by Jonathan Dee
—
As Hadi’s term came to a close, he did not campaign for reelection in any way, and his profile in town did not increase. He came into Town Hall less and less; there were weeks when he wasn’t spotted there at all. His secretary sometimes said that personal business had called him out of town, or that he was working from his home office (which was, after all, the way Marty Solomon used to do it, and no one back then had found that alarming), or, on occasion, she would smile genially and admit that at the moment she had no idea where he was. She herself was at her small desk outside his office every hour the town was officially open for business. She even brought her lunch.
In September the Gazette published a front-page interview with Hadi, in which he said that he would be happy for his four-year term to be renewed, should the people of Howland desire it. (Readers who knew the timid Abigail at all found it difficult to imagine the circumstances of this “interview” and surmised that it was really just a press release Hadi had composed in Q-and-A form and had instructed his secretary to deliver to the Gazette.) He had some ideas for the future health and prosperity of the town that he would welcome the chance to implement. But he would not campaign as such—he wouldn’t be giving any speeches, or showing up in restaurants to shake voters’ hands. He thought it sufficient—he thought it proper—to run on his record.
And what was that record, in Hadi’s own view? “All of the town’s services are running smoothly and are fully funded. The property tax rate has been reduced to historic low levels. The rate of local business failure has been reduced. Is it a new way of governing? I suppose, but you have to admit that the old ways of governing stopped working some time ago, not just here in Howland but nationwide.”
At the traditional pre-election town meeting, which Gerry attended, Hadi did not appear; and when the floor was opened to challenge the nomination of the current slate of selectmen and town officials for reelection, no one stood or raised a hand. The following Tuesday, Hadi was reelected by a vote of 231–79. Voter turnout was the second lowest in Howland’s history.
—
One weekday afternoon back in October Haley had emerged from her usual school-bus zone-out and realized that the bus made a stop on Melville Road, just a few hundred yards off Main; this would put her a two-minute walk from the library, with The Beanery in between. So the following Monday she just stood up and got off at that stop, rather than ride for another ten minutes to wind up at her own house. She told the driver she was going to the library, which was good enough for him and also technically true. She squeezed past two bewildered little kids and their mother, who met them at that stop every day, and picked up two Americanos, one for her and one for Aunt Candace.
She just felt drawn to the place, she didn’t know why. It wasn’t like she and her aunt talked a lot—they were in a library, after all. Maybe it was the silence itself she liked, not others’ silence but her own; in most situations you could only stay silent for so long before people started asking you what was wrong. It felt like a pocket in time, like one of those indoor, couch-cushion forts you’d build for yourself as a kid, a place to hide even when no one was looking for you, just for that feeling of hiding. She definitely wasn’t there hoping to run into Walker and Becca. They still came in now and then, and various of their friends came in too, especially when the weather was bad. It was a tad awkward because Haley had politely opted out of further progressive dinners, if that project was even still going on, which she imagined it was. She couldn’t figure out what the goal might be, other than to not get caught, which meant that there was only one way for it to end. She so wanted to tell Candace about it—she had an idea her aunt would find the whole thing funny, or even actually approve of it, approve of her for daring to do it—but she couldn’t risk that. She read the news of the outside world assiduously, always with the expectation that Aunt Candace might ask for her informed position on this or that, even though that had never once happened.
But her new after-school routine survived less than a month: one Thursday night at dinner, Haley made reference to the next day’s math test and her mother asked her why she hadn’t been studying from the time she got home. “She got home like five minutes before you did, leave her alone,” said her father, meaning to defend her, and her mother said, what are you talking about? By the time that conversation was over, she’d admitted to spending her afternoons at the town library but had made up some school research project to justify it, which meant the whole thing would have to come to an end anyway, sooner rather than later.
“So they’ll just let children get off the bus wherever they want?” Karen was still raving as Haley cleared the table. “Hey, who cares where they go, not our problem!”
Of course it wasn’t really about the bus, and though Karen tried her best to calm down over the next few days, she couldn’t. She suspected Haley was lying, but not strongly enough to risk coming right out and accusing her, and anyway why would she lie? Why make up a reason to avoid coming home? Things weren’t that bad: she could hear how she sounded saying that, even to herself, but objectively it was still true, things weren’t that bad. Unless Candace herself was getting in Haley’s ear for some reason, stealing her away, so to speak. She might not even have realized she was doing it; she might be drawn without knowing it to that kind of intimacy, a woman her age with no child of her own. A solution seemed to be to confront Candace directly, even though there was never a moment when Karen decided specifically to do so. The impulse came from some other level, where none of its drawbacks could develop in her thinking because she didn’t really let herself think about it at all. She left earlier than necessary for Caldwell House, stopped for coffee, and then, as if surprised to find the time on her hands, dropped by the library at 9:02, two minutes after it opened.
Except it wasn’t open. Karen knocked and put her face up against the glass of the door. She knocked again, and this time the interior door stenciled PRIVATE swung inward, and Candace walked briskly toward the entrance, frowning, and then raising her eyebrows without quite dropping the frown when she saw it was her sister-in-law at the door. One of Candace’s shoes was unstrapped. Her shirt was out, though that could have been how she would wear it in any case, and her hair was flying everywhere.
“Karen, hi, what a surprise,” she said muzzily. “Sorry, didn’t think anyone would be here quite so early.” She turned away and began flipping on the lights.
Karen was disarmed. Candace had clearly slept in the library. She’d been too groggy to close the office door behind her, and Karen could see the corner of what looked like a cot or a folding bed in there.
“What can I do for you?” Candace said, somewhat flippantly, Karen thought. “A particular book you’re in need of?”
“Candace?” Karen said.
“Is that coffee, by the way? Because I will give you five dollars for it. For half of it.”
“Candace, are you okay?” Karen said. “What the hell is going on?” Just then the door to the Children’s Room opened, from the inside, and a teenage boy wearing a brown ski cap stuck his head through it. Karen, too disoriented by now to take this in, actually screamed.
“Jesus, Karen,” Candace said.
“Everything all right?” the boy said calmly.
“Yeah, sure, but you guys need to get your stuff together and get out of there, like four minutes ago,” Candace said without looking at him. “There’s Story Hour this morning.” She regarded her sister-in-law sternly. “Just go have a seat in Periodicals,” she said, “and I’ll come talk to you in a couple of minutes.”
Karen did as she was told. She did not pick up a magazine. A few minutes later, the door to the Children’s Room opened and the boy in the ski hat exited, accompanied by a short-haired, sullen-looking girl. He smiled amiably and waved, and the two of them went out into the street. Candace emerged from her office with her hair brushed and sat down in the other good club chair.
“So what can I do for you?” she said.
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Karen, at a loss, just stared at her.
“Look,” Candace said. “Not every family is the picture of domestic bliss, okay? That boy’s father gets drunk and cleans his guns while yelling at the TV. Did you recognize him? I should have asked you that first, because if you recognized him then I just really betrayed a—”
“No. I have no idea who that was.”
“Good then. Anyway, some of the local youth started hanging out here at one point, I think in part because they thought it was funny. And legit, in the sense that who’s going to say it’s a suspect thing, right? Teenagers hanging out at the library? And they talk to each other, and I overhear things, and eventually they wind up telling me things. They can trust an adult who’s not a parent, who doesn’t have any skin in the game.”
She stared calmly into Karen’s face, bravely even, like someone determined to make a good death. For a horrible moment Karen thought all of this was some oblique reference to herself. What had Haley been saying about her? She tried to remember the last time Haley had spent a night away from home, and where she’d said she was.
“So they know that this is a safe space, if things get rough,” Candace said. “Last night things got rough in that kid’s home, and he called me.”
“But why were you sleeping here?”
“I only sleep here when somebody else is sleeping here. I’m not going to leave them alone. They’re teenagers, they’re animals, they’d burn the place down.”
“Do people—does anybody know you’re doing this?”
“You do. Nobody else as far as I know.”
“I just—” Karen let her hands flutter above the arms of the chair. “You don’t think these kids should be with their parents? Where do their parents think they are?”
“Family is a nightmare for some people,” Candace said. “Family is something some people need to be protected from. You think this kind of thing doesn’t happen around here. But everybody thinks that. Not everyone can enjoy the kind of traditional domestic bliss you do.” Karen couldn’t tell how sarcastically this was meant; it didn’t sound sarcastic at all, but she assumed it had to be. “But listen, there has to be some reason you happened to come over here so bright and early this morning.”
“Why has Haley been spending so much time here with you?” Karen said, and to her frustrated surprise she started crying. “And not telling us about it?”
Candace looked around for a box of tissues; when she didn’t find one, she leaned over and patted Karen on the knee. “I actually don’t know why. But I like having her around. And you flatter yourself, Karen,” she said softly, “if you think Haley’s problems are anything, anything like real problems. Don’t worry. I think they’re supposed to be a little bit of a mystery at this age. She doesn’t come over here to complain about you or anything.”
Karen, with little confidence that this was true, nodded, and stood up to leave. She drove to work and sat staring through the window behind her computer monitor, thinking of other things she might have asked, probably should have asked: If the boy was the one who called you, what was the girl doing there? How do you know when they’re telling the truth and when they’re lying? Was she sure they weren’t just having sex in there? It seemed like a hysterical question but you thought differently about these things when you were a parent, especially the parent of a girl. Outside, the ground was brittle, and mist had pooled into spots of ice on the black tarps staked over the flower beds.
That night at dinner she announced that Haley would come with her to Caldwell House after school the following Monday, for Take Our Daughters to Work Day.
“Wasn’t that in April?” Mark said.
“Mom, no,” Haley said.
But she insisted. On Monday she picked Haley up outside school and drove straight to the mansion. She had a bag of picnic food she’d bought at the fancy épicerie in Stockbridge; it was raining lightly, though, so they had to eat inside.
“So this is my office,” Karen said.
“Mom, I’ve been here,” Haley said.
“I’m in charge now of the payroll for all of the employees here, and I help out a lot with fundraising, and I organize board meetings, and I also am on call to answer any questions members of the public might have, by phone or email.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
Karen felt the tears pushing at her eyes again. So you’ll respect me, she started to say, but that was not a thing you could say out loud, it showed too much weakness.
Haley had picked up a flyer for a Berkshire Historical Society talk being given at Caldwell in a few weeks’ time: Horticulture and Feminism in Fin de Siècle New England. “This is such a bizarre place to have a job,” she said.
—
The housing market was through the roof now, locally just as nationally. The first property Mark had bought, in Becket, on foreclosure, had risen in value sixty percent in two years. Now the conservatism that had seemed so vital at the beginning of this venture seemed not just unnecessary but stupid—sitting on the sidelines was like losing money, like giving it away. But getting in deeper required a larger outlay. Prices were up, and as for bargains, there’d been no foreclosure sales in the Howland area for nine or ten months. It took some knowledge, all of a sudden, to know what constituted overpaying. He could try to convert some of his own properties into cash while they were at the top of the market. But there were renters living in most of them.
He sat with his brother at Daisy’s, weighing these matters, allowing Chase to silently refill their coffee cups over and over, as they discussed the future.
“The hottest market in all of western Mass right now is here in Howland,” Gerry said. “Know why?”
“Because of the publicity about Hadi?”
Gerry shook his head, then amended, “Well, yes and no. The reason prices are going up is that the taxes here are so low, which he lowered them, it’s true. The increase in home prices actually more than offsets the taxes you’d pay on the same house in Lenox or Stockbridge or wherever, much more. But people hate paying taxes. They fucking hate it.”
“You kind of have to hand it to him,” Mark said. “He said he was all about protecting the character of the town, and he kept his promise. I mean, this place is a perfect example.”
Gerry scowled, half-listening. He was staring at another one of the stitched samplers that had been framed and hung on Daisy’s wall, behind the register: a hand-sewn reproduction of the old Gadsden flag, with the snake saying DON’T TREAD ON ME.
“Wait, what?” Gerry said. Mark looked around to make sure Chase was out of earshot and more or less whispered the outline of how Hadi had stepped in to keep Daisy’s from going under.
“So he owns the place now?”
“No, he just gave Daisy the money.”
“What do you mean, ‘the money’? The money for what? How much?”
“No idea,” Mark said. “Does it matter? Jesus, is there nothing you won’t shit on? Maybe he just did it, you know—”
“If you say ‘out of the goodness of his heart,’ I swear to God my head will explode.”
“Why, though?” Mark said, a little louder than he meant to. “Why? Why is that so impossible for you to imagine?”
“Funny,” Gerry said, “because that’s exactly the one question you won’t ask yourself. Why?”
“It’s not to look good, that’s for sure, because he’d never say a word about it. Which makes you wonder if maybe this isn’t the only time he’s helped somebody out like this.”
“Exactly,” his brother said. “Ex fucking zactly.”
“Jesus,” Mark said. “Let’s talk about something else.”
There wasn’t much other business to discuss. Mark was now back doing most of the occasional maintenance and repair work Barrett used to do, not to save money but because there was too little of it to justify hiring someone full- or even half-time. They didn’t yet have a court date for evicting Gage and his vandal sons. There seemed no way t
o hurry that process along.
“Okay then,” Gerry said. “Do I still need to pay for this omelet, or should I just charge it to Town Hall?”
“You can pay for me too,” Mark said, “just to avoid any appearance of corruption,” and they walked out to the lot and drove their separate ways. It was a Wednesday, and Gerry got home with nothing to do until he could meet Penny at her house after work. He slapped the space bar on his computer to wake it up, spent a few hours on the internet, took a nap, then made himself a sandwich. He had never been one of those guys who needed to work—he’d always particularly hated working with his hands, which used to drive his dad into rages—and in most respects the life he was living now was the life of which he used to dream: making a few savvy decisions and then sitting back and collecting the income from them. He had more in his savings account right now than he’d ever had in his life. Yet something felt off, there was something still between him and what logically should have been happiness or at least a more profound sense of satisfaction. Probably it was his brother, so naïve and so self-righteous, so confident and ignorant at the same time. Gerry kind of wanted to see him fail, yet their fates were now so completely intertwined that Gerry felt like he had nothing uncomplicated to wish for anymore.
How many other places in town, or in the surrounding towns for that matter, was Philip Hadi taking over? Was he doing it because it amused him, or for some other reason that was harder to fathom, assuming you were curious enough to want to fathom it at all, which most folks around Howland apparently were not? And what was the difference between working hard and not working hard, between succeeding and not succeeding, if what lay at the end of either of those roads was a guy with a checkbook to bail you out, to guarantee all outcomes?
He took Penny to the movies, and then they went down Route 7 to the Snack Shack for dinner. It was full of families; they were the only ones there without kids. He was willing to spend money on her—he wanted to, especially now that he had some money for a change—but she wasn’t interested. Once he took her to that fancy-ass new place where the Benihana used to be, back when he thought such things might impress her. It was hard to get a reservation, even though no one he knew had been there more than once; supposedly people from New York or even further away would travel to the Berkshires and stay overnight, just to have a meal. Gerry dropped four hundred bucks on dinner for two and that was without any wine. They fed you stuff that looked like it came from the woods behind your house, served to you on things that weren’t plates. One course, he still remembered, was stuck onto old pitchfork tines. The cherry on this sundae of pretension was that they gave you a little notebook and a pencil, in order to write down God knows what. Toward the end of the meal, a deadpan Penny had held up her open notebook to show him that she’d drawn with her little pencil a picture of a slice of pizza and a martini, complete with olive. At such moments he wished he could just risk asking her to marry him.