Beats me, I say in a grimace.