Envious Moon (10 page)
Authors: Thomas Christopher Greene
S
ometime before dawn the rain stopped. I only noticed it when I realized it had grown quieter. At first I didn't attribute it to the rain. It had been over an hour since the men took what I think was their third pass on the trail that led to the cove. I had spent my time trying to stay awake. Now and again I caught myself drifting off where I sat under the raincoat. Once when I woke I noticed the silence. The only water falling was the drip from the branches above. I spent my time considering my options. My only goal was to reach Hannah. I knew I could not go to the house. I wished I could get to a phone. I would call Victor and find out what they knew. I thought about trying to steal a skiff from one of the two island harbors. Piloting it back to the mainland. But then it occurred to me that if they were looking for me like this, they already had Victor. And Berta knew they were looking for me. And Captain Alavares too. Returning to the mainland wouldn't do me a lick of good.
My time was running out here. Soon it would be light and when it was light I would not be able to hide anymore. They would bring more men and maybe even dogs. Regardless, they would find me and when they did the jig would be up.
All I wanted to do was to see Hannah. I thought if I could see Hannah then maybe everything would be okay. If they found me, there was no way they would let me see her. But maybe if I went to them, it would be different. Maybe I could make a deal. I will talk to you, tell you what you want to know. In return, I want to be alone with Hannah. Let me explain all that happened. Let me tell her how much I love her, and how love can trump anything, even this.
I allowed myself the cigarette I had denied myself for the last five or six hours. I took my time and savored it. Through the trees in front of me the night was starting to lift. The fog was still heavy but things were turning from black to gray. I smoked and I took solace in the fact that at least I was going to the one place where Hannah was. I didn't know what other choice I had.
I
discovered something new about fear that morning. As I have said before, I had been afraid many times. Both at sea and on land. But my fear in the past had always been somehow tied to choice. I could choose to jump off the bridge with Victor to the waiting water. I could choose to not show up for the boat and the trip to the Grand Banks. Though, of course, once at sea there was not a lot I could do. The ocean was going to dictate what happened to all of us. But that morning, walking up the trail from the cove to the great house for the last time, I was not afraid. That's the honest truth. A sense of calm and resignation came over me. And I think that's because all the choices I had made led to this one place, this one lonely walk across rain-soaked earth.
What transpired next was something straight out of a movie. I emerged out of the heavy fog from the side yard of the great house to find a driveway filled with police cars. Sheriff cars, state police cars, a large white van. Men stood in small groups talking. I saw Sheriff Riker leaning against one car sipping coffee out of a styrofoam cup talking to three state troopers. There were men in suits. No one saw me. I stopped at the edge
of the grass. All of them were engrossed in conversation. I took a deep breath, and then I shouted, “I want to see Hannah.”
Everyone stopped talking all at once. All heads turned toward me. Time seemed to grind to a halt for a moment. They all just looked at me. And I must have been a sight, sitting in the rain all night. I thought about shouting my request again, as if they did not hear me the first time. But then Sheriff Riker stepped forward from everyone else and he calmly said my name. “Anthony,” he said. “Let us see your hands, okay, buddy?”
And just like in the movies, I slowly raised my hands over my head. I opened my palms for them all to see. “I want to see Hannah,” I said again.
“One thing at a time,” Sheriff Riker said. “I need you to do me a favor, Anthony, understand?”
I nodded.
“Get down on your knees now, Anthony. Keep your hands above your head, just like that. But get down on your knees.”
I did as he said. I slumped to the ground onto my knees and my oilskin bag slid off my shoulder and I let it fall next to me.
“Okay,” the Sheriff said. “Just stay there, Anthony. Two of the officers are going to come to you now. Nod if you understand.”
It seemed pretty clear that I understood since I went to my knees but I nodded anyway. Two of the state troopers, huge men in gray uniforms with jackboots, came toward me from the driveway. When they reached me they did not say anything. One of them took my hands from above my head and he pulled them down behind my back and I felt the cuffs go on, heard them snap into place. The morning was coming on but not
yet here, the fog still heavy and the air the color of pigeons. The ocean was right there but you couldn't have seen it if you wanted to. I was on my knees, two troopers looming above me. I looked over at the house. Men talked all around me but to me it was all empty chatter. My eyes flitted up the façade to the turret window. No light on inside. No sign of Hannah anywhere. The empty glass in the rising misty morning didn't reflect a damn thing.
She had such a good heart. In some ways she was an innocent about things. She didn't know how the world worked. When she was only twelve, she got off the school bus one afternoon. The bus stop was only a half mile from our house in Chestnut Hill. There were six children who all got off at that stop and from there it was only a short walk from the main road to our neighborhood. It was a different time and the parents did not meet the children at the bus stop. Today I suppose that would be unthinkable. But the children were always in a group and it was a wealthy neighborhood once they were off Route 9.
This afternoon, standing on the corner of Route 9 and Silbey Street, was an older man with long gray hair and a beard, an army jacket that had patches all over the sleeves. A homeless gentleman. He held a sign toward the passing traffic that said, will work for food.
She was so young, so naïve, that she marched right up to the man. She told him she didn't have any work but that there was plenty of food at her house. A refrigerator full of it. I cannot imagine what the other kids thought. But when I opened our door and saw this man standing there, I almost had a heart attack. When I recovered from
my shock, I had him wait on the steps while I made him a sandwich. I put it in a brown bag and handed it to him. Hannah was quite pleased, of course. I explained to her when he had left why what she had done was dangerous. And how she was never to do it again. But I couldn't possibly punish her for it. For how can you punish a child for showing generosity of spirit?
T
hey took me off the island on the ferry, though this time I rode in its belly, in the back of a state police car. Before I got in they removed the handcuffs, which I was grateful for. Other than that, they left me alone in the backseat. The two troopers carried on like I wasn't there, talking about the Red Sox, the weather, some new restaurant in Providence. I stared out the window and through the breaks in the iron walls of the boat to where I could see patches of gray ocean.
We drove off the boat and then through the village and past my house and to the barracks in Westerly. They brought me into a small room with a table and two chairs. They left me there for a while and then Sheriff Riker and a tall man in a suit who introduced himself as a state police captain came in. He said his name was Martini.
“Like the drink,” I said.
He smiled. “Like the drink.”
And that was pretty much the last thing I said that afternoon. Sheriff Riker did most of the talking and he had lots of questions but all I did was stare straight ahead. I heard what he said but I didn't really listen. I discovered that if I actually
listened then I felt a greater pressure to respond. But if I tuned him out and thought of other thingsâof Hannah mostly, of how she looked after we made love, the open O of her mouth, the tiny freckles on her cheekbones, the smooth length of her neckâI could forget they were there. It was a neat trick, and one I didn't know I could pull off until I was in that small room. I shut down and they knew I was doing it and there was nothing they could do about it.
Not that they didn't try. What I did glean from what they had to say was that Victor had confirmed that I was in the house that night. They broke him somehow and when they called the
Lorrie Anne
they found out I had never gone out. But the sheriff kept saying that he thinks I didn't mean for anything to happen. That there was no intent on my part.
“I know you're a good kid, Anthony,” he said. “Work with me a little, okay? I want to consider this an accident but we need your help. If you won't talk to us we're in a tough position. We might have to assume some things you won't want. There's still time to fix this.”
And on and on.
I stared blankly and didn't say a thing. After a time they left me and I was alone in the room for what seemed like hours. It was hard to tell. There were no clocks and nothing to do and each minute just yielded to the next one. Eventually the door opened and Berta walked in. It felt like forever and I was awfully glad to see her. Though she looked so sad, so concerned, that I had to fight not to cry. I stood and stepped out from the table and I hugged her hard. Berta gripped my T-shirt in her hands.
“It's all right, Mama,” I said.
“What did you do, Anthony? Is this true, what they say?”
I looked toward the mirror that covered one of the walls. I knew they were on the other side looking at us. Could probably hear every word we said too.
“I'm in love, Mama,” I said.
Berta looked up at me and let go of my shirt. She stepped away. “You stupid boy,” she said. “You don't know anything.”
“I know this much,” I said.
Berta started to cry. I hated to see her cry more than anything and I tried to hug her but she was really upset. I started to cry too when she flailed at me with her short arms. She punched me with her little fists. “I'm in love, Mama,” I said again, and she only cried harder but she let me hold her now, which I did until the door opened and Sheriff Riker walked in.
“It's time, Mrs. Lopes,” he said.
My mother put her hands on my shoulders and looked up at my face. I looked down at her sweet wet brown eyes. “It's okay,” I said, but Berta stared back at me like she didn't believe me anymore.
T
hey came in and out all afternoon and still I did not talk. I thought about telling them that I wanted to see Hannah, telling them that I'd say whatever they wanted if only they'd let me see her. But part of me knew that there was no way, regardless of what I said, that they were going to let this happen. Finally, after I had been there for what seemed like ten hours, the door opened and in walked a man in a dark suit. I recognized him right away as he was from Galilee. He was maybe twelve years older than Victor and I. He had been a basketball star at the high school, the son of a fisherman like us, and he went away to college unlike us. Everyone knew him when we were kids. Girls loved him. And he looked exactly the same. Other than the streaks of silver coming in on his black hair above the ears. Danny Pedroia.
“You Anthony?” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“I'm your lawyer.”
“My lawyer?”
“Court-appointed.”
“I remember you,” I said.
He flashed a big smile. He was used to this. “We're from the same town,” he said. He held out his hand. “Dan Pedroia.”
I shook it. “Anthony Lopes.”
“Mind if I sit down?”
I motioned to the seat like it was my own house. He sat down across from me. I pulled my chair out and he did the same. I saw him studying me. “So,” I said.
“First thing we have to do is get you out of here,” he said.
“That'd be good.”
“They're going to arraign you on Monday. I can't do anything before then. I'm sorry about that. They're going to keep you in a holding cell until then.”
“Then what?”
“Then we go before a judge. I'm going to ask that you be released on your own recognizance. It just means you get to go home while we wait for trial.”
“I know what it means,” I said.
“Good. Or a plea, depending on what we decide to do. We make the case that you have strong ties to the community and are not a risk to flee. I'm going to say you'll agree to wear a monitor on your ankle and stay home. They're worried you'll try to find Ms. Forbes. But if the judge agrees, you get to live at home pending the outcome of the trial. If he disagrees he can set bail for you to go, in which case we'd need money to get you out. Or he may just leave you here until the trial.”
I nodded. “Let's hope he agrees.”
Danny Pedroia smiled. He had the smile of a shark but I liked him. He said, “I'm going to do what I can. One other thing I'm going to ask for. I want to have you evaluated.”
“Evaluated?”
“See an expert. Someone you can talk to. Talk about the
time you spent on Cross Island. What brought you there. That kind of thing.”
“I've been trying not to talk about it,” I said.
“I know. That's good. This is different. It's smart right now not to say anything to the police. I'm talking about a psychiatrist. It could help.”
I smiled. “Okay, Danny,” I said.
Danny smiled when I used his neighborhood name. “Let's see if we can get you out of here, Anthony,” he said.
A
fter that, they gave up on me. They put me into a small holding cell somewhere in the state police barracks. There were two cells and both were empty. They put me in the far one and in it was a cot with a blanket and hard pillow. The toilet also doubled as a sink, which was something I had never seen before. They fed me twice a day. Pizza at night and a fast-food breakfast sandwich in the morning. Other than that, they did not bother me and I slept like I only did when I had the flu. I drifted in and out of dreams. A few times I woke in a cold sweat. I knew I had been having nightmares but I did not remember them. I'd sit on the edge of the cot and wish they'd let me smoke. Then I'd start to think about Hannah and it made me sad. I'd lie back down and sleep again because it was only in the sleeping that the sadness went away.
Monday morning they handcuffed me again and led me out the back of the barracks and into another police car. They drove me to the courthouse and inside they took off my cuffs and escorted me into a courtroom. Danny Pedroia was here as was Berta. I sat between them and we waited for our docket to be called. Berta's eyes were rimmed with red and she looked
tired and old. My heart went out to her and I held her hand. Danny Pedroia talked into my ear, explaining everything that was happening, and when our number was called, the two of us stood and made our way to the front tables. We stood in front of the judge, who was old and black and bald with a gray mustache, and the prosecutor explained the charges against me, how serious they were, and the judge looked impassively at him as he did. Danny Pedroia explained that I was a good kid who did a dumb thing but had never done anything before. That I was from Galilee and that it was all I had ever known. That I was a fisherman and that my father had been a fisherman. Danny Pedroia was a good talker and I liked listening to him. He said I should be released on my own recognizance and undergo a competency evaluation. That I was no threat to anyone or even to myself. And that I certainly would not flee, that all my roots were in Galilee and there was nowhere for me to go. That I would be willing to wear an ankle monitor as an act of good faith.
“What about Cross Island?” the judge wanted to know.
“The young woman is no longer there,” Danny said, and I perked up at this. “She left the island,” he said, and I wanted to ask where Hannah went but I knew enough to know I couldn't do that.
The judge took all this in. He looked wise when he nodded as he listened. I thought that he was what a judge should look like. The prosecutor made another argument for bail. No one mentioned the money. They knew nothing about that. The judge shook his head. “I'm going to grant the defense request,” he said.
And so that afternoon, for the first time in weeks, I returned home to my small bungalow. It was just me and Berta
in the house. I had this small bracelet around my ankle with a little black box on it. If I left my small yard, or took the bracelet off, an alarm would sound and the police would come to get me. I stayed in my room mostly and smoked. At night I took in the late-August breeze and smelled the ocean from my window. In a couple of days the psychologists were going to come to my house. They were going to want to know if I was crazy. Danny Pedroia made it sound like it would be a good thing if they thought I was.
