--- Clayton and Serena discuss Jeremiah and Luc
--- Kara finds Aron in bad condition
--- Miranda and Clay meet at the falls
"Grapefruit," Clayton thought. He sighed as he looked at his low-cholesterol breakfast. He turned his attention to the painting hanging above the dining room fireplace, a portrait of his father. "You had bacon every morning," he thought. "But things were different then." He often thought of his father and found comfort in the memories. "Honor's legacy," his father had always said, "lives in the big picture, but it's made in the day to day." Clayton cherished those words and tried to live by them. "But what honor is there," he thought, "when a man can take your own blood from you, can bribe officials and never be brought to justice? How does a man handle that?" The portrait had no answer. It hadn't, not for the past five years, not since Jeremiah's death.
So the questions plagued him, day in and day out. Clayton had to find a way to bring that man down. No matter what happened, Jeremiah needed justice. Clayton hardly slept these days. How could he with Jeremiah crying out from the grave? Jeremiah, the gentlest, noblest soul that ever lived. The thought of his firstborn struck Clayton right in the gut. The grapefruit looked more unappetizing than ever.
"Sorry it took me so long." Serena entered and kissed him on the cheek. "I just couldn't decide what to wear."
"As if that matters," Clayton said. "You're beautiful in anything." He meant it too. The sight of Serena nearly brought tears to his eyes. It wasn't her physical beauty that affected him so much. She was pretty, but no more so than many women. She was small and blond, and she had a beautiful smile. But her real beauty, in Clayton's opinion, lived in her heart. She always saw the good in people. She was loyal and kind, and she didn't judge others. Not many women reached middle age with their empathy in tact, but Serena had. She was as open and as loving as she had been the day they married, over twenty years ago.
"Flattery, flattery," Serena said as she picked up her grapefruit spoon. "I know you're just trying to get out of the party tonight."
"Why so suspicious?"
"Because I know you hate cocktail parties."
"Well, thanks to the doctors I'm hardly allowed to enjoy them. No smoking, no hors d'oeuvres. And only enough liquor to make me depressed."
He'd meant that as a joke, but Serena took it seriously. "You aren't depressed now, are you, Clayton? I mean, things are lovely now, aren't they?"
He sighed. "Yes, dear," he said, knowing how much she wanted to believe that.
They ate their breakfast in silence, but that silence was fuller than any conversation could have been. "That's the way it is now," Clayton thought. "Jeremiah lives everywhere, more present now than he was before."
"We can't go on this way," he announced after Priscilla had cleared the breakfast dishes.
Serena's blue eyes widened with fear. "What do you mean, Clayton?" she asked.
"Pretending," he said. "We're always pretending that everything is fine, but it's not, and we both know it. I can't go on this way anymore."
Serena nodded. Her face was pale and tight. "I know that it bothers you, Clayton. I know you miss him. So do I. He was a wonderful person, and what happened was a tragedy..."
"It was no damn tragedy. Jeremiah shouldn't have died like that. He was a young man, a vital man, and he deserved better. Don't you see that, Serena? He deserved better. He still does."
"There's nothing to be done, Clayton, but to look after Charlotte and Gwyneth. That's what he would have wanted. He wouldn't have wanted you to worry this way. Your worrying is ruining your life."
"It's already ruined."
Serena frowned. "I wish you wouldn't say that."
He took her hand. It was so tiny that her wedding ring looked too heavy for it. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded."
"I understand."
"It's only that I feel I've disappointed him, Serena. A man spends his life working and saving so that he can provide for his family, and that means protecting them, too. And Jeremiah was my child. No matter how old he was, he was my responsibility, and he died because of me, because that man hates me."
"We don't know that, Clayton---"
"Damn it, I know it. I know it, Serena. I wasn't able to protect my child, and because of that, I'll be a failure no matter what else I do. It will haunt me till my dying breath."
"I don't know how to help you."
"I know how you can."
"Tell me. I want to help you move past this, Clayton."
"Give me your blessing to go after Sidarus."
"No."
"Serena, I want---"
"Listen to me, Clayton. You need to hear this. Luc Sidarus thought you wronged him. He hated you because of his father, and he gave into that hate, and he tried everything to ruin you. None of it worked, though, because you're better than that, and stronger than his hate. And then, maybe, he did get to Jeremiah, which is horrible. Of course you want justice for your son, but Clayton, please, you must see. If you give in to this, the anger you feel towards him, he's won. He wants to destroy you, but you mustn't let him. Nothing he can do to you can ruin you, not even taking Jeremiah, unless you let him control you. Because even losing your son is not as bad as losing yourself, and that's what he really wants. He wants to take a man who's honest and honorable and turn him into a hateful monster, just like himself. Don't let him do it, Clayton. Don't let him destroy the man I love."
Clayton rose. He walked to the fireplace and looked up at his father. "A father," he said slowly, "is responsible for his family. First and foremost, he must protect them and love them. I am successful if and only if my children believe that I can take care of them. If they know they can depend on me, I've done my job. I failed Jeremiah, and I've lost him, but what about the rest of them?" He turned to his wife. "Don't you see, Serena? Annette and Trey and Clay and Julia, what about them? What do they think, knowing that I allowed a maniac to take their brother from us?"
"They don't know that, Clayton."
"They know it, Serena, of course they do. Annette and Trey do, and I'm sure Clay does. We'll be lucky if we can keep it from Julia. How well do they sleep at night, wondering if that man will come for them? When Clay is driving to a friend's house, does he ever wonder whether his brakes will work? How often do you think Annette checks the fire alarms in her apartment? And what about you, Serena? Do you ever look over your shoulder?"
Serena didn't answer him.
"Yes," Clayton said, "yes, that's what I thought. So I've got to do something, no matter what you and the doctors say. We've spent nearly five years living in fear, and it's up to me to stop that." He turned back to his father's portrait. "Yes," he said, "I've got to get Luc Sidarus out of our lives before he strikes again. He's taken one of us, and it's only a matter of time before he wants another."
**************** 
Kara parked in Aron's driveway. His car was nowhere in sight. "What do you think, Zach?" she asked her seven-month old son. "We won't have much of a surprise if Uncle Aron's not home."
She got out and walked around to the other side of the car. She opened the door, converted Zach's car seat to a carrier and grabbed a picnic basket from the floorboard. Inside the basket was a birthday brunch for her favorite in-law, her husband's uncle Aron. He'd been a godsend ever since she married into the Bevins family last December. She'd been unsure about the marriage, but she had to think about Zach. She wanted him to have a family.
Kara learned the importance of family the hard way; her parents died in a car accident when she was nineteen. A young police officer named Hasting Bevins brought her the news. She cried; he held her, and later that night they made love. Kara didn't normally do that, but Hasting was so strong. Just being with him made her feel safe and at ease. Apparently, Hasting had that effect on a number of women. When he and Kara tried dating, fidelity proved too much of a challenge for him. Kara ended the relationship, but the next bad day she had, she called him, and it started all over again. Hasting was so good at taking care of things.
Their relationship lasted the next three years, off as much as it was on. Every time things seemed to be going well, Hasting would run into an old friend from high school or buy socks from a flirtatious salesgirl. One thing would lead to another, and when Kara found out about his lapse, she would stop seeing him. Their breakups never lasted very long, though. She tried everything to get over him, but she needed him. When he was around, everything went smoothly. Without him, she was a mess. She knew it was unhealthy. She saw a counselor at church, but it didn't help. "Hasting's a good person," she'd insist. "He's just so curious about people. He doesn't know when to draw the line." She even called one of those radio talk show hosts, a woman who vowed to fix a caller's psyche and morality all at the same time. "Do you want to spend the next twenty years wondering whose bed he's warming?" the radio doctor asked her. Of course she didn't. So she made a decision to end things, once and for all. And she did. It went pretty well. One day a customer yelled at her, and instead of calling Hasting, she went for a walk. The next week, her dishwasher broke, and instead of calling Hasting, she found a repairman. She realized she didn't need anyone else, not even him; she was entirely self-sufficient. But then, the next week, she didn't get her period. The week after that, a test confirmed she was pregnant.
Hasting wanted the baby, and he wanted her. They hashed it out. The words of the radio talk show host kept ringing in her ears. "Okay," she finally said, "I'll give you a chance to prove you can be faithful to me. Six months, no sleeping around, and I'll marry you."
Hasting assured her he could do it, and he did. He was the model boyfriend. So she married him in a small ceremony one month before Zach was born. Hasting was proud. His family was thrilled. Kara was... hopeful.
Since the wedding, Aron Hasting, her mother-in-law's much-younger brother, had been her greatest friend. He was a minister, the new rector of St. George's Episcopal Church, and he was like her. They were both too sensitive and too loyal, and they both felt a little like outsiders in the prominent Bevins family. And today was his birthday. Kara wanted to be the first to greet him. He was always glad when she and Zach dropped by the rectory, but maybe they should have called first. "I just don't know where he could be," she said as she pushed the doorbell.
Aron opened the door a crack.
"Happy birthday!" Kara said. "Zach and I have brought you a birthday breakfast."
Aron didn't open the door any further. "Kara," he said, "how sweet of you. You didn't have to do that."
"No, but I wanted to."
Aron didn't respond.
"Well, aren't you going to let us in?" she asked.
"Um, actually, well, actually, my house is a mess."
"Aron, we don't care about that."
"Thanks, Kara, but you know, how can I have you in when it looks this way? Your house is always so neat, and I'd be embarrassed."
"Well, can you at least open the door?"
Aron didn't respond.
Kara said, "We've got a little picnic here. I have a thermos full of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and I even brought some coffee beans. They're special from Kenya." She paused. "I have sweet buns. And I made them with real sugar, no healthy stuff today."
He didn't budge.
"Aron," she said, "please let us in. You're my best friend, and if I can't treat you special on your birthday, I'll just feel awful."
After a moment, Aron unlatched the chain and opened the door. He was standing in its shadow, so Kara couldn't really see him at first. "Well what was all the fuss about?" she said. "Zach, I think your uncle Aron's gone crazy. Really, Aron, your house looks--- Oh my God!"
Aron stepped into the light.
Kara said, "What happened to you? Aron, my God!"
He looked at the floor. "It's nothing, I just... um, I was mopping the floor at the shelter, and... I just had an accident, okay?"
Kara set Zach's carrier and the basket on the floor. She took Aron's arm. "Now you just sit down," she said. "Sit right here in this chair. What kind of an accident did you have?" She surveyed his injuries more closely. His left eye was black, and he had cuts all over his face. Bruises patterned his forearms. She assumed his clothes were hiding more.
"It's really nothing, Kara. I was just, well... the floor was wet, you see, and..."
She knelt beside him. "Aron," she said softly, "I don't think you're telling me the truth."
He was quiet for a moment, and then said, "No, I'm not." He laughed. "I've never been a good liar. Even before I went to seminary, I never was good at it."
"Me neither. Aron, I know this sounds crazy, but it looks like someone hit you."
Aron nodded. "Yes, it does look like that."
"Is that what happened?"
He stood and shook his head. "I really don't know," he said. "One moment I was walking along. I felt like something struck me in the back of my head. The next thing I knew, I woke up in my front lawn in... pain."
"I don't understand. Were you mugged?"
"No, I don't think so. They didn't take anything."
"So you know who did this?"
"No, not exactly."
Kara sighed. She sat in the armchair and gave him a hard look. "Aron," she said, "I'm having a hard time understanding here. Why don't you start at the beginning?"
"It's not that simple, Kara. There's someone else to consider."
"Someone else was with you?"
"No, that's not what I mean."
"Aron, please tell me what happened. You may need medical care, and whoever did this--- We can tell Hasting---"
"No, Kara!" He blushed. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just... that's the last thing I should do."
Kara raised her eyebrows. "I don't know what to say."
Aron sat on the sofa. For a moment they were so silent that they could distinctly hear Zach sucking on his pacifier. Then Aron said, "All right. If I tell you, you have to promise me you won't tell anyone, especially not Hasting."
"I don't like keeping secrets from him."
"I know, Kara, and that's why I'm asking you. If you don't want to know, it's okay."
"No, I think you'd better tell me. I promise, I won't tell Hasting."
"Or anyone."
"No, of course not."
"All right. The day before yesterday, I was trying to visit someone."
"Someone."
"Yes, I was trying to visit Viola Sidarus."
"Your old girlfriend?"
"Yes. I wanted to talk to her, to explain. Well, see, things didn't end so well between us, and... What do you know about Luc Sidarus?"
"Um, he's her father, isn't he? Well, he's very wealthy, and I know that people don't like him."
"No, they don't, and it's very hard on his children. Viola has a twin, Ren, and he's always been very successful. Some people just are that way, you know, and Ren was always able to overcome the stigma."
"Right, Rosa Sidarus is my age, and she was always very nice. We were never really friends, but I liked her."
"Yes, and Rosa, but see, Viola is different. She's shy, and she didn't ever know how to take it, being marked that way by her last name. And her father is very strict. He told her everything to do, and she never could stand up to him. But she's a very special person, Kara, very sweet and a talented artist. She's a sculptor, and you can't imagine---"
"Aron," Kara said gently, "you said the day before yesterday you were going to see her?"
"Oh, yes. I wanted to tell her something, you see. I'd heard some women talking one day at the shelter. I shouldn't have been listening, I know, but I really couldn't help overhearing. They were talking about Viola. They said she isn't doing well, she has to take pills, apparently. One of the women has a friend, it seems, who's Viola's doctor."
"It wasn't very nice of them to be gossiping about it."
"No, it wasn't, and it made me think about her, and I felt like I should see her."
When Aron didn't continue, Kara said, "Yes, I can understand that. When you're having a hard time, it's so helpful to hear from people who care about you."
"Yes, but it's not just that, Kara. I wish it were. You see, I'm afraid it's my fault, that I may have contributed to her unhappiness."
"Because you broke up with her?"
Aron nodded.
"Oh, Aron, I know it's hard to do that, but it's not your fault if she was hurt. Sometimes things don't work out, and you have to be honest with---"
"But that's the problem, Kara. I wasn't honest, not at all. And I didn't really end the relationship, not properly."
"What did you do?"
"I just... left. I went to seminary. I left town."
"You didn't explain to her?"
"I didn't even say goodbye."
Kara was shocked. She knew Aron was unconfrontational, but she couldn't conceive of him treating another human being with so little concern. "Well..." she said.
"I know, Kara. It was a terrible way to treat her, but please believe me, I had a reason."
"I know that, Aron. I know you must have. Was it Meredith?"
Aron smiled. "No. Meredith didn't like Viola, that's true, but she wasn't the reason."
"What was it?"
"I can't tell you. I trust you, Kara, of course I do, but I don't think I should tell anyone until I tell Viola."
"Oh, I see." She shook her head. "But wait," she said, "weren't you going to do that? That's what I want to know, Aron. What happened to you?"
"I have no idea. I was walking up to the Sidarus house. It has this big wall around it, and I was trying to think of a way to get inside---"
"Other than the door?"
"Yes, well, you see, there are people who wouldn't want me to talk to Viola."
Suddenly, Kara understood. "The people who beat you up!"
"Yes, that's what I'm trying to... I wasn't sure, you see. When I woke up in my yard, I was so shocked. I felt bad, and it must have been after midnight. I came in here and sort of collapsed on the sofa. But when I woke up, I found something scratched into me."
"Scratched into you?"
"Yes, with a knife, I think."
"Oh my God, Aron!"
"Here," he said, "I'll show you." He lifted up his shirt. On his stomach, in perfectly even cuts, were the words:
STAY AWAY FROM HER.
Zach began to cry.
**************** 
Miranda stepped out of the orchard, relieved. Dusk was just falling, but the orchard was already shadowy, and it creeped her out. She knew Jeremiah Montgomery was buried there, and she didn't like being around dead people. But where she was headed wasn't much better. The falls at night. What had Clay been thinking? For one thing it was too close to his house. She knew he liked to play things on the edge, but the falls were too risky. What if his mother decided to take a walk? Or his aunt? Or his big brother? Any of those people would freak if they found them together. And if Mr. Montgomery himself found them, that'd be the worst. He would put a stop to the whole thing, and Miranda would... What would she do? It wasn't supposed to last this long anyway. It had started on a dare. Well, no, the dare wasn't where it actually started.
It started at the beginning of high school, last September. She was a sophomore, the oldest one in her class thanks to mandatory achievement tests that were tough to pass. It was hard enough being stuck in classes with those kids, but the way they all looked at her was too much. She knew she wasn't a Pretty Little Princess. She liked to dye her hair and paint her nails black, but so what? Lots of girls did that stuff. Nothing justified the way those kids treated her. The guys called her a lesbian and made sucking noises when she walked by. And that all started in the first week. She didn't know how she was supposed to make it through an entire year. Having someone to talk to would have made it easier. She saw the others at lunch, talking and laughing. Friends seemed to help other people deal with the hell of high school, but Miranda had no idea how to get any. She'd never had one. She was weird and so was her house, so no one ever wanted to come over. By middle school, everyone had their cliques, and Miranda wasn't included in any of them. She didn't know how to talk to people. She never seemed to say the right thing. She didn't have anybody outside of school either. Her mother had always been there, at least physically, but not anymore. She died the summer before Miranda started high school, and a vulture took her place. Her father was always busy, not like they were close anyway. Viola was too unstable to rely on, and Rosa spent twelve hours a day at the hospital. "Now that Ren's back, maybe---" She caught herself. "Whatever. It'll be just the same."
But it hadn't been exactly the same, not lately. One afternoon the week after school started, she made it down the hall without attracting too much attention. She opened her locker, shoved her books inside, and took out the keys to her new car, a sweet sixteen present from her loving father. She stopped. A slip of paper was in the bottom of her locker. It said, "I'm waiting for you." She spun around ready to face insults, violence, maybe just laughter, but she didn't confront any of that. She was virtually alone in her section of the hallway. Virtually. He was standing twenty feet away from her, next to the exit doors, and he was staring at her. She knew exactly who he was. She'd noticed him practically the first day. He was a senior, and he was beautiful, really beautiful, like an angel, not the cute kind, though, like the kind who'd have to say "Fear not" when he encountered mortals. There was something terrifying about his beauty. He was different, too, like she was, but nobody bugged him about it. He was tall and too thin, and he hid his thinness with baggy clothes. His hair was dyed jet black and spiky-looking, and his eyes cut through everything he looked at like two lasers. They were cutting through her as she stood there in the hallway, and she knew she had to get away. She looked down at the piece of paper in her hand and pointedly threw it on the ground. She turned and walked the opposite way, back down the hallway filled with comments she didn't want to hear. Whatever the kids said to her, though, it was better than what he had in store for her. Miranda was sure of that because she knew something else about him: his name. He was Clay Montgomery, and his father hated her father even more than most people did. So nothing the kids said to her could be as bad as what he would say.
It didn't end there, though. For the next month he'd turn up wherever she was, in the parking lot, in the caf, he was always there. He unnerved her. She didn't like being followed, and she hated his effect on her. She wanted to dig her fingernails into him, sink her teeth into him, and it got stronger every time she saw him. He was literally driving her crazy.
Then it stopped. Completely. Not the feeling, that stayed as overwhelming as ever, but he stopped following her. She didn't see him for weeks. Once she thought she caught a glimpse of him in the hallway, but he stepped into a classroom before she could be sure. So she figured it was over, whatever it had been, the random planetary alignment that had thrust them together for a short time. Whatever.
Then, the day before Thanksgiving break, she found another note in her locker. It said, "Meet me in the field across the street. I dare you." That sealed it. She could never lay off a dare.
And that's how it started.
"Why are you doing this?" she'd asked him. "Why did you used to follow me around?"
"I thought you wanted to talk. I was giving you the chance."
"Then why did you stop?"
"You didn't talk to me."
"But why? I mean--- what started it in the first place?"
"You stared at me all the time."
"Well, yeah. You follow me, you leave notes in my locker. What am---"
"Before I left you the note. You stared at me." He was so sure of himself.
She bit her lip. She clenched her fists, and her fingernails dug into her palm.
"In the hall," he said, "in the caf, you kept looking at me."
"Yeah, I eat lunch by myself, so I look at people. You have a problem with that?"
"Not people. You looked at me."
"Whatever." She started to leave.
"No," he stopped her. "It's cool. I look at you, too." And then he kissed her. No one ever had before (not that she'd ever tell him that). Later, she felt sorry for any girl who got her first kiss from some slobbering jock, but at the time she couldn't think about anything. If she had, she would have thought she was dreaming.
At first they met only once a week, always in a different location and on a different day. Clay would think of a place and slip a note in her locker. The nicknames were her idea. She was afraid someone would find one of the notes, so he'd inverted their initials. He thought that was funny.
They weren't boyfriend and girlfriend. They hardly talked, and that was how Miranda liked it. The less said about school, the better. One time he asked her, "Why do you let people treat you the way they do?"
She rolled her eyes. "It doesn't matter."
"Okay," he'd said.
Another time, he told her, "You can put a stop to it tomorrow if you want to."
"How?"
"Walk down the hall with me a couple times. They'll leave you alone after that."
"No thanks," she'd said, knowing that anything she had to put up with was fine so long as his father didn't find out about them. She could deal with the kids a lot better than she could deal with losing him, or not seeing him anymore, or whatever. "Do you feel sorry for me or something?"
"No," he said, "I don't feel sorry for you."
They didn't talk about it after that.
By May they were meeting everyday, and Miranda feared people were getting suspicious. No one cared where she was, but Clay was racking up quite a few unaccounted-for hours. The summer arrived just in time, but it meant they couldn't meet as often. She'd thought of using Ren's place for the messages. He was the only person she trusted enough to let in on their secret.
She didn't know if Clay had told anyone. He said he hadn't, and he usually told the truth. But sometimes it seemed like he wanted to get caught. "No," she thought, "that's pointless. He just likes knowing he might get caught. But why did he wanna meet at the damn waterfall? I swear, I practically had to walk through his backyard. He better get here soon."
The moon was rising, and it turned the river silver, but it was getting darker by the second. Every one in town knew the stories about people who'd lost their way at night and gone over the falls. No one knew anyone who actually had, but everyone knew the stories, and they were all bouncing around in Miranda's head. The falls were so loud, too. They drowned out every other sound. It would be so easy to go over...
He grabbed her from behind with one long arm around her waist. He wrapped his other arm across her chest and kissed the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and collapsed against him. They sank to the ground, which was wet from the spray coming off of the falls.
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