by Lynne Hugo
Still, if that were so, why hadn’t Terry confronted her? Caroline would have expected as much, and Terry had every right. At the thought, a pale rose guilt began its hot bloom on Caroline’s chest and opened along her neck, throat and cheeks. As soon as the sun shone on her identity, she realized she was a stalker, no way around it. But if Terry was colluding with Rid in all that had happened to her, then Terry bore the same guilt. Caroline’s mind spun ruts trying to figure it out.
She sat in her car trying to make sense of it, then reminded herself that Terry, if she chose to look, could be watching. The temperature had warmed a bit, and the day was overcast—again. The western sky looked like it was carrying a payload of snow. Or sleet, the worst of the Cape’s winter offerings. What now? She turned the key, let the engine cough into an idle. What now? Shifting into reverse, she backed out of the parking space, swung around until she was facing the road. What now? The baby moved, a little series of hummingbird wings inside her, and she shifted into drive, heading for Route 6 with no plan for the day, no plan for the rest of her life.
* * * *
She ended up in Eastham where she got her hair cut and finally bought the cell phone she told Rid she was going for.
Eventually everything fell into place, like tricks in a well-bid bridge game. She laid out what she knew as if she were cataloging a wardrobe, checking to see which articles of clothing she still needed.
She picked up the makings for dinner on the way home. Already the afternoon was sliding toward twilight, and it was only 3:45. Rid was home when she arrived.
“CiCi? Where you been? I was getting worried,” he called from the kitchen as soon as she opened the door. She heard the chair scrape and Lizzie’s paws scrabbling on the hardwood as both got up to greet her.
“Remember, I told you this morning? Cell phone?” She held it up as she came down the hall toward him. “Had to go to Eastham for it. You could have warned me that Land’s End isn’t carrying them anymore. While I was there I went ahead and got my hair done. And I went to the library first, this morning. I told you all this at breakfast. Men.” But her tone was light, a froth of tease on top. He helped her take her coat off and kissed her cheek as he did.
“Wonk, wonk, wonk,” He made a hand motion like an opening and closing mouth. “You know, some people buy cell phones so they can call their families when they’re going to be gone a long time so their families don’t worry.”
Family? Okay, why don’t you just use a stun gun on me? “I didn’t mean to worry you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Can I see your phone?” Rid said, reaching for it. When it was in his hand, he sat at the table and fiddled with it for perhaps a minute. “There,” he said, handing it back. “I programmed the house number and my cell number in it. If you want me to put anyone else’s, like the doctor or Noelle, I can. I mean, you probably can figure it out fine, I didn’t mean you couldn’t.”
“No, that’s good, thanks.”
Rid sat, and busied himself with further programming the phone, using the list of numbers Caroline had tacked up under a magnet on the refrigerator. “I’m putting your number in my cell phone now, too—okay?”
“Sure. Don’t forget to put Elsie on mine,” she said, trying to keep her suspicion at bay. Why this, why now? “I bought stuff for a casserole and salad. I’ll get it going now, so we can eat early.” Caroline stifled a sigh. She was tired of trying to understand things that didn’t make sense, tired of trying to act like she was okay. She went in to the bathroom to pee, splashed some cold water on her face and washed her hands. In the mirror, the woman who returned her gaze looked black-eyed and disheveled. At least her hair looked better. She returned to the kitchen and began cleaning vegetables. In a clatter, Rid pulled plates from the cabinet and piled silverware on top. The baby did a tiny brief dance as she stood at the sink, as if wanting to join in on the “family” activities.
* * * *
The next day, Rid went up Cape to look at some used oyster cages he thought he could buy cheaply and repair. When his truck had crunched off the gravel drive and been gone for fifteen minutes, Caroline called Tomas.
“This is Caroline Marcum, Rid’s friend. I’d like to keep this just between us. Are you comfortable with that?”
“Meaning you don’t want Rid to know?”
“I mean not Rid, not Mario, not anyone. It has to do with helping, about the flats, not harming anyone, I promise you.”
A hesitation on the other end. “I guess that would be all right.”
“You’ll understand why when I go into details, and I’m sure you’ll be fine with it. Could you and I meet sometime today? It won’t take long.”
“That’d be all right. I’m tied up until late afternoon, but I can stop at The Oyster on my way home.”
“I’m afraid that might be too—public. Is there another place?”
“Billy’ll let us use the private room. I’ll stop for a coffee this afternoon and check. He can keep his mouth shut when he needs to. You could come to my house, but my wife is about as quiet as a full-page ad in the newspaper.”
“All right. Thank you. What time?”
“Five?”
“I can do that. Thank you, Tomas.”
The rest of the day she fidgeted or busied herself, Lizzie always at her heels. There was the one necessary bank errand that consumed an hour. She caught up all the laundry, organized and packed her own things. She started to cry when she hugged Lizzie. The Lab fussed at her face with her long tongue. The baby’s things—starting to be an accumulation now—she left in the room in which she and Rid had them stored. Once, Rid had actually called it the baby’s room, but she’d taken it to mean the baby’s storage room. She trusted Rid to keep them, and she didn’t have it in her to make that many extra trips up and down stairs to try to cram it all in her car. This was only a matter of going to Noelle’s until she knew the connection between Rid and the mother of the boy she’d killed, how that fit with a threat on her door step and a rock through her window. Maybe she would have to leave for good. Not yet, though. Not yet.
* * * *
Caroline left for Noelle’s before two in the afternoon to make sure she wasn’t there when Rid got home. The note she left on the kitchen table, which she knew could be either little surprise if he was guilty or a blade in the heart if he wasn’t, read, Rid, I think it’s best if I let Noelle and Walt help me get back into my own home. I need to find out if and how the threats and vandalism are connected to my past or my present, get honest answers, and resolve it before the baby comes. I can’t keep hiding here and pretending nothing is wrong. When I know what’s really going on, you and I will work things out. All the baby’s things are upstairs. CiCi.
Later, having stashed her things in the yellow and white guest bedroom, tired from the trips up and down the stairs at both houses, Caroline made herself a cup of tea in Noelle’s kitchen. Walt was at a doctor’s appointment, and it was the first time she’d been alone in their home. The room was cheery—red paint, rubbed wood, gleaming copper and brass artfully hung along with live plants in the large breakfast area windows—but she felt displaced all over again, as she first had at Rid’s. Strange how she’d begun to feel at home there, how close she’d gotten to him, or thought she had. Maybe it was Lizzie, who loved her and she loved back without complication, or maybe it was the house, which had become a refuge from danger, and she’d confused the feeling of safety with feelings for Rid.
She sat at the table with her tea, looking out the window in the direction of the water where Rid and the others tended their grants in a handed-down way of life based on the tides, her own family home alongside. For a few moments she cried while inside, her baby moved in primal water, as if tethered to the ebb and flow of the sea. And then it was time to go meet Tomas.
* * * *
She needn’t have worried about it being too public. There were eight cars in the parking lot at The Oyster, nine with hers. That had to include the staff. She
recognized Tomas’s truck. She parked her own off to the back, where sand and shrubbery crept onto the asphalt, and twilight had long since overtaken the area of the closed bookstore.
She’d worn the black sweater that hid her pregnancy best, jeans, and her boots with the two-inch heels. Even makeup, a necklace and earrings. She didn’t want to look pathetic. She wanted to look like she had choice, dignity, and knew exactly what she was doing.
“I’m meeting Tomas,” she said to the bartender. There wasn’t a hostess on duty. Both the bar and restaurant sides looked cavernous, abandoned, but it was early.
“I’m Billy. We’ve met before. You’ve been here with Rid, aye?” He flounced a bit, purposefully, as if to say how could you forget me? then chuckled. White-hair partly covered with the kind of scarf her mother wore when dusting the rafters, heavy white eyebrows over deep set sky blue eyes, a bristly white mustache, earrings, and several gold necklaces layered over a black US NAVY sweatshirt pulled over a pot belly, a rainbow flag insignia on the left breast. Billy made her blink while her brain searched for a category.
“I remember,” Caroline said, meaning it. “I’m Caroline. And once again, dammit, you’re jewelry is better than mine.” She gestured to his necklaces, and then, disdainfully, at her own.
Billy threw back his head this time. “Your first beer’s on me just for the flattery.”
“Make that a virgin hot toddy and you’re on.”
“I knew that, I knew that! You’re on the wagon. Tomas is in the back room with his first beer, though. Make that cheapskate buy you something to eat.” He started to lead Caroline down the hall past the kitchen door and the hallway to the restrooms, and then turned, hand on hip. “Oh my. There’s not trouble in paradise is there? I mean, will Rid be coming or is this a clandestine meeting?”
“No on trouble. Yes on private. It’s business. I’ll really appreciate your not mentioning it to anyone,” Caroline said, breathing in Billy’s broad Boston accent, so like her father’s it might have been his cologne.
“Well, honey, you can absolutely trust me.”
“Actually, Tomas vouched for you.”
“Really? How sweet of him. Damn. Now I’ll have to buy him a beer. You know, some nights I end up working for nothing here.” As he spoke, Billy pushed open a door to a private dining room where Tomas had his feet up on one chair as he slouched with a beer and the paper in another. A bowl of peanuts rested on the table in front of him on another section of the Cape Cod Times.
“Ready for another beer?” Billy said to Tomas.
“Hey, CiCi. Sure, Billy, and bring the lady whatever she’d like.”
The use of her old nickname—which Tomas had obviously heard from Rid—was startling.
“How about an appetizer?” Billy said to Tomas, with a wink to Caroline. “Some wings? A mixed platter? You’re each getting one drink on me.”
Tomas faked a double take at Billy and said to Caroline, “Who is this and what have you done with the real Billy? Should we have him bring us an appetizer?”
“Fine by me. I’ll help you eat it—nothing spicy, though.”
“Do your thing, Billy. Thanks.”
When the bartender had disappeared, Tomas got up and pulled out a chair for Caroline. The man was huge, and Caroline would have instinctively been a bit afraid if his voice hadn’t been gentle. He had a wild look with untamed gray hair and beard, broad face. One side, his overalls were fastened, the other dropped over his upper arm and chest. A red-plaid flannel shirt was buttoned to the neck under the denim. Work-worn hands, burly as tree limbs, chapped and nicked like Rid’s.
“I’ll just put your coat over here,” he said, laying it on another table. “What’s on your mind?”
“I want to give you Rid’s share of the money to buy the flats,” she said.
Tomas raised his brows. “Why don’t you just give it to Rid?”
“I tried. He refused.”
“So—you’re doing an end run? What do you want that’s making Rid say no?”
“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, “It’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 sto
rm 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.”
