Envy(81)

“Going there wouldn’t bring back memories either pleasant or disturbing? It wouldn’t remind you of her? Wouldn’t make you recall something that she said or something that you said that you’d rather forget?”

“You know what?” Parker tilted his head back and eyed Mike down the length of his nose. “You should have been a woman.”

“Let’s see. During this one conversation you’ve managed to accuse me of being a freak, then a closet drunk with bowel problems, and now you’re insulting my masculinity.”

“You’re as nosy as an old woman who has nothing else to do except butt into other people’s business.”

“Maris is my business, too, Parker.”

His sharp tone changed the character of the conversation and signaled that the banter was over. Parker turned away and stared out over the ocean. It was calm this afternoon, a mirror casting a brassy reflection of the sun off its surface.

As they did each day at about this time, a small flock of pelicans flew in formation just above the treetops toward their nighttime roost. Parker wondered if it was constraining or comforting to be part of such a closely knit group. He had been a loner for so many years, he couldn’t remember what it was like to be a member of a family, or a fraternity, or any community of individuals.

Mackensie Roone was beloved by readers all over the world. He resided on their nightstands and in their briefcases. He accompanied them to the beach, to the toilet, and on modes of mass transit. He was taken into their bathtubs and beds. He shared a rare intimacy with them.

But Parker Evans was known only by a few and loved by no one. That had been his choice, of course, and a necessary one. Recently, however, he had begun to realize the tremendous price he had paid for his years of reclusion. Over time, he had become accustomed to being alone. But lately he’d begun feeling lonely. There was a difference. That difference became evident the moment you realized that you no longer liked being alone as well as you liked being with someone else. That’s when aloneness turned to loneliness.

Staving off the threatening despair, he quietly apologized to Mike for involving him in his scheme. “I know you feel responsible to some extent, and I admire you for having a conscience about it.”

“I played along with that ridiculous test we put her through because you asked me to. Was that necessary?”

“Probably not,” Parker admitted in a quiet voice.

“I could have told her you were Mackensie Roone. I could have pretended that it slipped out. You would have been angry at me, but you would have gotten over it. Instead, I went along with the whole charade, and I’m ashamed of myself for it.”

“Don’t be, Mike. You’re blameless. This is all my doing. From start to finish, beginning to end—whatever the end may be—I’m the guilty party here, not you.”

“That doesn’t exactly absolve me for my voluntary participation.”

With a rueful shrug, Parker said, “No, but that’s the best I can do.”

They lapsed into a weighty silence. Eventually Mike picked up his reading glasses, unknowingly reminding Parker of Maris and the eyeglasses she had been wearing the last time he saw her. Which might have been the last time he would ever see her, he reminded himself.

“These young men seem to have reconciled completely,” Mike remarked as he thumbed through the pages again. “I don’t sense any residual hostility between them.”

“Following the incident with Hadley, Roark carried on as though it had never happened,” Parker explained. “He made a conscious decision not to let it affect their friendship.”

“Noble of him. Nevertheless, it’s still—”

“There,” Parker interrupted, completing the other man’s thought. “Like an unsightly birthmark that mars an otherwise beautiful baby’s face. Neither wants to acknowledge the blemish on their friendship. Both look past it, hoping that it will gradually fade and ultimately disappear completely, as some birthmarks do, so that, eventually, no one can remember the baby having had it.”

“Good analogy.”

“It is, isn’t it? I may use it.” He jotted himself a note.

“You didn’t specify or explain the family obligation that prevented Todd from leaving with Roark.”

“It’s discussed in the next scene. Roark extends condolences to Todd for his mother’s death. She didn’t want to worry him during those last few crucial months leading up to his college graduation, so she didn’t tell him that she’d been diagnosed with a rampant cancer. She attended the commencement exercise, but it was an effort for her. The therapy she’d been receiving had weakened her, but unfortunately had had no effect on the malignancy. So rather than leaving for Florida, Todd accompanied her home. He stayed with her until she died.”

“Quite a sacrifice, especially when you consider what moving to Key West represented to him.”

Parker smiled sardonically. “Save the kudos. I have him saying… Wait, let me read it to you.” He shuffled through the sheets of handwritten notes scattered across his worktable until he found the one he was looking for.

“Todd thanks Roark for his expression of sympathy, so on and so forth, then he says, ‘ “Actually, her death was very convenient.” ’ Roark reacts with appropriate shock. Then Todd adds, ‘ “I’m only being honest.”