The Tolling of Mercedes Bell: A Novel (32 page)

“I hope you mean that,” she said. “I’m very sorry about your unhappy childhood.”

“And I’m sorry that Eleanor has been such a rough ride for you.”

“You can’t always get what you want,” she replied softly. “But then sometimes you get it when you’re not even trying to.”

T
he surf roiled and swelled and flung glistening spray as it ran onto the white sand of Waikiki. It crept up toward Mercedes, but then pulled back into the ocean before it could touch her. The thunder of the surf rumbled deep down inside her. She lay on her stomach on a turquoise beach towel, soaking in the sun’s heat from above and the sand’s warmth below. The cares of daily life ebbed with each wave.

Jack moved her hair to the side, drizzled suntan oil on her, and smoothed it over her browning back and thighs. The feel of his touch, the smell of coconut oil mixed with sea breeze, and the sound of the surf lulled her into bliss.

“Don’t ever stop,” she mumbled.

He slipped his finger under the elastic of her sleek black swim-suit and ran it slowly around her behind.

“Very tempting,” he said, “but this is a public beach.” He finished working in the oil, then lay back on his towel.

“That was pure genius to bring Anne for Germaine to play with and Giselle to babysit them,” she said.

“You’re easily pleased.”

Seagulls marauded along the beach, squabbling over an abandoned potato chip bag as the booming surf rolled into shore.

Jack raised himself up on his elbows at the passage of two perfectly groomed young men wearing Speedos. One turned to look at Jack over his shoulder, pointed at him in a taunting gesture over the oblivious Mercedes, and made a face.

“It’s amazing how some people can read your mind,” Jack murmured.

“Uh-huh,” she said, too relaxed to think.

“I think I’ll go get a cold drink,” he said.

To the soundtrack of seagulls’ cries and pounding surf, she sank into slumber.

T
HE BEACH WAS NEARLY DESERTED
when she awoke. There was no sign of Jack. The afternoon sun was low in the sky. She rolled over and sat up with a start, reflexively jerking up her legs. Her back stung, her legs too, and one side of her face was on fire.

She gathered up their belongings and lugged the beach bag toward the hotel. Why hadn’t Jack come back for her? Where were Germaine and Anne?

She checked the pool area, the outdoor bar, the lobby. On the second floor she found Germaine and Anne playing shuffleboard on the linoleum of the game room. Giselle was lying on a nearby couch, reading a novel. Germaine gave a start and ran toward her.

“Mom! You’re so red! Half your face is burnt!” She kissed her mother’s face on the unburned side and cautiously inspected the backs of her arms, legs, and shoulders, which were hot and scarlet.

“I fell asleep. What have you all been up to?”

The girls excitedly recounted their afternoon with Giselle, who
joined in the conversation. They’d explored many shops and swum in the hotel pool.

“I should have gone with you. I wouldn’t be a lobster if I had. Are you hungry?”

They nodded eagerly.

“Silly question I guess. Jack must be up in the room. I’ll just go clean up for dinner. I’ll be back soon.” She kissed Germaine again, smoothed Anne’s hair, and patted her shoulder. The girls were having a fine time without her; that was plain to see.

When she unlocked the door to the suite she heard the shower running. She saw herself in the mirror over the bureau. Half her face was harlequin red; her back and thighs looked freshly broiled. This burn would be with her for some time.

She tapped on the bathroom door. No answer. She opened the door and called out. Jack stuck his head out of the shower stall, did a double take and said nothing.

“That’s an interesting reaction,” she said caustically.

“I’ll be out in a second.”

“Where did you go?” she asked. “And why didn’t you come back?”

With care, she began to peel the bathing suit off her scorched body.

He stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his lower half. As he was not usually shy about his body, his use of the towel did not go unnoticed.

“Jesus,” he said, seeing her skin.

She scowled at him. He touched her chin with his fingertips and turned her face to ascertain the damage, as if she were a doll. She tossed her head away from his touch.

“That’s a second-degree burn,” he remarked. “We should get something on it right away.”

“You haven’t answered my questions.”

“We’re on vacation, remember? Save the cross-examination for home.”

“Forgive me, but it doesn’t
feel
like a vacation right now. I don’t appreciate being abandoned on the beach. If you’d said you weren’t returning, that would’ve been fine. I wouldn’t have let myself fall asleep like that. So where were you that was so damned important?”

“I went to get a drink and one thing led to another,” he said casually. “Guess I lost track of time. Sorry,” he shrugged.

“A lawyer losing track of time! That’ll be the day.” She pushed past him and stepped into the shower. She turned on cool water in a gentle spray and walked beneath it. It stung like fire. Half her face was boiling hot and the backs of her legs screamed.

Jack left the bathroom to dress. He stepped into boxers and donned a fresh white golf shirt and shorts. He combed his glossy salt-and-pepper hair and smiled into the mirror, whistling to himself. His tan was progressing nicely. He dabbed on cologne, collected his wallet and room key, and called out to Mercedes that he was going down to get something for her sunburn.

On his way back up he spotted the girls in the game room. “Come up with me and help your mom take care of her sunburn,” he said to Germaine.

The girls ran to meet him, and each took hold of an arm. Germaine grabbed the paper bag from him and pulled out the spray can of Solarcaine.

“You think of everything,” she said.

“Glad you think so, my friend.”

L
ATE THAT NIGHT
J
ACK SLUMBERED
peacefully while Mercedes suffered. The sunburn was raw against the sheets, yet it had her shivering. She tried to arrange the covers in some tolerable position and
find a way to fall asleep. Compounding the misery, an unpleasant after-dinner scene replayed in her head. Jack’s inexplicable moodiness had turned to cold indifference once they were alone in their rooms. She got up to find the Solarcaine and reapply it.

He moaned in his sleep. He lay on his back with his arms pressed against his sides, clenching his fists and vigorously rolled his head from side to side. He tensed and pressed his ankles together, as if writhing against invisible restraints.

“No! No, Daddy! Jackie’s a good boy! No!” he protested pitifully. Mercedes turned on the light in the bathroom and left the door open so she could see him. His agitation increased and he began whimpering. His fists struggled to leave his sides and he bent his knees slightly. His head jerked to the side and he cringed, as if dodging a blow.

“Jack,” she said, touching his shoulder.

“No! Jackie will be good!” he shouted.

She hovered over him and shook both his shoulders.

He gasped and was suddenly quiet. His eyes opened, but he seemed not to recognize his whereabouts for a few seconds.

“Jack, you’re having a bad dream,” she said. “Everything’s okay.”

“No!” he said. Then he looked up at her suspiciously.

“You’ve had a nightmare.”

“Were you spying on me?” He recoiled from her touch.

“You were very upset.”

He sat up, again sweating profusely.

“What were you dreaming?”

He straightened out his hands and shook them, giving her no answer.

“You seemed to be constrained in some way. You clenched your fists.”

“I haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“One of what?”

“They’re dreams, but they’re really more than that. They’re memories I can’t seem to shake.”

“Memories of what?”

“My childhood.” He regarded her darkly. She waited for him to continue.

“Sometimes my father tied me to my bed for hours on end. Days, maybe. I can’t be sure. I was very young.”

“Why on earth would he do such a thing?”

“I was a toddler and my mother was in a wheelchair and evidently he thought I was a pain in the ass. Then he’d beat me when I wet the bed. He never showed me anything but contempt, unless other people were around.”

She began reaching out to comfort him, to touch him, but something held her back.

“He used to tell me that having me was what made my mother get sick—that it was my fault. When she died, he blamed it on me, and I felt responsible.”

He swung his legs around and sat on the edge of the bed. Mercedes walked over to the open window with a blanket loosely draped about her burned body.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“Some things are best kept to oneself, as you say.”

“Not something of this magnitude.”

“I’ve been in psychiatric treatment for years,” he blurted out.

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”

“Of course I’m surprised.”

“You’ve met Dr. Hand. Did you think she was just an acquaintance?”

“She’s not the only doctor we socialize with. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I thought it would complicate things.”

“I see. And did it ever cross your mind that I had a right to know and decide for myself?”

“What difference would it have made,” he said snidely, “after I put that fat rock on your finger?”

“Oh, you think you own me? Am I hearing this right?” Now her blood was boiling along with her skin.

“Spare me your offended feelings! I’ve lived a fucking nightmare, okay?”

He stormed into the bathroom. She turned her gaze toward the balcony, then walked out into the night to hear the ocean and feel the flower-scented air of Hawaii.

For better or for worse, until death us do part.
She thought of him as a small child, strapped to a bed, terrified, alone, hungry, lying in his own waste, dreading the sound of his father’s footsteps coming toward his room. How he had survived to become such a polished man was a marvel.

He walked out onto the balcony and stood beside her. He took her left hand into his and stared at the sea. He bit his lip.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you, but I was afraid you’d head for the hills if you knew. And I know you can’t be bought. I was the one who insisted on this ring, because I wanted you to have it.” He kissed her hand.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “You just don’t know how much I love you or you would never have doubted me. I can appreciate how you’d have a hard time believing in love like that, after what you’ve been through.”

He stroked her hair and the unburned side of her face, and kissed her. The sea breeze caressed them.

“I’m not going to bail on you,” she said. “I promised to stay with you no matter what. Remember?”

He kissed her again. She put her arms around him and felt him shaking. She realized he was crying. She could feel the little boy locked away in the big man’s body. She wondered if he had ever let another person this close.

“What’s been wrong today? You haven’t been yourself,” she asked softly.

“It’s hard to explain. I’ve been a bachelor for so long and messed up so many relationships, I wonder if I’m capable of being a good husband. When I’m working I don’t have time to think about it. But now we’re on vacation, and I’m a bit unmoored.”

“You’re a fine husband and stepfather. A little mysterious sometimes, but that’s okay.”

“It’s too soon to tell.”

“Then just hang onto me,” she replied. “Let no man put asunder what God hath joined together, and that includes the groom. I’m new at this, too. If you don’t level with me and I can’t trust you, we’re doomed.”