The Edge of Mercy

by Heidi Chiavaroli

  Yes, yes it was. Maybe there was nothing wrong with it on the surface, but just below that, it felt all wrong. Would I want some woman—say, Cassie Waterman—being Matt’s friend while we went through this mess?

  “I think maybe for now we should keep our distance.” I said the words just above a whisper. I didn’t want to upset him, really I didn’t. “I’m sorry.”

  A flash of disappointment crossed his face, but a small smile quickly pulled at the side of his mouth, making him all the more endearing. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry.” He readjusted his golf clubs on his shoulder. “You know what? Do me a favor and forget this conversation ever happened, okay?”

  “Leave it on the range?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Leave it on the range. You did great today.”

  “You were a great teacher. Thanks.”

  “See you around then?”

  I nodded. “Bye.”

  He turned to walk to his car. After a few steps he turned and pointed at me. “Next lesson’s chipping!”

  I smiled and opened the door of the Mercedes.

  I would need a long bath when I got home. Or maybe a hike in the woods. Something—anything—to calm the swirl of disquiet that my time with Pete had created within me.

  Chapter 19

  Presents were meant to be beautiful. The outside wrappings of silver and ribbon, held together with nothing but discreet pieces of Scotch tape, were meant to indicate the loveliness inside. As I parked the Mercedes on the side of the road near Matt’s rental house and balanced the cake platter on top of Kyle’s birthday present, I wondered if our family would ever be beautifully wrapped again. If how we looked on the outside would match what lay beneath.

  I hoped this night would be the beginning of reconciliation. I prayed something would click when the three of us were together alone again, under one roof.

  The salty scent of the sea swept up the hill of Memorial Boulevard as I climbed the front steps of the rental where my husband and son now lived. Streaks of evening sunlight shone on the wood floor behind the screened door and I paused, undecided whether to lift my hand to knock. The briny air teased my hair into frizz. I tapped on the door twice.

  Kyle appeared behind the fine lattices of the screen. I couldn’t help staring. Every time I saw him—especially now that I didn’t see him daily—he grew more and more like his father. He wore a blue polo shirt and khaki shorts, and I returned his hug with a no-armed one when he opened the door, full as my hands were.

  “Happy seventeenth, kiddo,” I said.

  “Thanks, Mom. Glad you could come down tonight.” He took the packages from me.

  “As if I would miss your birthday.” I stopped myself from telling him the story of his birth, as I had every year up until now. How I’d called his father right before my mother and I left for the hospital, how Matt had been a nervous wreck and came so quickly from a job that he’d left on the earphones he wore while weed whacking and hadn’t noticed until he was in the delivery room and one of the nurses pointed it out. How he held my hand the entire time, how we welcomed our first and only son into the world in a blinding burst of pain and perseverance and love.

  “Dad’s grilling in the back.” He placed the cake and present on a black-and-white specked counter centered in a spacious kitchen that opened up to a simple living room decorated in blue, white, and tan beach decor. A fireplace stood at the far wall. Beside it sat a guitar on a stand.

  I pointed to it. “You taking up guitar?”

  Kyle shook his head. “Dad’s. Said he always wanted to play.”

  Hmm, he never mentioned it before.

  A small dining room gave way to French doors leading to an outside patio. I spotted Matt at the grill, his hair damp from a shower and his feet bare beneath Wranglers.

  I tried to tamp down the intense ache of longing in my chest. This day was about Kyle, not about me and Matt and all we could have done—should have done—to avoid getting to this point.

  “Nice place,” I said as Kyle led me through the French doors.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

  Matt turned and smiled. “Right on time. Burgers are almost done.”

  He didn’t come over and kiss me, and I didn’t feel invited to greet him in such a way. Being here in this place, in his life that didn’t include me, made our separation all the more real. This is where my husband had chosen. This paradise by the sea, this cozy cottage, instead of a place at home with me, his wife.

  All at once I hated the house. It was everything—and everywhere—I wasn’t.

  This place—so neat, so perfect on the outside, just like my husband. Wrapped up with silver and ribbon. But I had no clue what was underneath the wrapping. What was Matt thinking? Why did he not open up to me? I mean . . . guitar? Now? He could have learned to play at any other time. I wouldn’t have discouraged it. Why did he choose this time and this place—even a new hobby—over me?

  I forced myself to gulp down the frantic thoughts, to focus on the reason I was here. I turned to Kyle. “Your Dad didn’t work you too hard on your birthday, did he?”

  Matt flipped a burger. “Hey, it’s not a national holiday or anything, is it?” But he winked at our son. I knew he considered the day of Kyle’s birth more important than any national holiday.

  Kyle rubbed the back of his neck. “He worked me hard, all right. The golf course was torture.” He shared a grin with Matt.

  I caught it. “You guys played hooky, didn’t you?”

  “It’s only hooky if you’re sneaking around. The guys working on the golf course saw us clear as day.”

  I put my hand over my eyes. “You didn’t.”

  “We did,” they said in unison.

  “What’s the point of owning your own company if you can’t take an afternoon off on your son’s birthday to try out his new clubs?” Matt split apart a hamburger bun and placed it on the top rack of the grill.

  “I’m glad you had fun.” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if they’d gone alone. But really, I didn’t want to know. I’m sure it would have made Kyle’s day if Cassie Waterman had joined them, but it would have hurt too much to know if she had.

  “Yeah, the new clubs worked great, too. I beat Dad—first time ever.”

  Matt patted his chest hard, twice. “Still hurts, right here.”

  Kyle smiled at Matt and I saw their relationship for what it was—beautiful. Maybe this time for them together was the best thing for Kyle. He was almost a man, ready to set off on his own in another year. What better man to have by his side than his father?

  “Here we are.” Matt brought two plates to the table, one with buns, the other with burgers. In the melted cheese of one burger was an S for Sarah, indicating the patty most well-done.

  We ate, and to my surprise, it didn’t feel terribly awkward. They spoke about their work. Kyle asked me about school. I told them that I sent in my application and was considering taking a summer class in August.

  “Diving right in, huh?” Matt asked.

  I shrugged. Was my urge to go back to school so indifferent from his dream to play guitar?

  “I’ve wanted to do it forever. No point putting it off any longer.” I wondered if he was concerned about my not being around as much when he came back home.

  If he came back home.

  I helped Matt clean up, careful to avoid touching him on the way in and out of the French doors as we cleared plates, dirty napkins, and condiments.

  When the table lay clean, I brought out my present to Kyle. In the past, I’d always signed his cards, “Love, Dad and Mom.” This year was different, but I kept the words the same. We were still both his parents. Somehow though, I knew that Matt’s present of golf clubs hadn’t been signed the same way.

  Kyle ripped off the silver paper. His face could still light up like a little boy’s, and I savored every second of it as he unwrapped the iPad. “This is awesome. A keyboard and everything. Thanks, Mom.”r />
  Matt let out a long, low whistle.

  I accepted Kyle’s hug and clutched him a second longer when he made a move to release me.

  “We spared no expense on you this year, kid.” Matt’s words were said lightly, but I was thinking the same thing. New golf clubs. An iPad. I wondered if we weren’t both trying to make up for something. Suddenly, I felt ashamed.

  “You can also thank Barb for my present,” I added.

  Though the journal transcribing could only go as fast as the hours the museum was open, I’d kept myself busy organizing Barb’s house and setting her affairs straight. While I didn’t yet have the heart to put the house up for sale, secretly I didn’t want to make the decision on my own anyway. At the end of September, hopefully Matt and I could evaluate Barb’s estate together.

  At the same time, I felt more capable than I had in a long time. With the extra income coming in from the hospital as well as what Barb had left me and my plans to go to school, I felt accomplished. More confident, even. I hoped somehow these facts helped Matt see me in a different light. We’d been together a long time. We’d fallen into routine. We’d stopped seeing each other clearly. Our expectations were engraved in our minds and during the normal day-in, day-out routine, we likely saw what we expected to see—maybe Matt and I observed each other in more of a sepia tone instead of color.

  “Well thanks for this, Mom. I appreciate the expense.” He opened the box and dug out the starter instructions.

  Matt went in to get the cake and came back out with a cutting knife, three forks, three paper plates, a box of matches, and a box of candles. I helped him stick the candles in the frosting. Kyle tore himself away from his iPad to appreciate our off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” As soon as we were done singing, he picked up the iPad.

  Matt insisted on cutting the cake. The doorbell rang.

  He held up his fingers, slicked with frosting and chocolate cake crumbs. “Would you mind, Sarah? Probably Blaine picking up the keys to one of the trucks. They’re on the counter if you’d give them to him.”

  “Sure.” I slid through the house and rounded the corner, swiping the truck keys off the counter.

  My heart did a limbo beneath my stomach.

  It wasn’t Blaine. Or any man. The woman on the other side of the screen wore a tiny pair of running shorts, a sports bra beneath a hot-pink tank top that somehow held her generous chest in, and her phone on her arm. She held one of the earbuds and tapped her foot on the pavement. Her blonde ponytail shook on her shoulder with her tapping.

  “Cassie, right?” I didn’t open the door. Did she come here often?

  “Oh, hey . . . Sarah. I didn’t know you were visiting.”

  Visiting? The word hit my chest like a hard little bullet. I would have pummeled the woman off Matt’s porch steps and ordered her to stay away from both my husband and my son if Matt hadn’t come up behind me at that moment. The only thing that steadied me were his hands on the sides of my arms.

  “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?” He opened the door and let her in. Kyle entered from the back patio.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were busy. I was going to see if you guys wanted to take a run on the cliff, but some other time, okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure. That sounds good.” This from my husband.

  Cassie flashed Kyle a smile.

  “We’re about to have cake if you want to stay,” Kyle said.

  Cassie’s gaze brushed over me, making me feel like an unwelcome intruder. My skin crawled.

  “No, I don’t want to interrupt. Sorry. See you guys later.” She pushed through the screen door and jogged off, her ponytail bouncing behind her.

  Kyle gazed after her for a moment, shrugged, and went back to the porch and his iPad. I stood, invisible hands clasping my ankles and cementing me to the wooden floor. Tears pricked my eyelids.

  “What is going on, Matt?” I spoke through clenched teeth, my words slow and controlled when inside I felt ready to burst.

  “Not now, Sarah.”

  “‘Sure. That sounds good’?” I didn’t try to keep my voice from a small shriek. “You’re going to walk on one of the most romantic places in the Northeast with that woman?”

  “Run.”

  “Since when do you run?” Or walk, for that matter. Not once, in all our years of marriage, in all the times I’d asked him to take a hike in the woods with me, did he oblige. Now, he was running? With her?

  Matt rubbed a spot on his brow as if to say, Here we go again. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  I shook my head. “No. Please enlighten me.” I did not deserve this torture. I’d been a good wife. Watered our marriage with love and attention. Fed it with care. What more could I have done?

  “It’s all about connections, Sarah. You should know that. I didn’t make it this far just because I cut lawns better than your average Joe. It’s work. The Watermans know people, people with money. People who will hire me and keep Rodrigues Landscaping going. If my client wants to take me out on their yacht, I let them. If they want a round of golf, I give it to them. And if they want to go for a run with me, well that’s not out of the question either.”

  “What if they want to sleep with you?”

  Matt clenched a fist by his side. Then, with concentrated effort, he walked toward the kitchen.

  He wasn’t going to get away that easy.

  “I asked you a question, Matt. What if they want to sleep with you?”

  “Keep your voice down.” He jerked his head toward the patio, where Kyle’s nose was buried in his iPad, earbuds perched in his ears.

  I shut the French door. “Answer me!”

  “You think I don’t have morals? You think I’d do anything to get to the top?”

  “Oh, is it that much of a sacrifice for you to sleep with a beautiful young woman?”

  “Why do you goad me? Why?”

  “I just want to know the truth. Tell me!”

  He slammed his fist on the kitchen counter. “Fine, you want to know the truth? I’ll give it to you. I’ve had the chance. There, you happy? I’ve had the chance more than once to sleep with a woman besides you. But I never took it. Never. That’s where I drew the line.”

  I let his words sink in. I knew they were the truth. Why, then, didn’t they make me feel better?

  “And was Cassie Waterman one of the women who—who—?”

  “No.”

  I released a long breath. Just because she hadn’t blatantly offered herself to my handsome, charismatic husband yet, didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

  “It’s not all about sex, Sarah.”

  “Isn’t it? That’s pretty much all it’s been about for us.”

  He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Maybe that’s one of our problems.”

  Maybe it was.

  We went outside, and I forced a piece of cake down for Kyle’s sake. I left soon after. Matt didn’t ask if I wanted to walk on the beach, even though I willed him to with all my might.

  I drove away from my husband and son in my shiny silver Mercedes, feeling—knowing—that the beautiful wrappings of our family were unraveling quicker than I could have imagined. They were crumpled on the floor, stomped on.

  The trouble was, I couldn’t tell whose feet had done the stomping.

  Mine, or Matt’s.

  Chapter 20

  I thumbed through a series of musty letters I’d found in Barb’s closet. They smelled as if Barb had been caught in the rain with them and then gone home and tucked them on the shelf without allowing them to dry.

  While packing up dishes and glasses and silverware from the kitchen had proven an easy enough first task, moving into Barb’s bedroom had required a new level of fortitude. Nothing more personal than a tea cup was found in the kitchen—here, mysteries abounded, including letters to and from a husband I’d never known. Mary’s father, maybe?

  Far from the first time, I wished I’d been more invested in Barb’s life. I wished I’d asked more que
stions.

  I remembered an introductory class I’d taken in nursing. One of the students had asked the instructor what she thought was the hardest part of nursing.

  “Saying good-bye,” she’d said without hesitation. “At the hospital the patients are never there for long. We sometimes get attached to one another. Saying good-bye is hard.”

  I thought of Lila Rhinehart and Albert Caron, who had gone home. I thought of Barb and I thought of Elizabeth, whose story I was halfway through.

  I thought of Matt. And my heart twisted.

  Good-byes were definitely the hardest part.

  June 11, 1675

  It has happened.

  Mr. Tanner called upon me today. He looked tired and I wondered if he had gone to see the execution of the three Wampanoag Indians as some of the men in the town intended to do. I could not bear the thought of seeing a person hang. ’Tis a barbaric thing to do, even when a culprit did have guilt written on the parchment of his soul, which I am not at all of the mind the three natives did.

  Mr. Tanner bid me sit in the garden with him. He asked after Papa, and I reported that I feared his end drew near.

  “You serve him faithfully. You are a good daughter.”

  I ran my finger over Abram’s clamshell, safe in my pocket.

  Mr. Tanner continued. “You have many admirable qualities. I have watched you through the years and have come to care for you deeply. It is my hope that with time, you may come to care for me as well. Please, Elizabeth, do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

  His eloquence caught me off guard. I had expected the proposal, but not the gracious acknowledgment of his knowing that I did not love him as he did I. Still, if he knew of me and Abram, why did he persist for my hand?

  “I am aware of your knowledge, Mr. Tanner.”

  He stared at me a moment, seeming to piece together my words. Then his eyes closed, but not before I noticed a look of defeat within them. Pity erupted in my belly, but now was the time for honesty—before banns were read, before vows were spoken. “Caleb, Elizabeth. Please call me Caleb.”