Hester mumbled, “Yes, Father. Sorry, Father. I just thought…”
“Don’t go tryin’ to t’ink anyt’ing. Go on your way now and curse the day you sold your soul to the devil by doing such a t’ing to a poor helpless unborn child.”
Hester never heard of anyone being denied absolution. Stunned and mortified, she left the confessional, and knelt several rows behind Norman. Her face was on fire. She buried it in her hands and prayed to the Virgin. Will I never be forgiven? My God, I was young, impulsive, terrified to not do what… Hester heard the doors at the back of the church open and close. She looked up, Norman was gone. The door of the confessional was opening. Hester couldn’t get out of the church fast enough.
A week later Hester, still agonizing over the priest’s refusal to give her absolution, still angry that the man robbed her of the comfort she would’ve derived from knowing God forgave her, was more of an emotional mess than she’d ever been. She hadn’t even gotten to her other sins, to what she’d done to Nina. Praying, a practice which had always given her peace, became impossible.
Al had gone on an overnight fishing trip with guys from the Billiard Club, so in an attempt to keep from slitting her wrists or drinking Drain-o, she put on her swimsuit and went to the beach. It was already after four and overcast. The water was rough, and the sand full of broken shells, but Hester went out where the waves lifted her off her feet. She remembered tomorrow was Valentine’s Day; she hadn’t gotten Al a card, and she wasn’t planning on running out anywhere to get one. I’ll make him one, she thought, Happy Valentine’s Day, from Hester (your wife with the eternal black mark on her soul). Ha…So this would be the first time since they were married, she didn’t give him a card.
The height of the waves doubled and the wind shifted to the east, but Hester stayed in the water until she was exhausted. An undercurrent pulled her far north of Pleasant Palms’ beach. She had to walk nearly a mile to get to back. After showering and putting on her pajamas, she picked up Anthony Trollope’s The Macdermots of Ballycloran and began to read. Hester was assigned the novel in college, but only skimmed the six hundred and eighty some pages and relied on the Cliffs Notes to write her paper. Reading it now would amend that minor falsehood, at least.
Soon she was wrapped up in the troubles of Thaddeus and Feemy, and forgot her own. But the dialogue was Irish like the voice of the priest, so Hester put the book down and tried to fall asleep. She listened to Chet’s too-loud television—didn’t he realize how close the trailers were?—and the murmur of the ocean beyond until she gave up and put on a pot of coffee. It was still dark, but she filled her mug and went down to the news stand in her pajamas and bought a Palm Beach Post. She sat in Al’s La-Z-Boy and flipped open the paper.
“Priest Arrested, Charged with Embezzlement of Millions”—the headline took Hester’s breath away. Below it was a photograph of Saint Maximillian’s Church and Father O’Hannon. Well, I’ll be damned, she thought. He was accused of skimming cash from the weekly collections for several years. The police estimated the amount to be in the hundreds of thousands. He owned a condo in Ireland and one in Las Vegas. He kept women, young women in both places and possibly a few illegitimate children. The police were checking records. Father O’Hannon denied everything, claimed he was framed, and blamed the missing funds on the parish council.
Hester clicked on the local news. Channel Seven had an exclusive interview with one of the parishioners. Channel Twelve had on a spokesperson from the bishop’s office. Channel Ten was interviewing an altar girl.
Hester sat back and felt the hand of God, or maybe it was the hand of the Blessed Virgin, hovering nearby. Inside her head she heard a voice whisper, you are forgiven.
Ten minutes later she fell into a deep sleep and didn’t wake up until Al came home with two king mackerels and one wahoo, filleted and sealed in Ziploc bags. Sunburned and smelly, he stood between Hester and the television, stretching his arms wide, then wider, showing how big the fish were. Behind him the set was still on, and the evening news was just starting. Between his legs she saw a close-up of O’Hannon trying to shield himself from the camera.
So it wasn’t a dream, she thought, and it brought a smile to her face which Al must have thought was for him because he bent and kissed her.
Thirty-One
Hester was in her classroom shuffling things around on the top of her desk, fretting, yet again, about how she’d used and abused poor Theo Ottinger those many years ago just to make Al jealous. It had been over a decade since she’d come onto him, and even though Theo had married and had had a couple of cute kids, she still caught him staring at her with what she thought was lust. She hated it, but she’d brought it on herself so it was creepy and guilt-inducing all at once.
Shame on her, but, thank God, Theo hadn’t been fired.
Hester sighed a sigh of relief and began stapling handouts together when Nina Tattoni appeared in her doorway. She had on a tight, almost mid-riff T-shirt and even tighter jeans. Her hair, the color of peanut shells, was pulled up on top of her head in a frizzy ponytail. The skinny fifteen year old stood in the doorway of Hester’s classroom looking more like a ten year old, except for her large breasts and the silver ring in her navel that pulled Hester’s eyes reluctantly to the gap of flesh between her garments.
“I gotta tell you something, Mrs. M.”
Hester looked from Nina’s bare abdomen to her face. “Okay, Nina. Come in.”
Nina shuffled her way over to Hester’s desk and stood picking the chipped polish off one thumbnail with the other. “Well, you know when we finished reading To Kill a Mockingbird together. No, I mean, when I finished reading To Kill a Mockingbird to you?”
“Yes?”
“Well, remember, I told you it was the best book I ever read?”
“Yes?”
“Well, I lied.”
“I see. And what did you lie to me about?”
“About it being the best book I ever read. What I should’ve said was that it was the only book I ever read.”
“Really? I never would’ve guessed,” Hester said. “Quite frankly, you did an excellent job for never having read a book before.”
“Hell, I can read, Mrs. Murphy.” Nina looked up at her teacher.
“Watch your language, Nina.”
“But it’s true. I can read. It’s just that I never sat down and read a whole book.”
“Why not?”
“Because…I guess, because of the way things were.”
Hester wanted to get home early to catch Oprah’s book club show with Toni Morrison. She stayed awake half the night rereading Beloved, but Nina seemed on the verge of telling Hester something important, and the girl’s eyes glossed over like brown sea glass and tugged at Hester’s heartstrings.
“Alright, Nina, sit down and tell me about the way things were.”
Nina sank into the chair next to Hester’s desk, leaned back, and tucked her thumbs into the belt loops of her jeans, which resulted in her inadvertently pulling them down enough that Hester found herself looking at a few strands of Nina’s dark pubic hair. But Nina seemed oblivious about how much of her body was showing.
“I watched T.V., Mrs. M., watched it all the time when my mom was working so I never really read whole books by myself then. But I knew how to read because when I was real little, my mom was always home. I think we were on welfare or something. My mom and I did everything together then, and she was always reading to me. But she got this really important job at the Twin Towers. She was a lawyer or a judge. I forget which one. But she got real busy and had to work a lot of nights, too. I watched T.V. because it made me feel like I wasn’t so alone, I guess.”
It was like someone had opened the floodgate inside of Nina, and she talked and talked and told Hester her whole sad story.
The high rise in Queens where her mom and she had lived was a terrible place, and Nina wasn’t allowed to go out of their apartment without her mother. Nina never disobeyed, because she w
as scared to death of the hallways that reeked of urine and trash, and where men lurked in dark corners.
Nina had a few friends at school, but none came to the apartment, so she really couldn’t call them friends. She didn’t really know what it was like to have a real friend. All she had was her mom. Then day her mom went to work early in the morning and never came home. Nina stayed in the apartment and watched the Towers implode, over and over again. After eight days, a woman Nina had never seen before, knocked on the door and said she was Nina’s aunt. She had papers to prove it and was taking Nina to her home in a place called Moretown, New Jersey.
Hester was more than a little upset by Nina’s story. Nina had been Hester’s student now for over two months, so why hadn’t Hester been informed by Nina’s guidance counselor or Mr. Heck or even Al that the girl had been orphaned by the 9/11 attack? It seemed Nina didn’t know what happened to her mother, didn’t know this aunt who had somehow gotten custody of her. It was a heart-wrenching situation, a lot for a fifteen year old to handle.
Hester started to reach toward Nina to pat her on the shoulder, but let her hand drop on the desk. She’d been conditioned not to make physical contact with her students, but Nina, who was struggling to hold back her tears, unhooked her thumbs from the belt loops of her jeans, leaned forward, grabbed Hester’s hand.
“Mrs. M, it’s just awful. I miss my mom so much, and I hate my aunt. She’s hardly ever home, but when she is, she’s horrible to me. She hollers at me and curses and never lets me do anything, or she doesn’t talk to me and acts like I’m not even there. She’s not anything like my mom. I don’t even think she’s my aunt.”
“I’m sure she is, dear, and I’m sure she’s doing her best to look after you.” Hester was trying to gently extricate her hand from Nina’s grip, but the girl began to cry and only tightened it and pressed her teacher’s hand to her warm chest. Hester, uncomfortable with where this was going, said more sternly than she meant to, “Calm down, Nina. I know you’ve been through something terrible, but I’ll help you work it out.”
Nina eyes brimmed with tears. She let go of Hester’s hand, hugged herself, bent over, and cried harder. Her shoulders heaved. Hester watched the girl, feeling both pity, and misgiving.
Is this a kid who’s been through hell, or a little actress who wants some attention?
Though they’d spent a good deal of time together, Hester wasn’t sure. The teenager seemed to have no substance. She was, Hester realized now, whatever Hester wanted her to be. Nina was like a hollow chocolate bunny, a thin shell of sweetness with nothing inside.
Nina took a deep breath, and in one swift motion leaned forward and grabbed Hester’s thighs. Her hands felt like the small hot claws of a frightened animal. It was as though no boundaries existed between them, and Hester wondered how she’d let Nina touch her again. This was the kind of thing that if anyone saw, anyone like Janine Apgar, it could be blown out of proportion, totally misconstrued. Something like this could be a teacher’s downfall.
Hester peeled Nina’s hands off her thighs and held them. Nina resisted, sobbing, “Work it out? Mrs. M, how?”
Hester stood up and Nina did too, her head barely came to Hester’s collarbone.
“Nina, listen to me.” Hester’s voice was firm. “You’re in Sourland High now, you’re safe, and I’ll see what I can do to help you. Maybe I can talk with your aunt and try to get her to go a little easy on you.”
“No, please, you can’t tell my aunt I told you anything about her. You can’t,” she pleaded.
Hester stepped back from Nina. The girl’s eyes were red from crying, her nose was wet, and her mascara was all over her face. Hester thought, God, she looks pathetic; but what more can I do?
And, as if in answer, Nina threw her arms around Hester and hugged her tightly. Hester smelled the cloying scent of Nina’s mango shampoo and felt Nina’s tears dampening her new beige sweater. Hester kept her arms down, her hands at her sides. But the girl’s neediness was palpable. Reluctantly at first, Hester put her arms around Nina. Their bodies against each other grew warm, and Hester was surprised to find herself really hugging Nina, hard. They embraced for what seemed to Hester an eternity, until Nina stood on her toes and whispered in Hester’s ear, “You won’t tell my aunt, Mrs. M, will you?”
“No, Nina, I won’t. Don’t worry, dear, I won’t.” As Hester felt Nina go soft in her arms, she remembered a line from Robert Browning. It went something like, our interest’s on the edge of dangerous things….
Thirty-Two
“Hester, I swear on a stack of Bibles,” said Dee. “Lou Latimer bragged to old Chet that he was threatened by the police in Minnesota with arrest if he didn’t do something about the statues he’d put in front of his house or mansion or whatever it is he lives in up there.”
“Dee, come on, has anybody in the park ever seen them?” said Hester.
“No, but remember Lou lives in the middle of nowhere on the shore of freaking Lake Superior in the summer, so how could anyone from Pleasant Palms actually see them?”
“Well, then people shouldn’t talk about something they don’t know for a fact is true.”
“But Lou, himself, keeps bringing them up. He told Chet and Chet told the Buchanans and Doris Buchanan told me that Lou said, ‘They are over ten feet tall and look so damn real, it’s scary.’”
Dee and Hester were sitting on the clubhouse deck the day before the big shuffleboard tournament, talking quietly, when Mrs. Florence and Rosario Domingo slowly walked up the ramp. Miriam Florence, at one hundred and two years of age, was the oldest person in the park, and Rosario, her young, Jamaican caretaker, stuck out like a sore thumb in Pleasant Palms. She was strikingly beautiful and close to six feet tall. She towered over Miriam, who seemed to shrink more every time Hester saw her.
Rosaria’s arm was draped gently around Miriam’s shoulders. Her long, black fingers looked like a giant tarantula nesting on the old lady’s white sweater. Hester couldn’t take her eyes off Rosaria, her gleaming skin, broad nose, full lips, her expression as calm as the surface of a dark pond. She wore a white cotton skirt that hugged her hips and a low-cut teal blouse that complimented her willowy neck. Her shiny hair was braided and coiled neatly around her head. She held her chin high, looked at Hester, and nodded, and the huge golden hoops in her ears jiggled.
Mrs. Florence was, rumor had it, the richest woman in the park; and, miraculously for her age, still had her wits about her. At least that’s what everyone assumed, because since Rosaria came to care for her, no one talked directly to Miriam Florence. Rosaria answered the phone, answered any questions personally put to Miriam, and told whoever might ask that “her” Mrs. Florence was indeed fine, thank you very much, madam or sir. Clearly, Rosaria now made all the decisions for Mrs. Florence, from the pair of golden flats the lady wore on her tiny feet, to the pink blush deftly brushed on what was left of the apples of her cheeks. Today the old woman smelled strongly of gardenias, and Rosario had dressed her in beige slacks, a lime green tunic, a white sweater, and a fluffy white hat. If you glanced at her quickly, she looked like a slice of key lime pie.
Rosaria settled Miriam into a rocker and pulled the sleeves of her sweater down so they covered Mrs. Florence’s impossibly thin wrists. She stood behind Miriam and gently rocked her chair, humming, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” Miriam Florence might as well have been Rosario’s little baby.
Hester couldn’t help but stare at them. They looked so, well, content with each other. Lucky Miriam, to have someone like Rosaria, thought Hester as she was distracted by the flight of a flock of pelicans. Dee watched the pelicans too as she picked up her lament about Lou Latimer where she’d left off. “That Lou Latimer is playing with fire. The people up in Minnesota won’t stand for it. I’ll bet it’ll be on the national news. Hell, it’s probably already on YouTube.”
“Dee, I just don’t believe it. It’s ridiculous. Why would—”
“Shhh! Here he comes.”
&nbs
p; Lou, the reigning shuffleboard champion, walked past the wheelchair ramp and bounded up the six steps of the deck two at a time. He was a bald, short, slight man with a flinty look about the eyes. He sat in the rocker next to Miriam and put his small feet on the railing. He had on sandals, and Hester’s eyes were drawn to his toes, the ugliest ones she’d ever seen. They looked like claws, except for his big toes which stuck out like thumbs.
Rosario kept humming, which helped Hester relax, and she began to plan dinner in her head as she stared at the empty beach and the rolling waves: vindaloo, the recipe was in that “Curries without Worries” cookbook, now where—
“Bitch! Bitch! Mother fucker, pick up yo fuck’n phone! Bitch! Bitch! Mother fucker, pick up yo fuck’n phone! Bitch!”
“What in the hell?” Dee jumped up.
Lou struggled to pull his cell phone out of his pocket, while the disgusting ringtone blared, “Bitch! Bitch! Pick up yo…”
Hester shouted, “Lou Latimer, turn that off. That is disgusting, and we don’t want to hear it.”
Lou laughed and did nothing to stop the noise, but before Hester could say another word, Rosaria flew at Lou, grabbed the offending gadget from his hand, ran down to the water, and heaved it in.
“Call the police! Someone call the police! You saw her. That nigger stole my cell phone. She stole my cell phone.” Lou was out of his seat, his face beet red. He stomped his ugly-toed foot again and again. Infuriated, he yelled in Dee’s and Hester’s direction, “You saw what she did! You’re my witnesses. If you have a phone, you better call the police.”
“Are you kidding me?” Hester lowered the register of her voice like she used to when she was talking to one of her more defiant students. “That ringtone is offensive. You want the police; go back to your trailer and call them yourself. But if I were a cop, it would be you I’d be arresting.”
On the Edge of Dangerous Things (Dangerous Things Trilogy Book 1) Page 16