The Quiet Game

"Bullshit. You look terrible." She glances around the room, which is strewn with loose pages like leaves on a forest floor. "What happened in here? What are you looking for?"

"I already found it."

"What?"

"Something personal. Nothing to do with our case."

Caitlin goes to the table and picks up a few pages, straightens them into a stack, and sets them back down. Then she turns those remarkable green eyes on me and speaks in a voice raw with hurt. "It's Livy Marston, isn't it? Nothing else would get you so worked up."

"It has to do with Livy, yes."

"You can't tell me what it is?"

"Not yet. Not until I know something for sure. Right now I need a telephone."

She waves her hand with disgust. "Take any one you want."

"It has to be private."

"You can use my office." There is something like pity in her eyes.

She escorts me through the newsroom, shrugging at Kelly on the way. As soon as she shuts the door behind me, I dial Tuscany. Thankfully, Livy answers.

"This is Penn."

"What do you want?"

"We need to talk."

"You haven't thought so for the past three days."

"I do now. It's important."

"Important." There's a long pause, but I don't jump to fill it. "All right," she says finally. "Where?"

I close my eyes. "I haven't eaten. I was thinking of getting a bite at Biscuits and Blues. That sound okay to you?"

Silence.

"Livy?"

"I'm not really hungry."

"You could watch me eat," I say, pushing it.

"Why don't we take a ride instead? It's nice outside."

Sure, and why don't we ask our daughter to come along? "Is your father home?"

"No. He's at his office with Blake Sims, preparing for the trial."

"I'll pick you up in five minutes."

"Five minutes?"

"It's important."

"All right. I may look ghastly, but I'll be waiting on the gallery."

Livy Marston has never looked ghastly in her life. "Just have the gate open."

I hang up and start through the newsroom, heading for the front of the building. Caitlin and Kelly are talking quietly in a corner. When she sees me, she breaks away from him and physically bars the door.

"Penn, you've got to tell me what's going on."

"It's nothing to do with you. It's personal."

She looks around the newsroom and realizes that her employees are staring at her. Taking my wrist, she speaks in a quieter voice. "I consider your personal life personal to me."

I have no response to this. Caitlin matters to me, but right now there is a motor spinning in my chest, driving me irresistibly toward Tuscany, the only place where the truth of my life can be found. "It could be, someday. But it's not now. Let me by, Caitlin."

She hesitates, then drops my wrist and moves aside.

Kelly starts to fall into step with me.

"Stay here," I tell him. "I don't need you for this."

He stops, but before the main door closes behind me, I hear Caitlin say, "Go with him."

Tuscany is a magnificent mansion, but it would look incomplete without the indelible image of Livy standing on the gallery. She's wearing a royal blue sun dress, belted at the waist and falling just below her knees. The air is cool beneath the trees, and the freshly fallen leaves have been gathered into random piles by the wind. The scene looks staged, like a rich color shot from an ad in Architectural Digest. Who is that beauty waiting for? you wonder as you flip past it. If only she was waiting for me.

This beauty is waiting for me. Only she has no idea what a dreadful gift I bring. The last thing she wants to receive. A demand for the truth, and the means to compel her to speak it.

I park beside the Negro lawn jockeys and remain in the car. Livy comes down the steps, her tread light, her movements graceful. Her eyes are curious as they take me in. She walks around to the passenger door, clearly wondering why I haven't scurried around to open it for her. Unable to wait for the pretense of a drive to speak to her, I get out and address her over the gleaming black roof of the car.

"Do you know a girl named Jenny Doe?"

She freezes with her hand on the passenger door. Behind those eyes I know so well, have dreamed of for years, another pair of eyes is looking out. Frightened, hunted eyes.

"Who have you been talking to?" she asks, her voice oddly devoid of emotion.

"Does it matter? I want to know if you were pregnant in 1978."

"That's none of your business."

"Not my business. Is that girl our daughter, Livy?"

She takes a deep breath, recovering her composure with remarkable resilience. "No," she says simply.

"No, she's not my daughter? Or no, she's not yours either?"

She purses her lips, as though calculating the impact of various replies. "Stay out of this, Penn. It's none of your affair."

"Were you sleeping with someone besides me in the spring of seventy-eight?"

Her eyes flash. "Weren't you?"

My heart feels suddenly cold. "No. But if you were, how do you know for certain who the father was?"

"Maybe I don't care who it was."

The steel in her voice cannot mask the fear and anguish in her face. "Livy-"