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?
They 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 things—of 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 neck—I 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.
They 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 k
now. 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.
After 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.
Dr. Mitchell likes to say that therapy is not a fix in itself. He says it’s about giving me the tools to know how to handle situations, and how to make good choices. I’ve been through so much of it, I can say that the only thing I’ve been able to absolutely determine about it is that if you tell them what they want to hear, they will leave you alone. It doesn’t mean you’re cured, or that there was anything wrong with you in the first place. It just means they got the answers they wanted all along and if you pay attention you can usually figure what those are. You don’t have to believe in what you’re saying. You just need to say it.
Though, in that first week I was under house arrest, I had not yet learned this. I told them the truth about me and Hannah. I did not hide anything and I did not hold anything back. I just let it fly and hoped for the best.
There were two psychologists, a man and a woman. They were both youngish and seemed to always dress in brown. His name was Mike and hers was Diane and this was what they wanted me to call them. They came every morning and stayed for three hours each time. I told them about Victor and me riding my skiff to the island that night. How we thought the house was empty. I told them about finding the money. Seeing Hannah on the stairs. The tussle with her father. I told them how I kept seeing her in my dreams and then sometimes when I was awake. I told them I saw her reflected in the eye of a fish. I told them all I wanted to know was the color of her eyes and when I told them this they both nodded like it was the most natural thing in the world. I said that when I saw her high above me on the ferry I knew that I had no choice but to go to the island and find her. I spoke of watching Hannah through the window. They wanted to know if she knew I had done this and I told them I couldn’t be sure, which was the truth, but I also told them it didn’t matter.
“Why’s that, Anthony?” Diane asked, leaning forward as if this was important.
“It’s just not the point,” I told her. “What counts is not what led to us being together, but the fact that we were together. And how perfect it was.”
Sometimes when I talked they took notes, but mostly they just listened. One morning they gave me a series of tests. They had me rearrange blocks and they had me look at blotches of ink and tell them what I saw. I had a hard time taking this seriously, like this had anything at all to do with me and Hannah, so I thought of the craziest things I could and said them. “It looks like two bears fucking,” I said when I looked at one that really looked like nothing at all.
In the afternoons I watched television until Berta came home. Then we had dinner. Other than that, we moved around each other like ghosts, both of us pretending that nothing had changed, and both of us knowing better. My mother didn’t understand me and I knew enough to know that I could not expect her to. In the evenings I sat on the windowsill in my room and looked at the small neighborhood and smoked. This was the hardest time for me. In the air I could feel summer disappearing. Below a few leaves were already on the ground. I felt completely alone.
At night the neighborhood was dead still. Small houses full of hardworking people who slept when it grew dark. You could hear the occasional car out on the main road and sometimes the foghorn from the lighthouse but otherwise it was quiet.
The fourth night I was back I heard something that sounded like the scuff of a shoe on the pavement and when I looked toward the road, I saw a figure in the pooling lamplight. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t make out anything but the shape. I knew who it was. He moved toward the yard and from below me he whispered my name.
“Tony,” he said.
I know I was supposed to be angry with him. He had told the sheriff everything. But it was Victor and he was a brother and regardless of how mad I should be, I was really happy to see him.
“Can you come down?” he asked.
“Hang on,” I said.
Victor had a brown bag and inside it were two forty-ounce bottles of beer and we sat down against the outside wall of my house and drank the beer and talked. Victor told me how they trapped him. Apparently, when going through the lists of all the people who had visited the house on the island, from gardeners to electricians, they saw his name on the list from the funeral home. From there it was simply a matter of telling Victor that I had already confessed. He told them the whole thing.
“I’m really sorry, man,” he said.
“It’s all right,” I said.
“They never arrested me,” he said. “They said they only would if I didn’t testify against you. They were much more interested in you.
They wanted to know where you had gone. I had no idea and that’s what I told them. I can’t believe you were crazy enough to go out there. When I heard that was where they found you, I almost shit my pants. I thought, fucking, Tony. He’s lost it.”
I told Victor all about Hannah then, every part of it, well, almost every part. A few things I kept to myself, which was how it should be. I told him all that I could about Hannah, and when I was done, Victor said, “Shit, man, you got it bad.”
I said, “I need your car.”
“What? What for?”
“I need to find her.”
Victor shook his head in the dark next to me. “You really are loco, man. No way. I can’t do that.”
“Come on, Vic,” I said. “I’m not going to take Berta’s.”
Victor tipped his head back as he drank from his beer. He lighted a cigarette and I lighted one off of his. “Tony, I can’t. They’ll get me for that. You got to forget about this crazy talk. Danny Pedroia told my mother that this can be settled. You’re going to screw that all up.”
I looked over at him. “You going to help me or not?”
“Aren’t they keeping track of you or something? They’ll find you in two minutes.”
I showed Victor my ankle then. “I’ll just cut it off. By the time they get here, I’ll be gone.”
Envious Moon Page 10