Jane grabs Holly by the shoulder. “Let him go.”
“Are you joking?” Holly shakes her off. “He’s all alone!”
“You’ve tried everything else. Give him some time and see what happens.”
“And if Peter finds him first?” She turns on her heel, intending to go after Jack, but she’s too late. She’s just reaching the stairs when she hears the front door bang shut. By the time she gets there and opens the door, he’s gone.
A part of her—a small part—knows Jane is right. She should give him time to cool off. But she can’t leave it alone. She’s afraid of what he’ll do, of the chances he’ll take. And despite everything, she still knows her son. She knows where he’ll go when he’s upset. She finds the scrap of paper Nan scribbled on in the kitchen. Bingo.
Chapter Twenty-Two
At the lacrosse field, Holly spots Jack at once. He’s racing down the field in a scrum of players and wears an exhilarated look she hasn’t seen since . . . she can’t remember when. She’s always been nervous about his playing, about seeing him surrounded by players both larger and heavier than he. It was Barry who suggested she give Jack some space, let him have one area of his life she wasn’t involved in. He’d teased her about micromanaging her son the way she did the office and she’d backed off, a little hurt but also secretly relieved. Watching Jack play was always nail-bitingly intense for her. But her fear has made her forget how much he loves the sport.
She gets out of the car and crosses over to the field. Nan is sitting alone on the sidelines. She’s spread out a blanket and arranged what looks like a small feast: oranges, cheese, crackers, and bottles of water. When she sees Holly, she visibly flinches.
“Hi,” Holly says. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Suit yourself,” Nan says. But she moves over slightly.
“Which one is your brother?” Holly asks. It’s hard to tell with the helmets. Nan points without comment. Ed is taller and broader than Jack, but he doesn’t have Jack’s speed or agility. Still, Holly tries to be generous. “Nice shot,” she says when he tries to score from the left side of the crease.
“He loves it,” Nan says. “Your son does too.”
Holly is quiet for a moment. She’s going to need allies with Jack; she can see that. He’s pulling away from her, more and more every day, his face eagerly turned toward a future that doesn’t include her. Rationally, she knows this was bound to happen, that to some degree it’s normal, even good, but still it leaves her stunned that hormones and adolescence can separate her from this child she’s built her life around. Stunned, and a little hurt. “I’m sorry about this morning,” she says finally. “I was upset and worried. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“It’s all right,” Nan says. “Jack told my brother you had another son, a twin to Jack, and he died?”
A frisson of surprise sparks through Holly. She and Jack never talk about Isaac or Robert with strangers. She turns her head to look at Nan, who is silhouetted against the sky, and the undercurrent of loss that always rests below her surface widens, becomes fresh and overpowering, until suddenly she’s falling into it, drowning in a sea of blue the exact shade of Eden’s eyes. She misses her daughter so fiercely she can’t breathe. She imagines walking this lacrosse field with a teenage Eden, their shoulders bumping, their faces close together as they share secrets and wait for Jack to finish. Eden’s smile at the end of the game. Her voice at the dinner table.
“Dr. Darling?” Nan’s face is concerned.
“Yes,” Holly manages. “That’s right.”
“I can see how that might make someone protective,” Nan says. She pauses, as if weighing what to say. “Our mother died as well. A few years ago. Maybe the boys are good for each other.”
“Maybe.” Holly’s gotten her breathing under control. She wonders what, if anything, Jack let slip about Eden today. And then she realizes what Nan has said. The girl can’t be much more than twenty-one herself. “I’m sorry. Truly.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Nan looks away, at the field. “Me too.”
A player runs down the field near them and Nan cups her hands to her mouth. “Go, Ed! Move your blooming feet!” Ed bodychecks the ball carrier on the other team, knocking the ball to the ground. Jack swoops in to scoop it up, and Ed waggles his stick at his sister, who is still shouting at him, before the play moves to the other end of the field.