A Gala Event Page 7

  “Aaron, I’ve only lived in Granford for going on two years now, so I have no history with this place—unlike Seth, whose family goes back centuries. Gail and Seth between them explained to me what happened to you and your family.”

  “Gail . . . She that woman at the Historical Society?” he asked.

  “Yes. She didn’t hear you come in and she was frightened. She acted without thinking, and she’s very sorry about it.”

  “I should of known better. I’m kind of out of practice with social things.”

  “How’d you get to Granford?”

  “Caught a ride. Walked some. I wasn’t in any hurry, and it was kind of nice to be able to do what I wanted for a change.”

  “Why’d you come back to Granford?” Seth asked, his tone neutral.

  Aaron turned to look at him. “It was home. It was the only place I ever knew. I don’t know what I was expecting to find. I mean, I know the house is long gone. My sister and brother live somewhere else. I thought maybe I should visit the cemetery, pay my respects to my parents and my grandmother. That’s as far as I planned, I guess.”

  Truly a lost soul, Meg thought. Nowhere to go, no one who cares. “Would you like to have dinner with us?”

  Aaron looked startled by the offer. “I don’t want to make any trouble . . .” he began.

  “Why would it be trouble?” Meg asked. “I’m making dinner anyway. I’ll just make a bit more. You look like you could use a good meal.”

  He looked at her steadily, his expression unreadable. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

  He turned to Seth. “Wasn’t your dad a plumber near here?”

  “Good memory,” Seth said. “His shop was just over the hill, on the highway. He’s been gone for over ten years now. I took over the business, but I’m trying to shift to more general building renovation and historic preservation.”

  “You would have loved our house, I bet. You must have been, what, ten, when it burned?”

  “I was. I wish I could have seen it, up close—I work on a lot of old-house renovations around here. Until it burned, though, I didn’t have any reason to go over to that side of town. Of course I had to go look after the fire—sorry. I’ve seen pictures of it before the fire, of course. It must have been at least twice the size of Meg’s house here.”

  “Probably. It was one of those places that started out kind of like this—you know, simple—and then every generation decided they had to do something to it to make it bigger or finer. You’d have seen the front face, but behind it was kind of a jumble of additions.”

  “That’s pretty typical of New England. Did it have . . .”

  Meg turned away to hide a smile: the guys were talking guy stuff, about building construction. She’d better pull something together for dinner. She was pretty sure it didn’t have to be fancy, if Aaron had been eating prison food for decades. Chicken, bacon, potatoes, herbs—she had plenty to work with. The coffee was ready, so she filled two mugs and set them in front of the men, then filled one for herself. This was not the evening she had expected, but it was probably going to be interesting, to say the least.

  “You got any plans now, Aaron?” Seth asked.

  Aaron shrugged. “I’m free to go wherever I want. I need to find a job, so I can eat, and sleep somewhere. From what I’ve been hearing, prices are kind of high around here, what with all the fancy colleges nearby. Maybe I’ll head west.”

  “What kind of skills do you have?” Seth asked.

  “Maybe you remember I was still a kid when I . . . was arrested. What I picked up in prison was mostly computer training. It was kind of fun, and challenging—and, of course, it kept changing. And it was clean, you know? But I don’t know who’s going to hire me, with a twenty-five-year hole in my résumé.”

  Meg flipped over the chicken in her pan, then turned to face the men. “Did you hope to stay around here?”

  Aaron looked at her, his expression bleak. “What for? I don’t know anybody here, not anymore. All people know about me is what their parents told them, that I was some kind of monster who burned my house down with my family inside. Why would anybody want me around here? And don’t give me any BS line about how I’ve paid my dues and I’m rehabilitated and I deserve a second chance.” Now there was a spark of anger in his eyes. “I’ve seen what happens to guys like me when they get out, and it’s nothing good, most of the time.”

  It was hard to argue with him, Meg admitted to herself. He was right: a generation of Granford kids had grown up with the story of the fire and the deaths. And right now, Aaron was kind of an unknown quantity.

  “Would you like a glass of wine, Aaron?”

  “No thanks. I got clean in jail, and sober, thanks to AA. Haven’t touched drugs or alcohol in years, and I don’t plan to take it up again.”

  “Do you mind if Seth and I have one?”

  “It’s your home. Don’t worry—I won’t go nuts if I see you drinking. I was a stupid kid when I was doing all the hard stuff.”

  Meg was torn. She would enjoy a glass of wine, but it seemed wrong to flaunt it in front of Aaron. On the other hand, drinking was a fact of life in current society, and he’d have to get used to that sometime, unless he went to live in a cave in Alaska. She looked at Seth, and he gave her an infinitesimal shrug: it was up to her. She went to the cupboard and pulled out a pair of wineglasses, then handed the chilled bottle and a corkscrew to Seth. Then she turned back to the stove.

  Half an hour later she was just ready to dish up when the phone rang: Gail. She went into the front parlor to answer it. “Hi, Gail . . . What’s up?”

  “Sorry to interrupt you when you’re probably sitting down to dinner. I heard from Art that Aaron Eastman had been released from the hospital, but Art didn’t know where he was headed. I feel bad about it because I wanted to apologize to him for what I did. You wouldn’t know anything, would you?”

  Now, why would Gail assume Meg would know about the whereabouts of an ex-con she’d only just met? The awful thing was, she did. Karma? Lucky guess? “Gail, he’s here. He came by to thank me for, well, I guess, saving his life, and I asked him to dinner.”

  That statement met with a long moment of silence from Gail. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she finally said carefully.

  “You mean, do I think he’s going to murder me and make off with all my nonexistent valuables? No. Right now he seems like a sad man who could use a friend and a good meal. Besides, Seth’s here to keep an eye on things.”

  “Oh,” Gail said. “Did he say he was leaving town?”

  “We’ve barely scratched the surface about his plans. If he has any. If you want to talk with him, maybe you should come over now.”

  “I . . . but . . . how . . .” Gail fumbled for words, then stopped herself. “Then that’s what I’ll do. My husband can keep an eye on the kids after dinner. I’ll be there, say, eight?”

  “Sounds good. We should be finished eating by then. Bye, Gail.”

  The two men looked up when Meg returned to the kitchen. “Gail said she’s going to come over after supper,” she announced. “Don’t panic, Aaron—she just wants to say she’s sorry to your face. She’s a very nice woman.”

  Aaron did not look convinced. “Her family from around here? What’s her last name?”

  “Selden,” Meg told him. “She’s married, but she once told me that if she was going to be working at the Historical Society, she should hang on to her historical name.”

  “Eastman was an old name in Granford, too,” Aaron said, to no one in particular. “And Chapin. How about Corey, Meg?”

  “That’s my father’s name. But my mother was a Warren, and an ancestor of hers built this house. She inherited it, but she’s never lived around here.”

  “So all of our great-greats would’ve hung out together, like, two hundred years ago.”

 
“Probably,” Meg said. “The 1790 census is only one page long, so they had to have known one another.” She stood up quickly. “You guys must be starving—I know I am. Let me dish up.”

  Aaron seemed to relax over the course of the meal. It could have been the effect of a full stomach, or it could be that he had begun to trust them, Meg thought. She still wasn’t sure that she trusted him completely, but she had no basis for judgment: she’d never met someone who had spent substantial time in prison. She didn’t doubt that prison, particularly over the course of an extended term, could change a person . . . but for better or worse? Aaron had been a rebellious child when he was convicted; what was he now?

  As the meal came to a close, Meg was faced with another problem: where was Aaron going to spend the night? Worse, she wasn’t sure how to ask him, and if he said something like “I’ll find something,” would she feel right sending him out into the November night, when she was pretty sure he’d been sleeping rough? But what were her alternatives? Offer him a bed? He’d probably turn it down. Her couch? Better, maybe. A pile of hay in her barn? She’d slept there once, not willingly, and it hardly fit the definition of basic hospitality—at least, not in the current century. She looked at Seth in mute appeal.

  Somehow he got the message. “Aaron, I’m going to guess that you don’t have anywhere to go when you leave here tonight.”

  Aaron neither confirmed nor denied what Seth had said, but looked at him warily.

  “We can offer you a couch here,” Seth went on. Meg cheered silently: he’d chosen her middle ground.

  “I don’t want to make any trouble,” Aaron said.

  “Aaron, it’s no trouble,” Meg protested. “I’d be more upset thinking about you wandering around out there somewhere in the cold. You just got out of the hospital this morning, and you’re in no shape to look after yourself. I don’t mean that as an insult; it’s simply a fact.”

  Aaron regarded her, his expression blank, and Meg felt as though she were being weighed. For what? Sincerity? Good intentions? Stupidity or gullibility? Finally he said simply, “Thank you. It’s been a long time since anybody worried about me.”

  Meg was spared from making a corny response when there was a knocking at the kitchen door, and Meg got up to let Gail in. Gail walked purposefully into the kitchen and stopped in front of Aaron. “I am so sorry!” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please say you forgive me?”

  Aaron regarded her solemnly. “I forgive you. I should have been more careful about how I approached you.”

  The tension seeped out of Gail, and she dropped into the remaining seat at the table. “Thank you. You sure look better than you did the last time I saw you.”

  Aaron gave a faint smile. “I’m tough. It looked a lot worse than it was.”

  Gail leaned forward. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Aaron nodded. “Ask away.”

  “Why were you at the Historical Society? I mean, why there? Why not the church or the store?”

  Aaron sat back in his chair, weighing his response, Meg guessed. Finally he said, “You all know my history, right?” His eyes swept the small group; everyone nodded. “I don’t think I did it. And there may be something at the Historical Society that can prove it.”

  9

  Aaron’s quiet statement brought a stunned silence to the table.

  Finally Meg spoke. “Aaron, you were tried and convicted, and you’ve served your sentence. Was there something wrong about the trial?”

  Aaron sighed. “Look, I know that a heck of a lot of people in jail claim they’re innocent, and what’s worse, most of them believe it. I’ve heard plenty of stories . . . well, never mind. You don’t have to believe me, and I know nothing is going to change what’s happened. I’d just like to have the chance to tell my side. And maybe have someone listen to me.”

  “Then I’ll ask again,” Meg persisted, “what didn’t come out at the trial that could have made a difference?”

  Aaron looked at the others around the table, and Meg knew that he was aware that he’d seized their attention. But was this a con? Or was he sincere?

  Before Aaron could speak, Seth said, “The official story says that you were heavily into drugs when this happened. And that you were found passed out, outside the house, with no evidence that you’d been anywhere near the fire—no burns, no singed clothes, no smoke in your lungs. Have I got that right?”

  “Yes,” Aaron said. “I was what you might call a recreational drug user. I was not an addict. But I kind of liked to push the envelope, and I experimented with a lot of crap.”

  “So you were out cold on the lawn. Why did you get arrested? On what evidence?” Seth demanded. He paused for a moment before adding, “Was the fire due to arson?”

  Aaron nodded. “That’s what I was told. The fire started in the basement and spread through the house.”

  Seth countered, “There are plenty of ways a fire could start: bad wiring, a bunch of greasy rags burst into flames, a gas leak and a spark. Why did they look at you at all, other than the fact you were the only one to get out?”

  “They found drug gear in the basement. I was playing around with making meth, which was pretty new back then, and the investigators thought that was the cause. The fire burned up, mainly, so it wasn’t destroyed. That and the fact that I survived more or less nailed me, in their eyes.” Aaron met Seth’s gaze. “I could say, ‘because they had nobody else to pin it on.’ I mean, Mom and Dad and Gramma died in the fire, and I don’t think any of them planned to commit suicide. My sister and brother were away at school. I don’t think the police looked too hard. I was convenient. I was the bad kid, and everybody knew I didn’t get along with my family. The police wanted to arrest someone and close the case, and I was handy.”

  “Come on,” Seth said, sounding disgusted. “I never heard anyone say that Chief Burchard cut corners just to clear his desk. And since there were deaths involved, the state police must have been involved, and the state fire marshal. You’re saying all of them conspired to pin this on you?”

  Aaron shrugged. “I’m not saying anything, because I don’t know how it happened. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

  That answer didn’t make Seth look any happier. “All right, then, let’s look at this from another direction,” Seth went on. “You said at the trial that you had no memory of the fire or of any of the events leading up to it?”

  “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  “Were you lying then? Or have you uncovered any buried memories, or whatever you want to call them? Have you received psychiatric counseling in prison? Did you try hypnosis?” Seth continued relentlessly. Meg wasn’t sure whether she should step in: she had never seen him this confrontational. And Aaron was a guest in their home, even if he had kind of invited himself.

  But Aaron did not back down. “You’re right to be skeptical, Seth. No, I haven’t tried to go digging up any memories of that night, but I have thought about what happened. I’ve had plenty of time to think. And, no, there hasn’t been some big ‘aha!’ moment, where it all came back to me. I don’t remember much about the trial, either. I’m not saying my attorney was incompetent, or that the prosecutor did anything wrong, but I think there was more to the story than came out then. Can I tell this from the beginning? It might make more sense that way.”

  Meg glanced quickly at Gail, who gave her a small nod; she was going to stay. When nobody objected, Aaron began, “I’m sure you all know the basics. Nice old New England family, living in nice old New England house for a couple of centuries. Dad does something in finance—I never did figure out what, exactly—and Mom does good works. She was a real throwback. Two-point-four white-bread kids—I was the point-four. Kids all went to Dad’s alma mater, not far from here. Sister Lori graduated and went to Mount Holyoke. Older brother Kevin was in his last year. Younger brother—that would be me—got kicked out of
school for various crimes and misdemeanors. I ended up at the high school in Granford, where I did exactly what my father expected: hung out with the wrong crowd and got into drugs. My grades went to hell. Mom and Dad stopped speaking to me, and Dad cut off my allowance, thinking I couldn’t buy drugs if he did. Dumb move: I just started stealing small stuff from the house and dealing drugs to my high school buddies. It’s a wonder I didn’t get caught, because I was high most of the time, and not real careful. But it was just small stuff. What was the name of that police chief then? Seth, you remember?”

  “Eben Burchard. He retired maybe nine years ago, and that’s when Art Preston took over.”

  “What did you think of this Burchard guy?” Aaron asked, his tone carefully neutral.

  Seth took his time answering. “I can’t say I knew him well. I’d describe him as old-school, and he knew he had an easy niche in Granford. Heck, we didn’t have any crime—maybe a fender bender now and then, a few Saturday-night DUIs, some cows getting out of a field. Easy to handle. But when the whole drug thing blossomed, he wasn’t prepared to deal with it. He ignored it for as long as he could, but after a couple of underage kids OD’d, he knew he couldn’t do that anymore. That’s when he started talking retirement.”

  Aaron looked down at his place. “Can you tell me how tuned in he would have been when I was in school here?”

  Again Seth considered carefully. “Are you asking if he would have recognized what state you were in when you were picked up the night of the fire?”

  “Yes.” The two men held each other’s gaze for several seconds.

  Finally Seth said, “I don’t know. I’m guessing it was late, and dark, and the fire was out of control, and he probably just wanted to get you out of there. Did he arrest you on the spot?”

  “I don’t think so. You’re asking if he decided I did it then and there? Because he didn’t go all soft and mushy and say how awful it must be that my parents were getting fried? Or maybe he assumed they’d gotten out of the building, or they were off skiing or partying somewhere.”