Ava sunk into a chair. “Oh, Father, do you really believe there might be a chance for me? For my Mila? I used to dream; I even used to pray to find a way out. With no belief at all, I would say Our Father to the empty sky, Hail Mary to the sea. But no one ever answered. No one ever heard.”
“That’s where we disagree,” Gus said. “Something led you to me, didn’t it?”
“Even now, after everything I have done, you can say that? You still think there’s hope for me?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he said. “But from now on, you have to be absolutely truthful with me. Why didn’t you tell me that you and Robert were separated?”
“Because we’re not. Robert made a show of that for a while. He told his friends; he even rented a small place near the restaurant. You see he suspected . . .” She shook her head, her words drifting off. “But he kept coming home, thinking he would catch me with someone else. I knew he never meant to leave.”
“And then after he beat you, it became a convenient alibi . . .” Gus concluded. He attempted to tug her toward the door, but Ava remained rooted in the spot.
“Do you understand how dangerous this is—for both of us? Look at what he did to you already, just for meeting with me. He got you thrown in jail. If you still try to help me, he will destroy your priesthood. Worse . . . And if I tried to go . . .”
“The real danger in a situation like this, Ava, the only danger, is to do nothing. Do you understand that? You have to trust me.”
Ava clutched her bathrobe and stared downward for a long moment. When she finally looked up, something in her face had changed
“My God, I must be mad, but yes, I will. Not this way, though. If I leave now, Robert will get to Mila first and take her away. We need to have a plan.”
Gus glanced in the direction of the door, wondering how long they had before the police arrived. “I’m not leaving here unless you give me a time frame. When will you call me?”
“Soon. Within the week. Now go, before they arrest you again and you’re no help to anyone. Do you need more money?” She pulled out more bills from a messy pile in the drawer, treated as casually as grocery coupons.
“This time you have to promise you won’t allow anything to change your mind.”
“I said I would,” she repeated, trembling as she took him by the hand and led him toward the library. “First go to the neighbor’s house like I told you. After the taxi drops you at the station, buy your ticket and then wait at the coffee shop around the corner till you see your bus.”
Gus was startled by her detailed plan of escape. He wondered if she had imagined it for herself but been too afraid to carry it out. His hand was on the door handle when he heard a forceful knock coming from the front of the house.
“Barnstable Police. Are you okay in there, Mrs. Cilento?”
Robert’s voice followed. “Father Silva, do you hear that? Your only hope is to come out and turn yourself in.”
“Why are you still here?” Ava asked.
“I’ll give you one week,” Gus repeated, squeezing her hand.
The pounding resumed, followed by louder demands for admittance. “We’re coming in,” someone finally yelled.
“I’ll call. I promise,” Ava said, pulling away.
Her arms wrapped protectively around herself, she started toward the front door, calling in a voice as strong as she could muster. “There’s no need to break the door down, Officer. He’s right in here.”
Gus launched himself through the French doors that led outside and ran across the lawn, clutching the key and the crumpled cash that would hopefully keep him out of jail long enough to get Ava and her daughter to safety. Once she was free to tell the truth, he was sure the charges would be dropped.
His purposeful actions of the next half-hour provided their own momentum. He found himself adding to Ava’s escape plan like a born criminal, anticipating questions he might be asked, choosing routes where he would be less likely to run into anyone he knew.
It wasn’t until he found himself at the counter in the bus station, looking into the impatient eyes of a young clerk whose name tag identified her as Marnie, that he realized his aptitude for criminality was a joke. “Destination?” Marnie asked, as he stared at her blankly.
“Provincetown,” he said without thinking. “One way.” It may have been a foolish choice, but the only place he could think to go was home.
It had been just two days since he’d been to the house on Point of Pines Road, but so much had happened since, that he felt like he was returning again after a long absence. The door was still unlocked, and the beer cans he and Hallie had drunk from remained on the counter.
The scope of his crime spree seemed to be widening. Since his arraignment, he’d assaulted a man, accosted the woman he’d been accused of beating, and entered a house unlawfully. In forty-eight hours, he’d destroyed the life it had taken years to build, and proved everyone who ever doubted him right: he could wear whatever robe he liked, but beneath the skin he was still Little Cod. Gus picked up the empty cans and tossed one, then the other, into a trash can that reeked from the scraps of meals eaten weeks ago. “Two points,” he said each time a can pinged his mark.
A groan emanated from the bedroom, followed by the creak of a mattress. The next thing Gus heard was his cousin’s raspy voice: “Who the fuck is in my house?”
Gus realized he was committing the cardinal sin in a fishing family—waking a working man from sleep. But where else could he go? As he sat at the table, he imagined the police knocking at the door of the rectory and being greeted by the fractious Sandra, who would defend him fiercely. His tried not to think of how frail she had looked when he left the house. Gus got up and pushed open the door to the darkened bedroom.
Alvaro leaned on one elbow and used the other hand to make a visor as he tried to adjust to the light that rushed in and the figure who stood in the middle of it. “Jesus Christ,” he grunted.
Gus went back to the refrigerator and removed two beers. He opened one, and shoved the other toward the empty spot at the table.
From inside the bedroom, he could hear Alvaro sputtering obscenities as he pulled on his pants.
Standing in the doorway, Alvaro rubbed his eyes. “Goddamn, if it ain’t my long-lost cousin,” he said. “Drinking my fuckin’ beer, too.”
“I thought we could have one together,” Gus said.
“You haven’t been around in what—thirteen years—except for a drive-by when Aunt Fatima died? Now you’re in trouble, so you come running to your family? Well, I don’t know you anymore, Little Cod. And besides that, I’m sleepin’.”
“Yeah, I heard you,” Gus downed his beer, staring doggedly at his cousin. “But in case you forgot, this was my house a long time before you ever parked your mattress on the bedroom floor.”
Alvaro went to the sink, and poured a glass of water. He rinsed his mouth with it, and spat into the cluttered basin. Then he opened the beer Gus had left for him. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a lot like your old man? Stubborn bastard just like Uncle Codfish.”
“Lately, someone seems compelled to tell me that every day,” Gus said.
Alvaro pulled up the chair opposite Gus, and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “So what the hell did you do now? When I think how proud Ma and Aunt Fatima were when you went into the seminary. I knew it was bullshit from the start. But the women, they went for it—hook, line, and sinker.”
After spending the last twenty-four hours defending himself, Gus felt hollowed out. “Hey, thanks for the support, man. I mean, did it ever occur to you I might be innocent?”
“Chick turned you in herself, didn’t she? Why would she lie? Not that I blame you. That celibacy shit’s unnatural, you ask me. Man in the prime of his life doesn’t get any for twelve years? Any guy’s gonna get a little crazy.”
“Twelve years and counting, if you want to know,” Gus said. “And my mind’s never been clearer.”
“So if you
weren’t doin’ her, why’d you go after her at the hospital?”
“Filho da puta!” Gus yelled in frustration. “I didn’t go after her. I went to see how she was—and to find out why she lied about me.”
“Smart move. I heard you ended up in jail.”
“Yeah, and it gets worse. I went to her house this morning, Varo. I won’t go into the details, but her husband ended up calling the police.”
Alvaro shook his head. “Man, you’re either lying about this broad, or you’re right: you’re nothing like Uncle Codfish. In fact, you’re way too stupid to call yourself a Silva at all.”
“The woman came to me for help. What should I have done? Let her die like my mother?” Gus blurted out those last words before he could stop himself.
Instead of responding, Alvaro got up and walked to the sink with his beer. He took a long pull, then poured the rest down the drain. When he turned around, his eyes were glinting. “Don’t talk to me about your mother. Who do you think’s been takin’ care of Aunt Maria’s grave all these years? Hers and all the rest of the family’s. There’s more of us in that Cemetery on the hill than there are above ground. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“After Race Point, I did what I had to do, Varo. I couldn’t live here anymore.”
“Yeah, I know. You fucked things up with Hallie so you decided to go into the seminary and do penance for the rest of your life. On some crazy level, I could almost understand. But that doesn’t mean you forget your family.”
“I said I had to get away. I didn’t say that was why I became a priest. Seems to me like you’re doing your own form of penance. Look at this place. Look at how you’re living. When my mother was alive, this was the nicest house in the neighborhood. Your mom’s place, too—you could eat off the floor. No matter what else was going on, our family had pride.”
“Pride? You grew up in that dump on Loop Street—or did you forget that, too?”
“I haven’t forgotten anything. I tried, but this house, this town, our family—it doesn’t let you go. My heart is a map of the place. And Aunt Fatima’s house wasn’t always that way, either. After Junior died, she put herself in a kind of cell. Just like you’re doing now. You’re thirty-eight years old. You should be raising kids, not sweeping graves and sleeping alone in that filthy room.”
“So, what? Now you think you’re a fucking shrink?”
“Are you kidding me? No shrink could have figured us Silvas out.”
“They would have to rewrite the book, that’s for sure,” Alvaro chuckled as he tossed his empty can in the trash. “Listen, Gus, for the next fourteen hours or so I got a serious commitment to that mattress in there, and if I were you, I wouldn’t stick around.”
Gus rattled his own can and chucked it on top of his cousin’s. “Looks like I’m done.” He got up and peered outside, where it had started raining.
Alvaro didn’t speak until Gus had reached the door.
“Voodoo,” he said, imbuing the name with an ancient affection Gus hadn’t heard since his Aunt Fatima died. “If it means anything, I’ll be praying for you, man.” He cocked his head in the direction of a small crucifix that had hung on the wall since Gus’s childhood. “You’re not the only man of faith in this family, you know.”
“I never thought I was.” Gus closed the door softly behind him. He was already on the street, the cold afternoon seeping through the lining of his thin jacket and into his chest when Alvaro called him again.
“Hey, one more thing. I don’t know where you’re going and I don’t want to know. But don’t make it the first place the cops are likely to look. I probably won’t get two hours of sleep before they’re hammerin’ at my door.”
Gus paused on the street, and put his hands in his pockets. “I’ll see you, Alvaro,” he said. “And next time, I won’t let twelve years go by.”
Chapter 19
Gus spent the afternoon walking on West End Beach—the place where he’d first met Neil, when he was five. Could he really remember his mother shyly talking to Donna Gallagher, pushing Gus forward and saying he would be entering kindergarten in the fall? How old is your boy? she’d asked. Or was the memory, like so many of his early images of himself—a story told by someone else and repeated so many times that it felt like his own? The years when he’d been part of a family, someone’s beloved son, had been so short, and he remembered so little.
One thing he knew for sure was that he and Neil had instantly recognized something in each other. Whether it was a heightened sense of life, or just a greater propensity for joy, they had bonded that first day on the beach. Now, walking the beach that was so much smaller than he imagined it, he was assailed by a sense of loss. How had it all gone so terribly wrong?
Around six, besieged by hunger, he walked back into town with the intention of stopping in at Cap’s for dinner, then changed his mind and chose a new seafood restaurant, where he was less likely to be recognized.
Ducking inside, he thought of Alvaro’s warning: he was sure to be spotted and picked up by the police if he lingered in town. But he had no car—and, more significantly, he didn’t want to leave the Cape until he heard from Ava.
He looked around furtively as he was shown to a seat in the corner, but there were no familiar faces among the staff; the sparse group of diners were also strangers. He ordered a beer, and without looking at the menu said he would have fried scallops and a bottle of hot sauce. When they came, the scallops were astonishing—sweet and fat, but they tasted so strongly of the past that Gus only ate two of them before he pushed his plate aside.
“Is your dinner all right?” the waitress asked when she returned.
“Delicious,” Gus said, shoving his plate in her direction without explanation. “I’ll take another beer and the check.”
He quickly downed the beer, paid his bill, and started out the door. On the street that was as much a part of him as the face he saw reflected in the store windows, he felt his sense of isolation burrowing deeper. Suddenly his destination was clear. He stopped to buy a flashlight before he headed for the highway. He would go to the shack in the dunes where Hallie was staying. Then he would wait for Ava’s call.
The rain was heavy by the time he stuck out his thumb on Route 6. Drivers were more wary than they’d been when he and his friends used to hitchhike. By the time a trucker stopped, Gus was drenched, the road was lacquered with water, and it was dark. Even with the light in his pocket, it wouldn’t be easy to locate Wolf’s old place.
He was almost certain he had lost the way and would be forced to spend a cold, wet night on the beach when a light in the window of the shack came into view. He wondered what he was likely to find inside. But approaching the porch, he was reassured by Dr. Nick’s familiar laugh, a resounding bark, mixing with Hallie’s lilting voice. It hardly sounded like the death scene he’d been expecting.
Gus drew a deep breath and rapped firmly on the door.
Hallie’s face, warmed by the kerosene lantern Gus had seen from a distance, greeted him. “Gus? What in the world—”
“I know you have enough to deal with right now, but I—” He hesitated, unable to think of an excuse for his intrusion. Fortunately, he didn’t have to.
“My God, you’re drenched.” Hallie stepped aside. “Come in and get out of those clothes. Then you can tell me what insanity possessed you to venture out here on a night like this.” Something in her voice, however, conveyed that she already knew.
While she ferreted through a drawer for some dry clothes, Gus found himself face-to-face with her father. Nick, propped up with pillows on a reclining chair, regarded him austerely. He was noticeably gaunt and gray, but otherwise largely unchanged. Suddenly, Gus’s problems paled.
“Hello, Nick,” he said, knowing that any apology would be useless and insufficient. The only thing in his favor was the doctor’s well-known sense of mercy.
“Gus Silva.” Nick’s eyes glittered warily. It was clear that the new charges had brought back
the feelings he’d experienced the night Hallie had been hurt. “I see you’ve gotten yourself into trouble again. “What’s that cliché about the tiger and its spots?” He pounded at his chest, which caused a spate of coughing and drew Hallie protectively to his side.
“Tigers have stripes. You never did get your clichés right,” she interjected gently. “And I already told you: Gus is innocent.”
“You were there?” the doctor asked, his gaze still fastened on Gus.
“I didn’t have to be there. Gus told me what happened.”
“Thanks, Hallie,” Gus said, touching her arm. “But your father has every right to his skepticism, every right to hate me.”
“Hate?” Nick’s voice rose the way it did when a recalcitrant patient refused to stop eating french fries or to measure his days counting pills. “I’ve got weeks to live! You think I’ve got time for hate?”
“None of us do. The only difference is that you always knew it. I’m sorry, Nick.”
“I know you are, Gustavo, I know you are,” Nick said. Extending a bony arm, he squeezed Gus’s hand with surprising strength. “Now you better listen to the doctor over there, and get out of those wet clothes.” His pride in her was palpable.
Hallie held out a pair of blue hospital scrubs. “You can change over there,” she said, indicating a portion of the room that was separated by a sheet—Nick’s “bedroom.” When her father stirred restlessly in his chair, she looked at her watch. “It’s time, isn’t it?”
After Gus had gotten into the dry clothes, he took a seat while Hallie prepared an injection.
“Tired?” she asked Nick, after she had given him the medication.
“You two aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”
“You’ve been going to bed every night around this time,” Hallie said. And then, when Nick continued to stare at her, “Okay, Nick. Yes, I thought Gus and I could talk.”
The Orphans of Race Point: A Novel Page 20