A Matter of Mercy (28 page)

“I don’t want anything. I guess Rid doesn’t believe that.”

“Maybe I’m inclined not to either.” Tomas tipped his chair onto the back two rungs as Caroline leaned toward him, like a seated dance.

“You’re doing exactly what he did. Please, Tomas. I’m asking you to hear me out. That’s all. Rid can’t separate out the emotional part, the baby. Surely
you
can. I moved out of his house this afternoon. I don’t have any idea how things will or won’t work out. This money has
nothing
to do with Rid and me and the future. Will you just
listen
?” During the last sentence, Billy came in with her toddy, another beer, and a tray of mixed appetizers.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, putting it all down. “I’m outta here,” and literally backed out of the swinging doors with a wave as Tomas was saying, “I
t’s okay
.
”

The virgin toddy was hot spiced cider and the heat of the mug in Caroline’s hand along with the scent was good. She breathed it in and exhaled to slow and calm herself.

“You moved out? Was he there?”

The room was small and undecorated, clearly meant for meetings or for people to bring their own decorations. Either way, Caroline was starting to feel as if she’d climbed on a treadmill in a closet. “That’s not the point, Tomas. That’s the personal stuff, see? What I’m trying to talk to you about is fighting the lawsuit, the opportunity to buy those flats. Can we separate the issues and talk about that?”

He sighed and brought his chair to flat on the floor. “Okay. Lay it out for me.”

“Thank you. I’m a third generation waterside land owner. I care about this town and community. I know what sustains the local economy, and it’s not the washashores who weekend here. I support the aquaculturists because it’s the right thing to do. I inherited my house. You know about what’s been going on—the vandalism and the harassment—why I was staying with Rid?”

Tomas nodded.

“I still don’t know who or what’s behind it. Frankly, it could be aquaculturists, it could be upland owners, it could have nothing to do with the lawsuit. I want to stay here. I admit I’m scared to death. But my situation and yours aren’t related.” At the mention of the aquaculturists, Tomas started to interrupt, but Caroline put up her hand to stop him and pressed on. “This is a string-free gift so that you all can purchase those flats now. I don’t want my name involved. I don’t want any rights to the flats. I have enough money to do this.” Caroline reached down and lifted her purse onto her lap. From it she drew a cashier’s check for $8,350.00.

Tomas took the check from her hand and looked at it. “Whoa. And you’re saying there’s nothing personal in this?”

“Yes, he’s my baby’s father. If nothing else, whatever helps him will always help our child. In that sense, it’s an investment. Is that what you’re trying to prove?”

“Maybe.”

“I mean it about wanting to preserve our way of life here, Tomas. Believe me or don’t. Just take the money and buy the flats. Keep it between us. Tell Rid whatever you want—another landowner doesn’t agree and donated enough for the three of you to buy the flats—whatever. Just so Rid’s share is covered.”

“Even though the purchase offer is a state secret….” Tomas muttered. “You sure about this?”

“Tell him it was a donation. You’ll just have to make it work. Your future is on the line, too, so I know you’ll figure out something.”

Tomas sighed again, staring at the check. He looked up then and made eye contact with Caroline, holding it for five seconds. He stuck out his hand and she shook it.

“Thank you, CiCi. Thank you very much. Hey, you hungry? Let’s dig into some of this stuff. Can’t let it get too cold, especially the mozzarella sticks.”

Later, after they’d talked about the snow and Tomas’ children, and Labs versus beagles, and what to pay for used oyster cages, after Billy had brought Tomas his third beer and Caroline her second hot spiced cider, Caroline said, “You remember that storm in August, just the tail of the hurricane that hit here? I saw Rid way after the rest of you all had left, out there pulling stock and setting U-hooks and I ran out to help. Raining enough to drown the fish, lightning coming, he was dragging the hats out.”

“That’s Rid all right,” Tomas interrupted, chuckling. “’Course I pulled and buttoned down a lot that day, too.” He pushed the appetizer platter toward her. “I’m getting more than my share of these. Grab a couple wings. The sauce is really good.” He went back to sucking the meat off the bone he was working on, nodding at her to go on.

Caroline nodded, picking up a chicken wing. “That figures. Mario sure didn’t, though. Anyway, since I’ve been staying with Rid, I’ve gotten into it more. Repairing nets, pricing seed, all the winter work, you know? And I get it. I get what there is that you can’t give up or lose. So maybe there is an in-your-blood-thing for us natives. My mother used to say that.”

Tomas wiped his hands on his napkin, leaned forward, reached catty-corner across the table to touch her hand a moment before withdrawing his. “CiCi, I promise you that I have never known of any aquaculturist being involved in anything against you in any way. Most certainly myself. Rid was paranoid about you being involved in the lawsuit at first—well, we were all worried about that—but to my knowledge, he never did one thing.”

“Why would
any
of you think that? I just don’t get it. Why didn’t somebody
ask
me if I even
agreed
with the suit?” Caroline’s voice was quiet but the pitch rose and her heart was a fast uncomfortable thudding in her chest.

“Probably because things got crazy between you and Rid with the personal stuff, and then a stranger—a weird guy, not seen him before or since—talks to Rid right here at the bar. Look, I’m talking out of turn here. This is Rid’s business.”

“I can’t ask him. I can’t tell him I’ve been talking to you.
You
tell me.”

“CiCi, I’m sorry. I can’t go there. If going into Rid’s business is the price tag on this check, then—”

“I
told
you there were no strings. But don’t I have a right to know who said something to Rid about
me
? If that’s what got you all thinking I was involved with the lawsuit? Goddamn, this is so unfair.” She could feel her neck and face flushing with anger, and the tail of the last sentence sputtered off.

“It’s just not how we do things. I’m sorry.”

Fuming, Caroline pushed her chair back from the table as if to demonstrate the distance between them. “In other words, I’m an outsider. No better than a washashore upland owner because I don’t have a grant.”

Tomas shrugged and answered calmly. “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying I only know a little piece about it. I personally apologize for being wrong about you. You’ll have to work the rest out with Rid, but you can take my word on one thing. He didn’t do anything to harm you. For one thing, CiCi, he knew you were carrying his child, if nothing else.”

“What about Mario?”

Tomas closed one eye, raised the other eyebrow, and gave a small, hands up shrug. “I admit Mario’s a wild card. I truly don’t think he was involved, and I know Rid grilled him pretty good. There was a stretch of time he didn’t even have a truck. Rid and I were carting him most everywhere. If you have the dates that things happened, I could at least tell you if he had a vehicle. But Rid musta already done that.”

It calmed her enough to hear Tomas be honest about Mario that she was embarrassed by her outburst. “Rid couldn’t rule him out, but then he talked to him and said he was okay.” Caroline’s voice was conciliatory now, and she ate a fried mozzarella stick with the last of her toddy.

Tomas glanced at his watch. “CiCi, I’ve got to run. My wife is already pacing, and since I can’t tell the truth about who I’ve been with, you know—”

“You go on ahead. I need to get to the bathroom. Baby’s dancing on my bladder again,” Caroline said with a smile, and pointing at her belly. “Thanks for hearing me, Tomas. Good luck with the purchase.”

“We’ll be on it tomorrow. You want me to let you know how it goes?”

“I meant what I said. No strings, except that you keep this between us. I’ll read it in the paper when the story breaks. It’ll be a big one.”

“You’re a gracious lady, Caroline,” he said, taking her hand. “I hope Rid—well, I wish you and the baby well, and if you need a hand with anything, I hope you’ll feel free to call me.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

They stood and picked up their coats at the same time, and Caroline started to go into her purse.

“I got the check. Billy’ll have it out at the bar.” Tomas said.

“I’ll get the tip,” Caroline answered.

“No you won’t. I got it covered,” and Tomas laid down a twenty dollar bill. “A little thank you for his discretion and the back room,” he said. “He’ll know. You sure you’re okay? Want me to wait?”

“You go on. I’m fine.”

Tomas made eye contact with her. This time he did take her hand, lightly, making a crooked swinging bridge by their thighs. “Thank you. Really, thank you,” he said, dropping her hand after a squeeze and leaving through the swinging doors without waiting for an answer. Caroline put another ten dollar bill under her mug, gathered her things together and headed to the ladies’ room. Afterwards, her hands still damp, she pulled her coat on, and went out past the bar to the door, slowing down enough to wave and say, “Thank you so much, Billy.”

“Anytime, anytime. If you give me twenty-four hours’ notice, next time I’ll try not to look exceptionally stunning. It’s probably not good for you to get upset, y’know.”

She was laughing when she went out the door. A full black night had crept in the sea and down from the sky while she’d been inside, so as the door closed behind her and she turned to the right and then right again to round the building and get to her car, she was engulfed in it, and silence.

The Honda was a huddle of black against black. She needn’t have worried that Rid might see it there. For a moment she was uneasy and then, internally, laughed at herself.
You’re not in Chicago, dodo bird. This is Wellfleet. In the middle of winter. Every damn parking lot looks like this. Next time, park in the front like a normal person, over there, across from the shellfish shack, where it’s all lit.
She turned her head toward the shellfish shack just as a bag of rough fabric was dropped over her head and jerked tight, while her right arm was grabbed and yanked up behind her in a grotesque, excruciating hold. Someone, a man she was sure by size and shape, was dragging her now by the head and bent arm, blind face up, her ankles and heels scraping in the ice and slush. She got out a muffled scream and he pressed the arm under her throat and jammed her right wrist deeper and higher into her own shoulder blade.

With her left arm, Caroline tried to punch at her assailant’s face, but he just leaned out of reach as he dragged her. She clawed at the arm on her throat, tried to maneuver to bite him. He was choking her with his arm and she felt herself blacking out.
“Baby … don’t hurt … please … Mario? No!”
Her voice was a gasp, and through her fog she thought that if she was right, if it was Mario, she’d done the worst thing she could by saying his name.

Then there were heavy running steps, a male voice shouting. Then it was close, upon her, and suddenly she was wrenched loose and falling. Two heavy kicks to her side, a sear of pain as she tried to roll, get her right arm pulled back around her body to meet her left and protect her mid-section, her clothing quickly soaked in the icy slush puddling in the gravel. More kicks. Caroline was on the ground between two grunting, fighting men, huddled, the bag still over her head, but if she raised her arms to pull it off, she’d leave the baby unprotected. Another kick, then no breath, a tangle of stumbling blows as someone fell over her head. She tried to wriggle away, just as one of the men stepped over her, landing on part of the bag over her chin. “Caroline, get away, get away,” she heard. “I got this fuckah.” South Boston. Billy.

She wasn’t right beneath them anymore, but the effort to get to her feet failed. She heard flesh hard on flesh, the terrible noise of fists on bones, the wet, gruff noises of hurt, and Billy shouting. Caroline wrestled the bag off her head. A man in military fatigues was just getting off the ground. He used the momentum to launch a body blow to Billy’s sternum, his own skull as the weapon. From where she was, the man’s face seemed to have been cut out of wax paper—a perfect round circle, its own source of eerie pale light. Billy staggered back, arms windmilling. The man managed to keep his footing and kept going. The night swallowed him.

Billy tottered, regained his balance, his eyes still on his opponent, then looked to Caroline, on the ground. His hands went to his both sides of his head. “Fuck” he spit, and limped to Caroline’s side.

“You all right?” he said, kneeling.

“I think so. It hurts. Bad—my side. Hard to breathe.”

“He got away, Caroline. I’m real sorry.”

“S’okay. Thank you. You’re bleeding.”

“Can you stay put while I call for help?”

In the other parking lot opposite the shellfish shack, on the other side of the restaurant entrance, a motor started. Billy got up in a hobbled run toward the sound. A truck exited the parking lot and headed toward town. Caroline was seized by a pain that took her breath, and then finally let her go as she fainted into a place as lightless as the Cape night, oblivious to the panicked flurry led by Billy when it spilled from the restaurant to gather around her.