There was a long silence as Pali tried to adjust his mind to what his son had just told him.
“Dad?” Ben’s face was worried, fearful. “Do you believe me?”
At last Pali could breathe. He put his hands on Ben’s shoulders, and looked into his son’s eyes. “Yes, Ben,” he said. “I believe you.”
As with so much of life on the Island, any occasion was an event to be turned into a gathering of the entire community. Fiona was duly sworn in at the town hall, a ceremony that took place in front of the long folding tables where the ballots had been counted. The familiar smell of brewing coffee mingled with the scents of the various baked goods arrayed across the back of the room.
As the ceremony ended, Lars Olafsen came up to Fiona, took her hand and placed a quarter in it. “I have something for you,” he said. His eyes twinkled. “It’s the coin I tossed the day you won. I thought you might like it.”
“Thank you,” said Fiona. “I’m going to need some luck.”
The outgoing chairman smiled knowingly, and patted her shoulder before drifting into the crowd. He was soon replaced by his fellow citizens, all eager to shake their new chairwoman’s hand and begin to tell her their complaints.
Among the last to offer congratulations was Emily, who came up to Fiona in the parking lot outside the community room.
“You’ll have your hands full, now,” warned Emily, after she had shaken Fiona’s hand. “But I want you to know that we are here as a resource for you. When you find yourself over your head—even if it’s something as simple as advice on Island culture, you just give me a call.” Fiona smiled rather weakly and made her thanks. “We’ll see you later at Nelsen’s, but first we need to get home to the chores. There’s so much to do, you know!” With a final pat on Fiona’s arm, she headed off.
As Emily pulled away, Fiona noticed that there was a new bumper sticker on the back of the gleaming, black SUV. It said: “If you think you are the solution to all the Island’s problems, do us all a favor and go back where you came from.” Watching her drive off, Fiona considered the wisdom of this advice.
As the festivities ended, people naturally gravitated to Nelsen’s, and the usual group of Fiona’s closest friends and supporters gathered at the bar. Fiona was swept around the room, moved from one group to the next. Pete, who had arrived only that afternoon, watched her passage for a moment before heading off to find some familiar faces.
There was a celebratory feeling in the air, assisted by the growing conviction that spring had finally arrived. The conversation was buoyant and filled with laughter. Eddie was at the ready, shelves of glasses and bottles filled with various elixirs sparkling behind him.
“Gentlemen,” he said, in greeting, as Pali and Pete stepped up to the bar at the same time.
“Eddie,” said Pali, with great good cheer. “It’s been a good day. And all because you got your demons. Even though they were in blue uniforms rather than black cloaks.”
Eddie grinned. “Blue uniforms and an orange jumpsuit. I couldn’t have written a better libretto.”
Pali turned to Pete. “I can’t help having the feeling that you had something to do with the way things turned out. But I don’t know how you did it.”
Pete shrugged modestly.
“Let’s just say that Representative Hillard made some remarks at his town hall event that suggested to me that he was not a model citizen. You remember. He asked me to step outside.”
In response to a call from a customer further down the bar, Eddie held up his hand to acknowledge an order and leaned in to hear Pete’s story. The bar was noisy, and Pete’s voice was low. “After he inquired about procuring some… paid companionship… I suggested to a friend of mine in law enforcement that he might be a person of interest. The good Assemblyman did the rest.”
Pali looked puzzled.
“Paid companionship? What the Hell was that about?”
“Stella,” said Eddie calmly. “She was spreading the story all over the island. Didn’t you know?”
Pete took up the story. “Apparently, his loving aunt had informed him that Fiona and I were involved in an international prostitution ring, and he was interested in our services. That was why he wanted to talk to me that night.”
Pali’s face turned red with anger. “She was saying that?” He looked at Pete, furious. “I would have slugged the guy. And possibly Stella, too.” He looked down at his glass. “Still might,” he muttered under his breath.
Pete finished folding his bill around a tack and a quarter. There was a pause as he was visibly wrestling with some thought. “Actually, not slugging that guy may have been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. What a slime-slash-scum bag he is.”
Eddie smiled as he wiped the bar. “Jake sure called that one.”
“So, what actually happened was perfect justice,” said Pali, still musing. “It was Stella’s own rumors that triggered the whole series of events leading to Hillard’s felony charges and her car being impounded. That, I believe, is the very definition of karma.”
“And the drugs,” added Eddie, with satisfaction. “Don’t forget the drugs.”
Pete grinned. “Well, I couldn’t have foreseen that one. But every once in a while the right thing happens. Fate just needs a little assistance now and then.”
Pali nodded with ungrudging respect.
Eddie was thinking. “So you have a friend in law enforcement?” he asked.
Pete nodded. “An old friend in Chicago. We went to school together, and he’s with the FBI. Hillard’s questions made me think he might be interested in our Assemblyman’s activities.” He smiled reminiscently. “And he was. Fortunately, the good Assemblyman cooperated by being even worse than I suspected.”
Pete flung the little bundle he had made at the ceiling with an artful flick of the wrist, and ducked to avoid the falling quarter.
Pali caught the coin in one hand, slapped it on the bar and started chuckling.
“What’s the joke?” Eddie was mixing old-fashioneds at remarkable speed.
“He is,” said Pali tipping his head toward Pete.
Pete looked at him inquiringly.
“You’re the source of the whole thing,” said Pali. “You really are the deus ex machina.”
Pete smiled modestly and shrugged.
Eddie looked at Pali over the bar and their eyes met in a moment of mutual satisfaction. They were both profoundly pleased with themselves.
Eddie stopped his work, put his hands on the bar emphatically, and looked at Pete.
“Commendatore,” he said, almost hearing the music from the operatic finale in his head. “I salute you!” He slid the drinks he had been making across the bar to waiting hands, and turned his attention back to Pali and Pete. “What’ll it be? It’s on me.”
“Brandy,” said Pete. “Thanks.” He turned to Pali. “And I’ll buy one for you. What’ll you have?”
“The same,” said Pali.
Eddie put their glasses before them and poured one for himself. The three men looked at one another and raised their glasses.
“Skal!” said Pali.
“Skal!” said the others. And they drank.
Later that evening, Fiona and Pete were walking on the rocks along the shore where the goat rescue had occurred. The ice had almost gone, making its slow shifting shapes and eerie clunking sounds. It was a chilly spring evening, with a brisk wind coming from the water, but the frogs were singing, and the sky was clear. Fiona shivered, and shoved her hands deeper into her pockets.
Pete was absently skipping stones into the waves, in the open places where the ice chunks had drifted away. There was a waxing moon, and its light on the water was enough to see by.
“You know,” said Fiona to Pete, “you can’t go through life rescuing me from situations.”
“I was about to tell you the same thing,” said Pete, mischievously.
Fiona was indignant.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“True
,” said Pete, as he sent a stone skimming out, with two full skips.
“I didn’t even know where you were or how to reach you.”
“Also true.”
“And even if I had known, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“As I suspected.”
“So?”
“So?” he echoed.
“So you can hardly advance the theory that I was waiting to be rescued.”
“No, actually that is not my theory.” Pete was crouching on the beach, engrossed in sorting out the best stones for skipping. “My theory is that you needed to be rescued. A small, but vital difference.” He stood up, and took aim. His stone sailed over the water with five skips.
“Maybe I could have won all by myself.”
“Maybe,” said Pete seriously. “Your turn.”
Fiona accepted the stone he handed her, smooth and flat, and sent it off into the water. She got one skip, and shrugged, smiling.
Pete was bent down again, hunting for more stones. “Is it so hard for you to admit that you needed me?” he asked, looking up at her. “That I could be helpful to you?” He gathered a handful of carefully chosen stones and stuffed them into his pockets. “Is it so hard for you to understand that I might want to be needed? Or that I could enjoy helping you?”
Standing, he looked at her, his head tilted to one side, and tested the weight of one of the larger stones, tossing it up and down in his throwing hand. “Isn’t that the whole point of being in love with someone? To need and to be needed?”
Fiona looked at him astonished. Pete seemed to her—as he had seemed from the very start—to be someone utterly complete and self-sufficient. Not someone who needed someone else.
“Are you saying that you need me?” she asked.
“I’m saying that I love you, silly ass,” said Pete. He sent his last stone skimming over the water with one, two, three, four, five, six skips before it sank beneath the waves. “And I’m also saying that your throw is sloppy. You need to work on your wrist action. If you’re going to live on an Island, you have to be able to skip stones. It’s a known requirement.” He brushed off his hands with an air of finality. “I win. Madame Chairman, you owe me a drink.”
Fiona smiled at him, a slow, warm smile. “You’re in luck. I have a flask in the car—a victory gift from Nancy. Is bourbon okay?”
“Perfection.” He smiled back. “No ice.”
Fiona was already on her way up the little hill to the car, and called over her shoulder. “Don’t go away.”
“I won’t,” said Pete. And turning his back to the water, he stood, hands in pockets, to watch her go.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Novelists spend rather a lot of time in a room alone, making things up. That’s all very well, but it’s not enough, and this book would not have been possible without the help of many kind and talented people. To wit:
Bob Kalinoski, Mary Beth Sancomb-Moran, Dionne King, and Alicia Manning: friends, guinea pigs, and proof readers extraordinaire.
My friend, Jodie Tierney, who made me laugh out loud by myself for about fifteen minutes when she suggested the idea of Roger doing yoga.
Novelist and friend, Mike Nichols, for his honest critique and good counsel, which I took. Mostly.
My island hosts, Susan and George Ulm, who take good care of me and give delightful cocktail parties—which isn’t always the same thing—and Bosun, who still finds Moses annoying, but will now occasionally deign to play.
Captain Bill, Captain Joel, and Captain Eric, for their camaraderie, gossip, and wisdom, and for filling my head with island lore.
My editor, Megan Trank; my publicist, Felicia Minerva; my production editor and artist, Michael Short; and my publisher, Eric Kampmann for their talent, patience, dedication, and sense of humor.
Pete and Moses, for keeping me company in my work and in my travels, for reminding me what matters, and most especially for their very effective assistance in procrastination, which is essential to all writing.
Roger Kimball for his infinite generosity, kindness, and guidance.
And of course, my unfailingly supportive, charming, and erudite husband, Charlie, who is my best and most appreciative critic.
My affection and gratitude are not enough, but it’s all I have.
J.F. Riordan
April 2016
The Audacity of Goats Page 29