by Lada Ray
If you believe it's easy to find well-fitting clothes when your figure stops resembling a long, thin stick, like mine used to, I can assure you, it's not. There was a time in my life, when I was just as blissfully unaware of the challenges most women faced as their bodies started growing curves in all the right and, well, wrong places. Gone were the good days when I could do a ten-mile trek through the dusty, sunburned Afghani mountains and not even flinch. My new status of an expecting mom had changed all that.
Looking doubtfully at my favorite Italian leather flats, I opted for infinitely more sensible Merrell walkers, not a high fashion statement, mind you, but just what the doctor ordered. A pleasant fifteen-minute walk later, I reached the library.
It was clear right away that Adelaide was still absent. What's more, Anne was missing, too. The library hall was deserted as was usual at this hour, and we had the whole large space to ourselves. The knitting progressed half-heartedly, while the conversation was unusually animated. All everyone could talk about was yesterday's argument between Jason and Chief Nordini.
The moment I stepped through the door, Karen enthusiastically dashed out, “Jade, did you hear that Jason got into a major brawl with the new chief?” Her expression was the one, usually reserved for the choicest bits of gossip.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. I was glad she started this conversation.
“Oh,” said Karen and fell silent. Poor thing, she looked so disappointed that she wasn't the one to break the news to me.
“How did you know?” immediately inquired Shawna.
“I actually was there when it happened,” I said. “And I saw it... well, not the whole thing. Anne and I walked in on the argument towards the end.”
I gazed at my knitting companions, trying to decipher their impressions. I was curious about their reaction to the newest of scandals and was hoping to, perhaps, learn some background on both men. I knew from experience that a casual conversation could sometimes reveal infinitely more valuable information than a direct, in your face, interview ever would. Such was the mysterious quality of the delicate human psyche.
Everyone looked impressed that I was an actual witness to such unusual and exciting event, but I couldn't discern anything special beyond that.
“So, Anne was there, too?” asked Shawna, a shade of envy in her eyes (oh, why wasn't it her who happened to be there at the time!)
“Yes, she was. Is she here?” I glanced around innocently, as if expecting Anne to jump out of some dark corner.
“No,” said Maria. “She called me earlier to say that she would be busy today.”
“I see,” I said pensively.
“So, is it true that Jason punched Chief Nordini on the nose?” Shawna was quick to redirect the conversation back to where the juiciest stuff was. What could I say, I loved that girl! You could always count on her to make sure that all the most interesting gossip was thoroughly discussed backwards and forwards. And if, God forbid, anyone ever tried to stray off the prescribed path, she would make absolutely sure the group stayed on course. With a watchdog like that I could be certain that the conversation would flow in the direction I wanted, while I could stay inconspicuous, observing, learning and drawing my conclusions.
“It looked like it,” I shrugged my shoulders noncommittally. “When we came in, his nose was already bleeding.”
“But why on earth would he do that?” said Beth in an exasperated sort of voice. She even abandoned her knitting for a moment to scratch her chin in obvious confusion. “One has to be absolutely crazy to punch the chief in front of so many witnesses and expect to get away with it.” Her sister Cathy, a woman of few words as always, nodded energetically, indicating her complete agreement.
“Perhaps,” I suggested slowly, pondering the idea, “he was beyond caring about that. He also called the chief a coward. Does anyone know why?” I gazed at my knitting buddies intently, hoping to see a spark of recognition, a dawning comprehension or anything else that would help me solve this mystery. But... all of them just shook their heads, puzzlement the only expression on their faces.
“No one knows why he did it,” responded Karen for everyone, “and Jason isn't talking. You know how he is.”
With the topic seemingly exhausted, silence fell as my knitting friends contemplated the news, while getting back to their projects. For a time, the only thing one could hear was the clicking of needles and I alone, it appeared, secretly wished we continued our interesting discussion. I just finished asking God to make someone, pleeeeeease, get back on topic, when...
“Didn't Jason,” all of sudden said Shawna, “go to high school together with the new chief?”
Thank you, God, I murmured to myself, mentally lifting my grateful eyes to the ceiling.
“Yes, he did,” confirmed Maria. “They were in the same class. But the two of them couldn't have been any more different.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“Well,” Maria stopped clicking her needles, as she started down memory lane. “You may not know this, but I'd been our high school librarian for over twenty years.” She had? Now, that was interesting. Bull's eye!
“Generations of kids grew up in front of my eyes,” continued Maria. “I remember when Karen and Shawna were in high school,” a kindly nod towards the girls, who in turn smiled demurely at her, “and I certainly remember Jason and Nick, as well as their entire class.”
“What were they like?” inquired Shawna.
“Well,” said Maria. She was silent for a moment, considering her response carefully. “Although it might seem incredible looking at him now, Jason was a playboy back then. He wasn't a bad boy, though, you can take my word for it. I always thought he had a curious mind and a tender heart underneath all that exterior. There were times he'd come to the library when no one was there and would sit and read quietly in a corner. We'd talked about literature. He dreamed about a career as a writer and I was absolutely sure in those days that he would make a good one. Sometimes, he would help me carry heavy books, but only when no one was looking. It almost seemed as if he was keen on maintaining his playboy image for other people's eyes. Back then,” Maria shook her head, as if not believing the words coming out of her mouth, “I thought that he was a good and gentle soul and that his future was bound to be bright.”
“Does that mean,” I said, “now you don't think so any more?”
“No,” the expression on Maria's face was that of utter regret. “I can't. What he did to that poor girl...” her voice trailed away sadly.
“What about Chief Nordini, how was he different?” prompted Shawna, noticing Maria's dwindling enthusiasm for telling the story.
“I guess, Nick... he was always determined. Yes, determined, that's what I'd call him. I think, he was always serious about his future and even as a teenager, already considered his career. So, he behaved accordingly, always choosing his friends very carefully.” Maria put down her knitting again and looked up, recalling... Everyone held their breath. Something fascinating was about to be revealed.
“What always surprised me,” she continued after a while, “was that he was only friends with the “rich and famous” of Stepford, so to speak. His father was a simple cop, you know, not yet chief. The Nordini family came from thoroughly blue-collar roots. Nick's grandfather and great grandfather toiled at the local mill, back when Massachusetts towns like Great Barrington, where still called Mill Towns. Then, having saved some money and with the help of a bank loan, his grandfather opened an auto yard just across the Massachusetts border, in Canaan, Connecticut. They had four children, three boys and a girl and Nick's father, Frank, was the youngest. When Nick's grandfather grew too old to work, the yard was divided between the two older sons, while Frank was encouraged to go to the military or to become a cop.
“He chose police and shortly thereafter, married a local girl here in Stepford. She was the daughter of a local lumber yard owner. It was a rather struggling lumber yard and the girl... can't recall her name a
t the moment, needed to stay in the area to help out at the shop. So, Frank got a transfer to our police department and the young couple settled in town.”
“Her name's Trish,” unexpectedly chimed in the usually quiet Cathy.
“What, dear?” asked Maria.
“Nick wife's name is Trish,” repeated Cathy with a strange expression on her face, which, if I didn't know better, I'd interpret as jealousy. Anne and Beth exchanged knowing glances.
“That's right – Trish. Thank you, dear,” nodded Maria. “Wait a minute, did I drop a stitch?” She frowned in puzzlement at the beautiful shawl she was knitting. “Let me see here, two knit, yarn over, two purl, two knit, two purl, two knit... No, looks like I am all right.”
“So, what happened next?” asked Shawna.
“Let's see, where was I?” Maria paused pensively.
“You were telling us about Nick,” obligingly supplied Shawna.
“Ah, that's right, Nick. Yes... His was not the most glamorous background, you might say, ladies. But if you looked at his friends, you would've thought differently. He was tight with Marc Catcham, son of the most prominent attorney in the area, friends with Peter Burns, son of the owner of the Burns Berkshire Bank and some say, the wealthiest man in our parts.”
“Why did that surprise you?” I asked, recalling the scene I observed at the Blue Peacock.
“Well,” Maria hesitated. “They didn't seem... to have much in common, if you know what I mean. I guess, I thought... um... that he only wanted to be friends with them because of their social standing and... you know... money. He always seemed so... so calculating.”
Maria paused, a little out of breath. It was clear that she was trying very hard to be fair. “But then,” she finally went on, “Nick's father became chief and he, little by little, acquired certain... um... dignity, I guess, certain confidence about him. He changed, changed a lot.”
“And then what happened?” said Shawna, who listened so intently that she forgot all about the baby blanket she was knitting.
“Well,” Maria's face saddened. “Then, tragedy happened and Jason went to jail. Nick went on to study at the police academy and when he returned, he became a cop, too. And now he is our new chief, proudly following in his father's footsteps. A good, responsible man, pillar of the community. While, Jason is...”
She smiled sheepishly. “Just goes to show, doesn't it...” Maria's soft eyes gazed at us, surprise and regret mingled on her kindly face. “Just goes to show how mistaken one can be about people. It appears, the boys turned out the opposite of what they had promised to become as children.”
Chapter 8
“Nick's father was Stepford's police chief, too...” I murmured under my breath in response to some obscure beginning of a thought that I couldn't quite identify. An illusive light turned on in the murky depths of my mind and slowly grew brighter, brighter. The scene I witnessed yesterday appeared of its own accord in front of my eyes: Nick, beetroot-red and furious and Jason, being restrained by cops and yelling, "You, gutless maggot! Chicken shit! Still hiding behind your daddy's skirt! Be a man for once in your life!”
Okay. So, it seems clear what that mysterious phrase, “hiding behind your daddy's skirt” meant. But why did they get into a fight in the first place? What kind of unresolved issue was there between them?
“That's right,” said Beth, as if she could hear my thoughts. “Nick's father, the late Chief Nordini was the one investigating what happened to Rebbecca back then. He'd been a policeman here since forever, decorated by the Massachusetts Governor more than once… Probably had seen everything you can imagine in his job. Yet, the poor Rebbecca's story had really gotten to him. He was simply obsessed with getting to the bottom if it, combed the whole shore of the lake looking for possible clues and personally supervised every step of the investigation. And after Jason was convicted, he had a heart attack, poor man. He took that whole thing so close to heart,” Beth shook her head, managing at the same time not to skip a beat with her knitting. “He had another heart attack less than two months ago and shortly thereafter, died. It seemed to coincide with the news of Jason coming back from jail. Police chief was bound to know ahead of everyone else, wasn't he?”
My own knitting project lay abandoned on my lap. Meanwhile, my journalistic instinct went positively on overdrive and my mind, trained to spot anything out of the ordinary, started flashing alarms. Hmm... Previous chief is this chief's father and he had been a very “hands on” investigator of Rebbecca's tragedy. The father had a heart attack when Jason was convicted and then died, just prior to Jason's return from jail. Interesting coincidences...
“How old is Jason anyway?" I asked aloud, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“Let's see,” responded Maria. “What year was their graduation? Right, same as poor Rebbecca's. Yes, that's right, it was... 1997.”
“No, no,” chimed in Shawna. “I remember both Nick and Jason from high school. They were two years ahead of me. Class of 1998. So, Jason's actually thirty two.”
Jason's thirty two – one year younger than my husband, was the immediate thought. And the same age as Nick, the revelation struck. Wait a minute, wait a minute!
“1998,” I said aloud. “Thirty two... Then Nick's thirty two as well, right?”
“Correct,” nodded Maria.
“But doesn't that make him awfully young to be chief of police?” I said doubtfully. “Don't they usually look for someone older, with more experience?”
“True, and he'd encountered lots of opposition from citizens,” readily agreed Beth. “And how much jealousy he's seen from his fellow cops...” Her eyes widened dramatically to demonstrate just how much jealousy poor Nick was subjected to. “Some even sent letters with complaints. At one point, we had a police commission from Boston investigating whether he was worthy and all that. But,” she continued cheerfully, “everything's turned out okay. Nick's very bright and it was also taken into account that his father was chief here for years. And you know how they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”
Curious choice of words. The thought came out of nowhere and struck me like a bolt of lightning.
As she spoke, Beth staunchly continued working on her new knitting project - a blue mohair cardigan - all the while counting stitches under her breath and not wavering even for a minute. I simply admired her concentration.
“Besides, he has powerful friends,” reminded Cathy, who was by now finished with her knitted bunny and had already started a new piece, a pair of warm red mittens.
“Yes, very powerful friends!” Beth raised her eyebrows to underscore just how powerful. “Nick plays golf every Saturday with basically the who's who of Stepford. Judge Bowman, Mike Shultz - big in real estate - he owns practically a third of the Berkshires, Cole Paisano and his father, a very wealthy family, Steve Foley, that's old money. Also, there is Jerry Pivkin, the head of the Berkshire County Council. And of course, his high school buddies, Marc Catcham and Peter Burns.”
“The good old boys club,” I murmured under my breath. Why was I not surprised?
“And Jack Maloof, don't forget him,” added Cathy, failing to notice my remark.
“Oh yes, of course, Jack. Although, Jack doesn't play much. He just hangs out with the boys. He is really a nerd, the shy, awkward kind - he's always been.”
“Yeah, I've noticed,” agreed Karen, rolling her eyes. “He's the biggest nerd I've ever seen. Can't understand how come he is friends with these other guys, I mean, Nick, and Marc, and Peter? They seem so different.”
“Maybe,” suggested Maria, “they just took pity on him.”
“Have they been friends since high school?” I asked.
“They've always been tight,” said Maria. “For as long as I can remember. They were all in poor Rebbecca's class. Half of her class had a crush on her. Peter, if you ask me, definitely had a thing for her. But she was a class princess and no amount of his daddy's money could convince her to go out with him. Besid
es, Peter had always been a womanizer. So I guess, she didn't really trust him. The truth was, she had the pick of the litter and anyone would've been proud to call himself her boyfriend.”
“And she - she chose Jason,” Karen snorted indignantly, shaking her blond, curly head in disbelief.
"Talk about the irony,” agreed Beth.
“Everyone in her former class was so shaken when, you know... it happened,” said Maria quietly. “These boys, Nick, Marc, Peter and Jack especially took it to heart. One or the other of them was always ready to visit Rebbecca's parents, run errands or go to the hospital to check up on her. I think they still do.”
“Yes,” nodded Shawna, “that's true. My mom says at least one of them comes to visit every week or two. I mean, Marc or Jack usually, but sometimes Nick. Not so much Peter, though.”
Beth whispered into my ear, “Shawna's mom works at the Berkshire Hope Clinic, where Rebbecca has been a patient ever since the tragedy.”
“Isn't that nice,” cooed Cathy, “after all these years still having friends who'd visit you every week. So lucky for poor Rebbecca to have friends like these. I never realized they were that close.”
“I didn't think so either,” shrugged Maria. “At school, Rebbecca hung out with a different group. And she definitely preferred Jason as far as dating was concerned.”
“But maybe,” offered Cathy, uncharacteristically talkative today, “they are just kind and compassionate souls, that's all.”
“They must be,” agreed Shawna. “Because mom said that other than these four, hardly anyone comes to visit Rebbecca any more. At first, her old school friends came, too. But gradually, they all got married or moved out of the area. So mom says, she is actually very glad these four still come, otherwise poor Rebbecca would be all alone.”
“Such good people they are!” Cathy was back with her praises. “If Marc Catcham has such a good heart, I am definitely voting for him! And all these ill wishers of Nick's – where did their jealousy and complaints have gotten them? Nowhere! Nick is simply a good man, and thank God we have him as our chief! I personally wouldn't have it any other way!” She finished her proclamation ardently and fell silent again, exhausted from what was such an unusually long and emotional speech for her.