Degree of Guilt by Richard North Patterson

speak more gently. ‘Being your mother is a real argument for canonization, but even saints aren’t perfect.’
    Carlo seemed to search his words for meaning. Finally, he asked, ‘You did love her once?’
    Paget looked at him. How to talk about this, he wondered, when every word might carry an unspoken subtext: Carlo’s life was an accident.
    ‘I thought she was beautiful, Carlo, and even more than that, I thought she was an extraordinary woman.’ Paget paused. ‘Did I love her? Did she love me? I honestly don’t know.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Circumstances came between us before we had a chance to know. We were two very willful people, who didn’t really trust each other. We disagreed violently about politics, and then we were thrust into a situation that was very public and very painful – congressional testimony that destroyed Jack Woods, a man she worked for and deeply admired, and ruined the President they both supported. Our relationship simply became impossible.’
    Carlo cocked his head. ‘Did you even try?’
    Paget heard the question that Carlo had not spoken: Didn’t I make it worth trying? ‘I know it’s hard to understand,’ he said at length. ‘You would have been the reason, but we didn’t know you then. I’m sure that sounds strange now, but you were just an abstraction – you weren’t you then.’ Paget hesitated. ‘We had no plans to marry, no real basis for believing that it would work, and a lot of reasons to think that it wouldn’t. That kind of marriage is no favor to a child.’
    Carlo’s voice turned stubborn. ‘Then why didn’t she have an abortion?’
    ‘I’m not sure. She could have done it, and I’d never have known.’ Paget paused again, searching for an answer that Carlo could accept. ‘But the ultimate answer is that – even if we didn’t know you – we both loved you too much already to miss out on who you would turn out to be.’ Paget touched his shoulder. ‘We wanted you. We just didn’t want to be married and didn’t particularly think you’d want us to if you’d had an informed vote.’
    ‘Did you ever talk about it?’
    ‘Not really. Most affairs like ours end with little to show for it. We’ve been lucky – we’ve got you, which is much more than either of us could ever have expected.’ Paget tried to smile. ‘As for you, you got a whole life out of the deal, and me for a father at that.’
    Carlo did not smile. Paget heard his son’s next question before he even asked it.
    ‘Why did she give me up?’
    Perhaps a hundred times, Paget thought, he had prepared for this moment, discarding a hundred different answers. ‘She didn’t really want to,’ he said finally. ‘Basically, I forced the issue.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘You were with your grandparents more than Mary – she was traveling a lot. Your grandparents were loving people, but they were old people. She knew that.’ Paget looked at him intently. ‘Perhaps I was selfish. But I was pretty adamant on the subject, enough to go to court over it. She knew that too.’
    ‘What did she say about it?’
    ‘In the end, she agreed that it was best you be with me. But it was very hard for her to let you go, and harder still to stay away.’
    ‘Why did she?’
    Paget paused. ‘To let me be your family,’ he finally said. ‘To not be the fantasy perfect mother, flitting in and out – to let you and me work things out when things got tough. However complicated my feelings about her may be, I know that Mary Carelli has character, and you should admire her for that.’
    For a long time, Carlo just gazed back at him, doubt struggling with the desire for resolution. ‘It’s pretty confusing – if you’re me.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Then she comes back, and now this . . .’
    Carlo’s voice trailed off. As if reciting a catechism, Paget murmured, ‘It’s okay, son. It’s going to be all right.’ Said that, and then heard himself saying these same words to a frightened seven-year-old boy,