private times," he confessed.
My heart was pounding. The silence between
the words was loud and revealing, as was the look in
his eyes. I thought about the times I would have hated anyone spying on me. He was right: it was a serious
violation.
"I'm sorry for it," he concluded. "The morning
she left with Robert to go sailing, I was angry at her
and she was angry at me and we never had a chance to
make up. She had found out I had been watching her
with Robert," he said. The pain in his voice made my
heart ache.
"How?"
"I said something that only someone who had
been spying on het- would know. Maybe I wanted her
to know; maybe I couldn't keep it inside anymore, the
guilt. She never came back, so I could never tell her
how sorry I was.
"That's why I went looking for her as long as I
did. There were times during that search I stood up in
my boat and shouted over the water, 'Laura, I'm sorry,'
shouted until my throat ached. But she was gone. It
was too late. She died hating me."
"I'm sure she didn't really hate you for it, Cary.
She was angry, but you two were too close for hate to
have a chance to set in any roots," I said trying to
soothe his fears.
He shrugged, a small smile of gratitude on his
lips. "I was telling you the truth about the hole
upstairs.
I put the sofa over it and wiped it from my