the white, brown, and dark black flecks scattered along the grid.
“Coconut, chocolate, and burned coconut,” Paul offered helpfully. “But not badly burned.”
“And peanuts,” Marcus said.
“Walnuts,” Paul gently corrected him.
I pushed the pillows against the headboard and patted the mattress so my little boys knew to join me on either side of the bed, which they did in an instant. Outside, the sun was up, and there was the reassuring thump I heard many autumn Saturdays, the sound of our neighbor Rudy, an architect, tossing wood into the shed that later that day he would stack with mathematical precision. I poured a little maple syrup-which I discovered Paul had warmed in the microwave-onto the waffles and took a bite. Then I smiled at my boys and at Paul, and I don’t think I thought for a moment the rest of that weekend about all of the disappointing marriages and broken families there are in this world, and the myriad ways love seems to go bad.
WHEN WE INTERVIEWED Ginny O’Brien the second time, journalists and bloggers already were convicting Stephen Drew. Consequently, Ginny was more forthcoming than she had been initially. It seemed less important to protect the confidences that Alice had offered, since they were no longer secrets shared between friends. And, of course, we knew more, and so we knew which questions to ask.
EMMET WALKER: Alice told you that she and the reverend had an intimate relationship?
VIRGINIA “GINNY” O’ BRIEN: Yes.
WALKER: They were sleeping together?
O’ BRIEN: Yes.
WALKER: When did she tell you this?
O’ BRIEN: Last winter.
WALKER: Can you be more precise?
O’ BRIEN: It was before Christmas. I don’t know how long she and Stephen had had a relationship then, but she first told me about it a few weeks before Christmas. She was all giddy, and so I got all giddy. George was just too dangerous. I understand what she had first seen in him-Lord, I know what lots of people had first seen in him- but underneath it all he was just plain despicable. Horrible. I would have been so happy if she had just left him and married Stephen. Stephen’s not perfect, but everyone would have been better off, and she’d still be alive today. Can’t you just see her as a pastor’s wife?
WALKER: I never met her, ma’am.
O’ BRIEN: Of course.
WALKER: Did Alice come right out and say that she and the reverend were having intercourse, or did she simply imply it?
O’ BRIEN: She said it. They were having sex. But I’m sure she only told me.
WALKER: And this started before she got the temporary relief-from-abuse order?
O’ BRIEN: Long before. Like two or three months before. I don’t know this for a fact, but I always assumed it was Stephen who had talked her into getting the restraining order. She wasn’t listening to me, so she must have been listening to him.
WALKER: How long did the affair continue?
O’ BRIEN: Until sometime late in the spring. She got the restraining order, and George left. I was sure that she would start divorce proceedings and soon enough she and Stephen would be living happily ever after.
WALKER: Why didn’t that happen?
O’ BRIEN: Stephen.
WALKER: What do you mean, “Stephen”?
O’ BRIEN: He didn’t want to get married.
WALKER: Did Alice tell you that she and Stephen had actually discussed marriage?
O’ BRIEN: Not exactly. It never went that far. She just had the sense that…
WALKER: That what?
O’ BRIEN: That she wasn’t good enough for him. Isn’t that sad? Isn’t that ridiculous and sad?
WALKER: Yes, it is.
O’ BRIEN: Of course, Stephen probably didn’t help matters in that regard: He’s a little… I don’t know… aristocratic. At least he thinks he is. And he never seemed to want to move the relationship along. Maybe he felt guilty. WALKER: Guilty because he was having an affair with a married woman?
O’ BRIEN: And a parishioner. I mean, one of his sermons this spring was really interesting and-given what I knew about Alice and him-pretty darn revealing.
WALKER: What did he say?
O’ BRIEN: He went on and on about how awful he was. He even used that word: awful. He said he was the worst of the sinners. I mean, we all knew he wasn’t. This was pulpit stuff, I figured, to make a point that God loved even him.
WALKER: That was the point in the end?
O’BRIEN: I think so. I just remember that it made some people in the congregation love him even more.
WALKER: But not you.
O’ BRIEN: Oh, I like Stephen. I just thought in that sermon he was a bit of a hypocrite. So what if you’re sleeping with Alice Hayward? She shouldn’t have been with a monster like George. Just announce to the world that you two are in love and be done with it. Marry her! Move on! Instead they broke up soon after that sermon. Well, they stopped sleeping together. It’s not as if they were ever really a public item. It’s not like there was something to “break up.”
WALKER: Who initiated it?
O’ BRIEN: The breakup? I think it just faded. George wanted to come back, and he vowed he had changed. He’d probably done such a job on her head over the years that she really didn’t believe she deserved anyone better than him. And maybe Stephen really did think he was a sinner to be sleeping with Alice and that’s why he didn’t pursue something more. And Alice certainly wasn’t going to press him. She didn’t have that kind of confidence.
WALKER: She didn’t have the confidence to press Stephen for a commitment?
O’ BRIEN: That’s right.
WALKER: Where would they rendezvous?
O’ BRIEN: You mean for sex?
WALKER: Yes.
O’ BRIEN: At her house.
WALKER: Not the parsonage.
O’ BRIEN: I don’t think so. It was too close to the church. It’s in the middle of town. And anyone could drop by.
WALKER: Did Alice ever mention anywhere else?
O’ BRIEN: Once when Katie was with a school trip to Montreal-an overnight for French class-they went to the hotel on the waterfront in Burlington. It was all very clandestine. She checked in, just in case he was recognized by some Burlington pastor or something. Sometimes his photo was in the Baptist newsletter. But he insisted on paying for it. They had a good time. Ordered room service and never left the hotel room.
Sure enough, on the second Thursday in March, Alice Hayward had stayed for a night at the Hilton in downtown Burlington. Her room was on the top floor, and it faced Lake Champlain. Had a lovely sunset over the Adirondacks. And the charges had been paid for with Stephen Drew’s MasterCard.
TINA COUSINO, KATIE Hayward’s best friend, was a very cool customer. Emmet said he had no idea that eyelids could hold the weight of so much shadow and liner or that there were parents in this world who would allow their sixteen-year-old daughters to wear so much mascara. The result was a pair of eyes that belonged, he said, to a clown that either wanted to look very scary or happened to be very sleepy. Her hair had been dyed the color of root beer and fell in a single flat wave halfway down her back. She had dozens of bracelets on each arm between her wrist and her elbow, some made of silver and some made of rubber and some made of tin. She had a sickle moon of metal studs running along the helix of each ear. Most of her answers were monosyllabic, but eventually Emmet was able to get what he needed. According to Tina, Katie knew well that her father had abused her mother and she didn’t have especially fond feelings toward the man. But she also didn’t talk about her parents all that much. From the few times she had, Tina had gotten the impression that Katie viewed her father as far more pathetic than terrifying. Katie was aware of the contrition that followed his bouts of violence and had even seen
