Night Swimming

by Robin Schwarz

  “Charlotte? Charlotte Clapp?”

  “Yes.”

  “We thought you were dead.”

  “Well, Tom, I’m not. Nor, it seems, will I be, for years and for possibly decades. So is MaryAnn there?” she asked again.

  “Yes, hold on, I’ll get her.”

  There was a pause, and she could hear Tom calling to MaryAnn to pick up the bedroom phone. However, he did not have the time to warn her that it was Charlotte Clapp on the phone. Moreover, Tom and MaryAnn had been in Florida, on yet another in a series of Sea World vacations, so MaryAnn knew nothing of the recent buzz in town.

  “Hello?”

  “MaryAnn... this is your old friend Charlotte. Charlotte Clapp.”

  There was a scream on the other end, and a noise that sounded like a thud. MaryAnn had passed out and lay like a trout next to the receiver.

  CHAPTER 63

  THE NEXT MORNING Charlotte met with her lawyer. She would be arraigned the following afternoon.

  “I want to plead guilty as soon as possible, Mr. Bloomberg. In fact, if I could plead guilty today, that would be just fine with me.”

  “You can’t plead guilty today.”

  “Why not?”

  “You haven’t been indicted yet. This is just an initial complaint.”

  “Whatever that means. All I know is, I’m sick of lying, and I just want to get it over with.”

  “Let me start by explaining a little bit about the procedure,” Walter Bloomberg began. “I want you to understand every aspect of your decision, and I especially want you to understand the consequences of a guilty plea. You don’t want to have to make more license plates than necessary.” His stab at humor was fruitless. Charlotte stared at him as if he were the last man she would want to see naked on a nude beach. Bloomberg tightened his tie uncomfortably and said, “I’m sorry, just a bad attempt at humor to put you at ease. I never was any good at putting people at ease.”

  And Charlotte wasn’t of a mind to cut him a break. “I think it’s a bit ironic, Mr. Bloomberg, that the New Hampshire license plates rallying cry is ‘Live Free or Die.’ Don’t you?”

  Bloomberg was clearly flummoxed. He stumbled in his answer, “Yes, that does seem like an oxymoron, Miss Clapp.”

  “Yeah, well I’d like to meet the moron who thought of it.”

  “Perhaps we’ll just continue with our business at hand.” He paused, took a breath, and soldiered on.

  “Is there any money left from the original two million?”

  “No.”

  “None?”

  “None.”

  “Well, that’s not good.”

  “How about plea bargaining? I saw that once on Perry Mason. ”

  “In this sort of situation, Miss Clapp, there is no plea bargaining. We just have to sort of go with the facts.”

  “No plea bargaining? Why?”

  “The crime you committed plays by different rules. While plea bargaining might affect what crime you plead guilty to, under the federal system, it doesn’t affect your sentence. The federal courts use a point system, and it supercedes the plea-bargaining possibility.”

  “Great. So what kind of point system are you talking about?”

  “It’s a set of sentencing guidelines governed by chapter eighteen of the United States code.”

  “English, please.”

  “Well, being that it’s bank larceny, we have to add up the points commensurate with your crime.”

  “How much time could I get if I’m found guilty?”

  “That depends on a lot of factors, Miss Clapp. Two things govern your sentence, and these sentencing guidelines differ radically from person to person.”

  “Is the idea to get as many points as you can?” Charlotte asked.

  “No. The idea is to get as few.”

  “Like golf?”

  “Now, everyone accused of larceny starts out with six points.”

  “That’s not too bad.”

  “But because you stole two million dollars, you get twenty-two more points.”

  “Oh, that’s bad.”

  “And because it was bank larceny, we add two extra points.”

  Jesus, if I were bowling, I’d have a perfect score.

  “Now, if we decide to go to trial, Miss Clapp...”

  “Please, call me Charlotte; that personal touch will make me feel like I have a friend while walking to the electric chair.”

  “If we decide to go to trial, Charlotte, and we lose, we’re looking at a sentence of anywhere from fifty-one to sixty-three months.”

  “What’s that in years?”

  “Four years and three months, maybe five years and three months. Now, if you plead guilty—and I’m not sure you should yet, but in the event you plead guilty—then the court drops three points off your total immediately. That brings your time down to anywhere from thirty-seven to forty-six months.”

  I see you three months and raise you two.

  “And there’s more good news. A lawyer can make a case for you. This is called a ‘departure from the sentencing guidelines.’ In other words, because of who you are, a decent human being who projects no threat to society, then there’s no need to protect the public from you. That’s also a positive.”

  This made Charlotte laugh. What possible danger did the women of Gorham propose? She had a vision of mugging citizens with turkey thermometers and knocking them unconscious with soup ladles.

  “We also ask the judge to consider your work history. For fifteen years you were an upstanding citizen with absolutely no previous record. You held a good job, worked for charitable causes, and donated time and money to civic interests. When you committed the crime, you used no guns or lethal weapons. Further, the crime was not drug-related. Lastly, we will ask the judge to consider the motivating factors. You were completely upset, and with good reason. You had just received news that you were going to die. Wham! You go bonkers. You’re in what we might call a ‘fugue state.’”

  “A what?”

  “Diminished capacity. Unable to control your impulses. Aberrant behavior.”

  All Charlotte could think about was the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. She didn’t want all Gorham thinking she was a Looney Tune now.

  Watch out for Charlotte Clapp. She runs after bakery trucks for prune Danish and barks at garbage cans.

  “Diminished capacity? Is this really necessary?”

  “That alone could reduce your sentence to under three years, Charlotte.”

  “Oh, God, let me think about it.”

  “Yes, think about it. I also need to talk to the prosecutor and see what she knows. After I have learned all the facts, I’m better prepared in planning your case. You may be right in wanting to plead guilty, but I just want to make sure. The more informed we are, the better decision we can make.”

  “I didn’t know the prosecutor was allowed to share information.”

  “Yes, it’s common practice, and actually, we happen to be friends. We don’t always agree, but Denise is pretty fair. You’re a first-time felon. You made a mistake, which you have to pay for in one way or another. But you didn’t murder someone; you’re not a pedophile or a rapist. You haven’t smuggled heroin in from Columbia and sold it to first-graders. There’s a lot worse out there. Even the assistant U.S. attorney will see that. So are you ready to talk more specifically about the arraignment?”

  “Jesus, I’m in judicial hell. I can’t remember all this stuff Mr. Bloomberg. Can’t we take a recess? They take recesses on Law and Order !”

  Bloomberg looked at Charlotte sympathetically. It was a lot to absorb. He knew it, and he knew how she felt.

  “You’re right. Let’s take a recess. The arraignment is tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be back in the morning, and we can talk about it then.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think it’s going to be okay, Charlotte. You’re a good client to have.”

  “Oh, I’m a dream. I just wish my parents were still alive to
share in this wonderful moment with me.”

  Bloomberg laughed. “You’re funny.”

  “How many points do they take off for that?”

  CHAPTER 64

  IT WAS LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER when Charlotte was called out again.

  “Miss Clapp,” the guard announced, “you have a visitor upstairs.”

  “I do?” she asked, surprised.

  She followed the guard to a room divided by bulletproof glass and small enclaves, each with its own phone. She looked down the row and saw women talking with husbands, boyfriends, children, and weeping parents. Suddenly, her eye settled on a face she recognized. Her first visitor shocked her, but pleased her even more. There, on the other side of the partition, was MaryAnn Barzini. Charlotte sat down and stared: MaryAnn looked exactly as she had at Charlotte’s going-away party: stiff, cool, and right. Slowly Charlotte began to talk. MaryAnn pointed to the phone. Charlotte nodded and picked it up.

  “How are you, MaryAnn?”

  “Fine, Charlotte. How are you?”

  “Oh, all right, I guess.”

  “You got thin.”

  “That I did.”

  “You finally made it to Hollywood.”

  “Yup.”

  “Did you meet Tom Selleck?”

  “No, never saw him once. I did see Gene Hackman.”

  “Was that exciting?”

  “Every time.”

  “So you robbed the bank, Charlotte. You just took all that money and fled.”

  “Pretty much. I mean, it wasn’t like I’d been thinking about it for months or even weeks. I just sort of snapped. You know the whole thing about how I thought I was dying?”

  “Yeah, I heard about it on bingo night at the church from a waitress who works at Bickfords and is friends with Jennings’s nurse... old nurse. As you may or may not know, Jennings no longer practices here, so his nurse is working at Bickfords until she can find other work. You know, nursing-type work. Meanwhile, she makes the pastry. And she’s quite good. Especially her Boston creams.”

  Jesus, MaryAnn, I’m telling you how I thought I was dying and you’re going on about the dessert tray in Bickfords.

  “Anyway, that’s how I heard it. So, what happened, Charlotte?”

  Finally.

  “There I was, thinking I was dying, when it dawned on me that I hadn’t really lived, and I wanted to. I figured I had nothing to lose. And then the strangest thought occurred to me during that time.”

  “What?”

  “Do you remember that ceramic frog that was stolen out of someone’s yard one night? I think it was in New Hampshire or maybe in Massachusetts.”

  “What frog?” MaryAnn clearly had no idea where Charlotte was going with this. Had she gone mad?

  “You know the one. It was all over the news. That decorative frog.”

  In an obvious attempt to placate her, MaryAnn smiled, “Right. That frog.”

  “It was on someone’s lawn, and the next day it was gone.”

  Suddenly, MaryAnn did remember the frog. “Yes, I remember that frog, Charlotte!” She looked relieved, although still a bit wary.

  “Well, whoever stole that frog took it all around the world with them and would take pictures of it in front of the Eiffel Tower, in front of the Kremlin, in front of Buckingham Palace. The robbers kept sending pictures back to the frog’s owners, telling them their frog was having a great time seeing the world and they would one day return it, after it had experienced life to the fullest.”

  “Oh, yes, yes, and the owners made a plea to the robbers. They wanted their frog back. They had the matching frog. They wanted them reunited.”

  “Right. And then one day the frog did return. In a limo. And there was a big celebration.”

  “I remember,” said MaryAnn, but she still couldn’t imagine why they were talking about frogs.

  “Well, I kept thinking about that ceramic frog. That frog had seen more of the world than I had. It had done more and seen more than me or anyone else in Gorham, for that matter.”

  “So?”

  “How could a ceramic frog have more to say at the end of its life than me? I mean, if I couldn’t have a better life than a ceramic frog, I’d say that’s pretty damn pathetic.”

  “When you put it that way, it does seem somewhat depressing.”

  “Well, I’d say that frog and I are even.”

  “So you’re even. But . . .” MaryAnn looked down, then looked up again directly into Charlotte’s eyes in a confused and searching way. “But, Charlotte?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you call me?”

  “I knew you’d wonder that.”

  “I have. I’ve scratched my head over it a hundred times. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if I’d come.”

  “Why did you?”

  “Because...”

  “Don’t lie, MaryAnn. We’ve got nothing to lose anymore.”

  “Well, to be perfectly honest, I was just busting with curiosity.”

  “Okay.”

  “So why did you call me?”

  “You know why? This past year has been an amazing one, MaryAnn. In so many ways. And I have to tell you, you were on my mind a lot of it.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes, you were. I thought about our friendship when we were kids, about high school, about T. J., about Tom, about how things changed between us. I thought about how bad I felt for so many years and how I couldn’t seem to move on from that feeling. I got fat and sad, and angrier with you. It just seethed under the surface, like the La Brea Tar Pits.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, never mind. Anyway, I’m really glad you came today, because I’ve been wanting to tell you something.”

  MaryAnn braced herself. She was ready for Charlotte to take her down, tell her she was the most horrible person on earth and that she hated her now more than ever.

  “Yes?” MaryAnn asked tentatively.

  “You did what you did, good, bad, or indifferent. And so did I. But you know what, MaryAnn? It’s okay. I want you to know that whatever happened—your marrying Tom, your silence and rejection after T. J., your general feeling for me—I forgive it all. I love you, MaryAnn, for the person you once were and who I believe is still in there somewhere, somewhere deep down. The same funny girl who played freeze tag with me after school, the same girl who cut her thumb so that we could be blood sisters way back when, the same girl who promised, no matter what happened in life, somehow, someway, we’d always remain friends. That’s what I choose to remember, MaryAnn, and to celebrate. If I learned anything this year, it is that life is too short to do anything else. Not forgiving eats you alive.”

  MaryAnn sat looking at Charlotte, trying to process what she was hearing. After everything, Charlotte forgave her. Even as she sat in jail and awaited her uncertain future, she was forgiving the past and all its big and small injustices.

  There was no denying it: On MaryAnn’s part, there had been many. And she had hardened her heart to feel justified. But now, looking at Charlotte through the glass, something in her softened. She was undone, utterly unprepared for this. And she began to cry. It was as if she’d waited years for someone to say something first, but then, after a while, she’d become lost within her own bitterness, and that had become her life. Perhaps she’d even forgotten it could be any other way. But Charlotte hadn’t, and today she reached right through the barrier that kept them separated, and hugged her with her heart.

  “Charlotte?” MaryAnn whispered, her whole being changing with every word. “I don’t know what to say....I...I...”

  Charlotte simply nodded her head yes and understood. She knew that words wouldn’t have said it at that moment anyway.

  “And now look at you. In jail. How could someone like you ...?”

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  “How?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Christ, maybe it won’t. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “The most wond
erful thing happened to me this year, MaryAnn. It almost puts this in perspective in some weird way.”

  “What happened?”

  “I got something that I’d wanted all my life. The one thing that I never seemed to get, the one thing that slipped through my fingers, or got away, or somehow was never truly there in the first place.”

  “What?

  “I found love.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, I fell in love with a man who is kind and smart and good. And do you want to know what the best part about the whole thing is?”

  “Yes. Tell me.”

  “He loves me.”

  MaryAnn looked at Charlotte with a mixture of happiness and envy. She had finally found it. The elusive, unexplainable luckiness of love.

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Skip—well, that’s really his nickname. But that’s what everyone calls him. Skip.”

  “Skip’s a nice name.”

  “Thinking about him is the only thing that helps get me through these days and nights. I just keep going over the wonderful times we had, and somehow I’m able to deal with it.” She paused. “I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.”

  MaryAnn’s heart ached at that moment for her old friend. She wasn’t even sure where it was coming from. Perhaps from the deep well of shared experiences and innocence, of an untouched time that even the hurt of past lives couldn’t taint. She saw Charlotte in her sky blue snowsuit, sledding down that hill behind the 7-Eleven. She saw her twirling a silver baton and borrowing frosted lipsticks. She saw them both hiding together in Charlotte’s bedroom, sharing the strange and mysterious secrets of how boys were different from girls. How faraway this all seemed now. And yet, a certain closeness prevailed between them, and MaryAnn wished she could make it better for Charlotte.

  “Of course you’ll see Skip again,” she said, breaking free from memory. “There is no doubt about it. You will see him again, Charlotte, and don’t think otherwise.”

  It was the first soft thing she’d said to her in years. And it felt so good, yet Charlotte’s gaze still clearly indicated sadness.

  And MaryAnn wanted to rescue her from it. “So what happens next, do you know?”

  “My arraignment is tomorrow. My lawyer tells me that’s when they set bail. It doesn’t matter. I can’t afford it anyway. We’ll see.”