A Matter of Mercy Read online

  Elsie. She’d call Elsie, even though it was embarrassing to seem so crazy, so out of control. Even the police didn’t believe her any more.

  Just Elsie’s voice seemed to stitch Caroline back together. “Sure, I can meet for dinner,” she said. “I’m in Orleans today, though. It would be late before I could get up there.”

  Caroline hesitated, considering the earliness and totality of nightfall as it would surround her house. The winter solstice was tomorrow. “I’ll come down there. I’d just as soon get out of Wellfleet. Would you be done by five if I come down there?”

  “Should be. We could go to The Seascape.”

  “I know where it is. Sounds fine to me. I’ll be there at five, and if you’re running late, don’t think a thing about it, I’ll just wait. I know how these things go. I remember how often Mom and I made you late!”

  “I’ll try to be on time, dear. See you later. I’m glad you called.”

  Caroline didn’t even replace the phone on the wall. She immediately called Noelle. “I was wondering if I could stay in your guest room tonight? I’m … uh … spraying for ants and I don’t want to breathe the fumes.”

  “Goodness, this time of year? Well, I’ll send Walter over. You know, the man can take care of anything.”

  “It’s not necessary, really! I promise. It’s not a big deal. It’s my fault. I left food out.”

  “You know you always have a place here.” Her mother’s friends had been reliable as calendars, unswerving in their loyalty. She’d not confided in them, not about the pregnancy, the stalking, or harassment. They’d either think she was in danger or, like the police, that she had an overactive imagination. She couldn’t bear to be the object of pity, although when she looked in the mirror she saw that she was pitiful, bedraggled as a flower dropping its petals.

  Help me, Mom, she whispered. Help me.

  * * * *

  Ninety minutes later, she’d showered and washed her hair, changed into the best-fitting outfit she could muster—black elastic-waist pants meant for a Yoga class, a kelly green sweater of Eleanor’s over a white blouse, both tops loose over her hips. In the neckline, a wide gold chain, also her mother’s. Okay, okay, okay, she said to her reflection. Makeup. You can do it. Foundation, blusher, eyeliner, mascara.

  Better. She definitely looked better. Encouraged, she finished blowing her hair dry. Yes.

  Good. Keep going. Was it her own voice or her mother’s in her head? It didn’t matter. She liked to think it was her mother. Find a decent looking coat. No, not the old goose down jacket, and definitely not your father’s barn coat. Yes, try that one. Good, that’ll work. No. Not those. Put on the low-heeled black dress boots. They keep the streets and sidewalks clear in Orleans. Much better. You really need to unpack your own winter things, you know. And buy some maternity clothes.

  A last check in the full-length mirror in the downstairs bedroom, once her mother’s, now hers, opening the cape-like coat to check the outfit again. She straightened her shoulders, and poked at her hair a bit. She tried on a smile and it looked real. A canvas bag holding pajamas, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, clean underpants, enough to get by overnight at Noelle’s, was on her bed along with her purse. She fished out car keys and draped the straps of both bags over her shoulder.

  Ready? Ready. No more of this shit. Time to take hold, you hear? I hear. Caroline smiled for the second time. It must be her mother. She knew her by the swearing.

  * * * *

  Elsie wasn’t more than ten minutes late, but Caroline had been twenty minutes early to Orleans, so it seemed a long wait. She’d nursed a pot of tea while wishing for a glass of wine, and kept putting off the hovering waitress who obviously thought Caroline had been stood up on a date. “My friend is coming, I’m sure,” Caroline said. “But I’ll look at the menu. I’m fine, really.”

  Elsie came in with a sweep of dank night air. Dark had completed itself while Caroline waited. She waved from the corner table, seeing Elsie scan the near-empty restaurant for her in the low light.

  “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you,” Elsie said, appraising her frankly even as she was settling in the seat opposite Caroline. “How are you feeling?”

  Caroline sighed. “I’ve been going out of my mind to be honest. Insane. That’s why I called you. I just thought if I could talk out loud to a normal person about what to do, it would help. Not that I can’t go to my mother’s friends—I can, but they’d freak out.” Caroline smiled. “On my mother’s behalf. I’ve got to sort things out, you know? I need a listener.” Why was it so reassuring, Caroline wondered, that Elsie’s clothing was utilitarian, a navy blue pants suit today, with fur-trimmed snow boots. Her straight brown bob bore the marks of the hat she’d worn. Caroline had never seen her with make-up.

  “I’m glad you felt you could call.”

  After they both gave their dinner orders, Elsie arched her eyebrows at Caroline, a silent invitation to talk.

  “I’ve been floundering, and I realize I can’t do that anymore,” Caroline said.

  “Have you made any firm decisions?” Elsie unfolded her napkin and opened a package of saltines.

  “Yes, I have. I think I’ve decided.” Caroline laughed. “Sort of an oxymoron, isn’t it, to say you’ve made a firm decision and then start the sentence with ‘I think I’ve decided.’ Okay. I’ve decided I’m having the baby and I’m keeping it. Her. Or him. To raise myself. That’s as far as I’d gotten for sure. Then I got derailed by this stalking or harassing or whatever is going on. I’m terrified, Elsie, but nothing has actually happened, you know? I don’t know if it’s some kid, or what. But I do see that I can’t go on like this. I called Mom’s friend Noelle and asked if I could stay there tonight.”

  “Did you tell her why?”

  “No. I lied. I told her I’d sprayed for ants and didn’t want to breathe the fumes.”

  “But you did tell her you’re pregnant?”

  Caroline winced. “Not so much.”

  “How about telling her at all?”

  This time she covered her face and spoke from behind her hands. “Not so much at all.”

  “Hmm. So these people, your mother’s friends, are your only local support system and you haven’t told them anything.”

  “That would be about right. Well, I sort of have another friend, at the library. But that’s a really complicated situation and I can’t really count her.”

  “Why not?

  “It’s too much to go into.”

  Elsie searched Caroline’s face and evidently decided not to pursue it. “You need some people around you now,” is all she said. “And I think you need to deal proactively with whatever is happening, trust your instincts. If you feel like there’s danger, there probably is. What do the police say?”

  “They come, I haven’t been dead when they’ve gotten there, they haven’t found a crime going on. I think they have me pegged as a crazy lady, and they only come because they have to. But I think someone’s been on my phone line for weeks now, and I think someone’s been in my yard and I don’t know what he—or they—want.” As Caroline ate her chowder, she told Elsie the details of the obscured writing on the windshield of her car. “Maybe I’ve made it worse for myself. You know, looking a wild wreck when the police come. I finally cleaned myself up to come here tonight. Elsie, it was like I could hear Mom talking to me. Do you think that’s nuts?” Caroline’s titter was small and nervous.

  Elsie reached across the table and took her hand. “You are not crazy, Caroline. Can you think of anyone, anyone who might have a problem with you, who might want to hurt you? Or want you to leave town?”

  Caroline paused. “I hardly know anyone anymore. Everybody loved Mom. I grew up here, but….” Elsie didn’t know about the accident, and Caroline hesitated. How could this be connected? She wasn’t even using the same name. She didn’t look the same. “The baby’s father might not want me around, and it seemed like this started the same day I told him. But t
oo fast. I even thought I saw someone in the yard when I was walking back after I told him.”

  “Could you have been wrong that first time and right about the times since then?”

  Another pause. “I don’t know. I guess.”

  Elsie pointed to Caroline’s chowder. “Your chowder’s getting cold.”

  Obediently, Caroline took a spoonful. The chowder clams were tender, dense in the soup. “I wonder if Rid supplies this restaurant,” she mused. “I think he makes deliveries down here.”

  “I take it Rid is his name?”

  “Maybe he wouldn’t like my telling you. His name’s actually Ridley. I went to high school with him.”

  “But you think he might be capable of trying to run you out of town? He reacted that badly?”

  “He got pretty upset. He thought I wanted money, I think.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “No.”

  “What do you want?”

  Caroline played with her soup spoon, took another small bite to stall for time. She wiped her mouth and looked around the restaurant. Real fishnets, wooden buoys, lobster traps, wooden plank floors, votives on the tables.

  “Rather avoid that one, huh,” Elsie persisted quietly.

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “I suppose I would. I really don’t know what I want. Maybe I thought he’d want to be part of the baby’s life. I don’t know. I guess I just thought it was the right thing to do, to tell him.”

  “Could your baby’s father be trying to scare you into leaving him alone about the baby?”

  “He did say something about the lawsuit, about was I suing him too? You know, he’s being sued by those people up on the bluffs. Do you think maybe the sea farmers are doing things like this to all the people with land on the waterfront? You know, to strike back? Maybe it’s all about that?”

  “But you’re not?”

  “Good grief, no. My grandfather was a fisherman, my parents worked here. I’ve been reading about aquaculture, too, just, well, because I’m here. Anyway, I’d never.”

  Elsie put her spoon down. She leaned forward. “Have you spoken with any of your neighbors? Is it possible that they’re being harassed too?”

  Caroline turned the idea around. Her shoulders raised, and her brows arched at the same time. “You know, I really have no idea. I haven’t talked with them. It’s so obvious. But, surely the police have. I mean, the police would have told me if there had been other complaints in the area, wouldn’t they? Elsie, they’re treating me as if I’m the local crazy lady they have to humor.”

  Caroline could see Elsie think it over, noticed she had circles under her eyes. Were they darker than usual or was it the lighting? It was the end of Elsie’s workday, and she was keeping her. Who else could she turn to, though? Mom? Mom. I’m so alone, Mom, too alone. I miss you. Her eyes watered a bit and she used her thumb and forefinger to press down the tingle in the bridge of her nose.

  “Perhaps you’re right about the police,” Elsie said. “But since the baby’s father—Rid, you said?—assumed you were in on that lawsuit, and got so angry, and the fact that now you own your mother’s house on the water. I don’t know. It’s certainly the only clue, so far. But you wouldn’t want to accuse the wrong person. Is there a way you—”

  Caroline put her head down, pressed her fingers against her temples. “Wait a minute.” She shook her head and looked back up. “I know why the police might not tell me, or might not do something if the sea farmers are messing with me. The police are locals. Think about it. The big houses up on the bluffs—all those wealthy weekend people? They come in and build their fancy mansions so they can spend summer weekends and vacations in them, and they try to throw their weight around—against locals and natives who were working these tides before those people were born. Heck, the police have a lot more in common with the sea farmers than with the upland owners.”

  “That does make sense,” Else said, laying down her spoon.

  The waitress appeared and Caroline fell silent while their water glasses were refreshed. “I feel like I’m in a movie,” she said, sotto voice, to Elsie, when the waitress moved on. “This whole thing is surreal.”

  “But you’re scared,” Elsie said softly, reaching across the table and covering Caroline’s free hand with her own.

  “I’m really scared.”

  * * * *

  That night in Noelle’s yellow and white guestroom Caroline lay awake with the light on. Cleaning up, seeing color on her face and body again, getting out, hearing herself talk like an adult had helped her to stop thinking some grownup was going to appear to take over and fix this.

  For the first time in weeks, Caroline read a novel for a half hour before she reached over to the nightstand and switched off the light. I can do this, Mom. I know. I need to pull myself together. I hear you.

  She didn’t care anymore if talking to her mother meant she was insane. It was comforting.

  * * * *

  Caroline woke under goose down, a pale sunup glazing the east window of the room. She’d only been up once in the night, and had gone right back to a sleep that now seemed blank and dreamless. Bacon and coffee scents floated on top of the air. Noelle, or maybe Walt, was up and cooking already. She stretched under the covers and turned onto her back to feel her belly. Now, even flat out like this, the rise was unmistakable, not like putting on weight anymore, but its own separate shape. His or her own self. She was going to have to tell mother’s friends. It would be too awkward to have them all just pretend they didn’t notice, like the elephant in the room no one mentions.

  Caroline’s bladder wouldn’t let her stay in bed. Her feet recoiled against the cold on the hardwood floor. Where were the socks she’d packed? She rummaged for clothing, dreading the moment of temporary nakedness, and took everything into the bathroom to dress where she could heat the room with shower steam first. Downstairs, she heard dishes and a murmur of voices, so they were both up. A throaty laugh, Noelle’s. She felt rested and not afraid for the moment, knowing they were going to feed her breakfast, offer to let her stay another night if her own house still smelled from the exterminator’s chemicals, hug her warmly and let her go as long as she promised to come back. Such good people. Caroline took heart.

  * * * *

  Over breakfast with Noelle and Walt, she checked the tide table in the Cape Cod Times. When she left their house at nearly ten, the tide was almost all the way in, so it was a sure thing Rid wouldn’t be on his grant. Spotting someone in Wellfleet off-season wasn’t all that difficult. She had a full gas tank and plenty of time, neither of which, it turned out, she needed. She only cruised the village once before she spotted his truck at the Cumberland Farm store on Route 6. She’d not memorized his license plate, but detected Rid’s dog in the passenger seat fogging the window with her breath. Good. An adequately public setting. Safe. Nothing he can do to me. She pulled in and parked alongside.

  Rid came out with an oversize Styrofoam cup of coffee. Caroline opened her car door, stood and called to him.

  “Hold up, Rid.” She shut her door and started toward him.

  “Hey.” His tone was on the wary side of neutral. “How are you?” He ventured a small smile in her direction.

  Caroline was taken back. This wasn’t what she’d expected, but, on the other hand, what was he going to do? Hand her a written confession?

  She made her voice hard. “Look, I don’t know what you people are trying to accomplish, but it has to stop. I will press charges.”

  “Me? What am I trying to accomplish? I’m trying to earn a living. Legally. On my own grant. The question is what are you trying to do?”

  “I’m trying to live peacefully in my house. I’m not bothering anybody.”

  Rid snorted. “No, you get other people to do your dirty work. You just said you’re going to press charges. Another suit? Goodness. How do you manage to keep all your lawsuits straight?”

  Caroline felt her face flush and her heart was beating too fast.
“What? Are you crazy?” Two cars down, a teenage girl just getting into her car looked over in alarm as Caroline shrieked at Rid. She was too enraged to be embarrassed.

  “Sure. Completely.” He made a face at her, to go with the sarcasm. Was it a leer? Rid started to open the door of his truck.

  Caroline grabbed his sleeve. “Oh no. You’re not doing this to me any more. Don’t you have any feelings? For God’s sake, there’s a baby involved.”

  Rid spun around, coffee sloshing out of his cup onto his bare hand. “Shit!” He put the cup on the top of the truck and waved his fingers in the air, wiped them on his jeans. Lizzie came to the driver’s side and whined.

  “I’m sorry,” Caroline said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “I’m not the one throwing away the baby’s future. Look, why can’t you just go back where you came from? You and your washashore friends with your goddamn precious bay views.”

  “Dammit Rid. I was born here. This is my home, too. You’re not going to drive me away. Stay off my property, stop stalking me, stop trying to scare me into leaving. I know who you are, I know what you’re doing, and I’m warning you.”

  The day was dank, heavy clouds having moved in from the west to completely blanket the early sun. “Oh, you’re warning me are you? Well, I’m warning you.” His eyes were navy, stones under water, his whole face ruddy as if from weather, different from when he’d smiled at her. He wore a heavy hooded sweatshirt, gray, over a red flannel shirt. She could see the collar of it, and another white T shirt beneath that. The tips of his ears were flaming. He picked his coffee off the roof of the truck, sloshing more there, the ground and himself as he opened the door and got in.

  Caroline saw the dog hustle back into the passenger side but quickly reverse position and lick Rid’s cheek and neck. Rid turned his face to the Lab, somehow rotating his body to bring his left hand up and over to caress her ears. Then he straightened and the motor roared to life while Caroline stood on the asphalt outside the convenience store as if she’d taken root there, trying to fathom how a man could be so tender to his dog and go out of his way to hurt the woman carrying his baby.