A Matter of Mercy (30 page)

Walt had been flipping through a fishing magazine. “You fish?” he asked Rid, looking up after an awkward silence.

“Uh, sure. I’m a sea farmer, actually. You mean deep sea?”

Walt chuckled and blushed, shaking his head. “Stupid question. Sorry. I knew that. Just makin’ conversation. Obviously you fish.”

“Actually, sometimes one of my buddies and I go out after tuna.”

Walt perked up. “Really? You must make a pretty penny.”

“If we get one, we do. Sell it to a Japanese boat, to go back there for sushi, you know? We can pick up five thousand dollars.”

“You don’t say. Hard to get one?”

“Well, they’re not easy to bring in, but we make a good day of it, y’know?”

“Man, I’d love to see that.”

Rid was about to answer when he picked up Elsie coming down the hall in his peripheral vision. He excused himself, pointing at Elsie as he got to his feet and headed in her direction. Noelle and Walt were shortly behind him.

“She’s going home,” Elsie smiled. “And right to bed,” she added to Noelle.

“
No
problem,” Noelle answered emphatically. She wore a cranberry-colored sweater that brought out the deep brown of her eyes and high color of her cheeks. Rid could tell it wouldn’t be wise to mess with her. “No visitors, I presume?” she asked, pinning Rid like a butterfly with her eyes even though she clearly meant for Elsie to respond.

“Neither doctor said that, exactly. Just extra rest. Dr. Rockwell said a day or two. Her ribs are wrapped, for comfort more than anything.” Elsie answered.

“Look,” Rid said. “Nobody wants what’s best for her and the baby more’n me.
She’s
got a pretty hot agenda, though. There’s somebody she’s got to talk to, and she wants
me
to take her. It’s not my idea.”

“I’ll handle that,” Noelle said. “Where’s she want to go? I mean who’s she want to talk to?”

“That’s CiCi’s to tell,” Rid said after hesitating a minute. It was just too complicated. In his mind, Noelle had a purse full of grenades ready to be tossed at him.

* * * * 

In the morning, Caroline didn’t call. Rid could have used the time well doing any of ten tasks that had fallen behind in the past few days, things CiCi had been doing, and better than he. The books were in much better shape. The accountant would be shocked and thrilled, especially if CiCi finished them out for the past tax year. Had he thanked her? He must have. He should mention it again, though. She was so good at researching on the Internet, comparing prices for seed and scouting out used equipment. He didn’t know squat about computers, though she said he could really develop a Midwest market using the Internet if he’d let her help him. He could have at least cut firewood, but no, he fidgeted, drank coffee, checked out the window, staring to see if he’d lose his eyesight by looking at the glare of the winter sun on the snow as his mother always threatened he would. It kept Lizzie stirred up, making her think something was about to happen so instead of curling up on her red plaid bed by the woodstove in the kitchen, she kept roaming the first floor and checking out the front window.

He picked up the phone to call Noelle’s and put it back down for the third time. The thought of Noelle barking a refusal was intimidating. Walt might answer, which would be better. In his mind, Noelle had confiscated CiCi’s cell phone. Of course, in his mind, Noelle was also wearing a prison guard’s uniform complete with a loaded gun in a hip holster and a jumpy finger.

This is stupid,
he told himself, using the words like sticks and rubbing them together emphatically.
She’s not a child. It’s up to her.
Now a spark and a flame to blow larger.
Noelle doesn’t have any right.

As he stomped and muttered, Lizzie on his heels, he pulled on his boots, parka, scarf and hat. “You can come, girl. In case I can bring you in to see her. She’d really like that.” Lifting his keys off the hook by the door into the garage, he reassured the dog, “It’s best this way. If I just show up, I mean. Better than calling. Noelle can’t hang up if I’m there, can she?” just as glad Lizzie couldn’t offer an opinion.

There were slow leaks in his bravado on the way over. He left Lizzie in the truck, thinking it best to ask first, though he’d have rather had her by his side when he rang the bell.

Walt answered the door, in bib overalls a red flannel shirt. Rid let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Good afternoon, sir. I was wondering if I could please see CiCi.” Pure high school.

“Of course you can. In fact, she just woke up about a half hour ago. She had a rough night, with the pain, you know, but once she got to sleep with the Tylenol and whatever else she was allowed to take, well, she slept in. Come in, now, just step on the rug there.” Walt stepped back, reflexively running his hand over his balding head and then down over his beard, pleased that he’d remembered Noelle’s instructions about the rug this time. He’d earn some points for that.

“Sir, before I come in, well, CiCi really loves my dog, Lizzie. I brought her. Might it be possible for me to bring her in, too? I brought a towel and I’ll clean her feet before I bring her inside. She’s a small, very gentle Lab.”

Again, the reflexive scalp rub that slid down to the beard. Walt’s hearing wasn’t good, but unfortunately he was sure he’d gotten this one right. Noelle wasn’t the biggest dog person on the planet, and he could already be in trouble about Rid. On the other hand, he was going to clean the dog’s feet for which there would be points added, and if CiCi loved the dog and if the dog made her happy, well then, more points.

“Okay, I’ll put the cat out.”

“Thank you so much, sir. I’ll get her.”

He carried Lizzie to the house, talking to her all the way, and still wiped her feet. Put her on a leash, absolutely unnecessary, but it would look good. Gave her a treat and had her sit and give Walt a handshake and a kiss. Watched Walt fall in love, as Lizzie’s eager-to-please personality took over and did tricks for him.

“Let’s go find the girls,” Walt said. “Noelle’s gotta love this.”

“Heel,” Rid said and Lizzie fell into step at his left, her paws scrabbling a bit on the hardwood. “And don’t scratch the floor,” he whispered, below the range of Walt’s hearing aid.

* * * * 

He left almost three hours later, having won Noelle over to Lizzie, raised CiCi’s spirits with Lizzie’s presence and, he thought, his own, but having had to accept that if CiCi left that house on that day it would be over Noelle’s cold dead body. CiCi wouldn’t hear of his telling the police about Terry and the moonfaced guy —not yet, she said, not until I talk to her—and the trail was getting colder and colder. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel in frustration. Goddamned felon could be halfway across the country by now. He knew this guy, knew his mind. He’d lived with his kind.
Tomorrow,
CiCi had whispered. “We’ll go see Terry tomorrow. I called the library before you got here, and she’s working tomorrow from nine to five.”

CiCi called him a little before eight-thirty in the morning. “Can you come get me at nine-thirty? I have that appointment with Doctor Silva, just a follow-up baby check, and we can go to the library after that.”

He’d hadn’t forgotten about the appointment, but he was focused on getting to Terry, which he saw as a means to an end—catching the assailant. For all he knew, Terry was a criminal, too. The doctor’s appointment was important, but it was also another delay. He took a breath and calmed himself. “You got this by Noelle? Or do I need to come in body armor?”

“Well, she doesn’t know about the library part. She wanted to take me to Doctor Silva’s, but I said Doctor Silva prefers that the father come to appointments.”

“She does?”

“She does now.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there at nine-thirty.”

The day was sunny and headed toward forty, maybe even a little higher. January thaw. An ideal day to check the grant for damage. This wouldn’t last; icy teeth would be back to bite them. Still, no question what came first. It didn’t occur to him then to be surprised at that, though nothing but his grant and loving life on it had been the priority for a very long time. Still, when his thought swept like a gull over his tidal flats, he looked at his watch and thought
almost mine
, and wished he could be two places today of all days. Plus, he’d had the news from Tomas—news that made him even more eager to be out there working.

CiCi was ready when he got there, moving gingerly, Noelle circling her like a cross between a flapping mother hen and an antsy Doberman, pulling on her boots, getting her in her jacket and tucking in her scarf so CiCi wouldn’t have to reach in a painful direction. She did not like the idea of CiCi going out without her, Rid could tell. More to the point, she didn’t think CiCi should be going out at all. “It’s an appointment with Dr. Silva,” he heard CiCi remind her quietly in response to something Noelle muttered while she fussed over CiCi’s jacket. “To check the baby again. It’s a good thing. Rid and I will get something to eat afterwards. Please don’t worry.”

“You’ll get her in all this stuff, right?” Noelle said to Rid, gesturing at CiCi’s boots and jacket. “You watched what I did? No pressure on her arms, chest, back. It’s very painful.”

“I promise. And I’ll get her in and out of the truck at the doctor’s.”

“Oh, no. No truck. You’ll take a car. What are you thinking? She can’t climb into a truck. Period.”

“Great idea,” CiCi said, mollifying Noelle. “Elsie and Billy brought my car over. Walt, could you get the keys for Rid?”

“That is a better idea, ma’am. Of course you’re right. Thank you very much,” Rid said, getting it. He was overdressed, sweating in the front hallway, not even considering a mention of the fact that CiCi was now overdressed, too. The outdoor temperature was irrelevant. Forget high school. This was junior high.

He knew damn well that Noelle was watching—probably with binoculars—and doubtless Walt, too, as he backed out of the driveway. “They’ve probably got cops tailing me, you know. Ready to do a Breathalyzer, ticket me for failure to wait a full two minutes before proceeding at a stop sign at which there is no traffic coming from any direction, and failing to yield to a car down in Connecticut that wants to merge into my lane of traffic next Tuesday.”

“Probably. But it’s sweet. She loves me.”

He didn’t even think about it. “Well, I do too, so I guess I’ll just have to put up with it. And you ain’t seen nothing yet. My mother can out-hover Noelle hands down.”

Although Caroline had shifted her head to look at him sideways when he made his offhand declaration of love, she didn’t respond to it. “I take exception to that. Noelle is not hovering. She’s taking care of me. That’s exactly what I’m going to do with our baby, and don’t you forget it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do, too. I just also plan to let him grow up when he’s thirty-five.”

She punched his shoulder and winced. “What makes you think it’s a boy?” She wasn’t going to correct him about her age just now.

“I just do, and don’t punch me again ’cause you’re hurting yourself.”

They teased that way on the drive to the doctor’s office, in the waiting room and up until the doctor came in. Neither mentioned Terry. Rid wondered if she felt his tension, if she were hiding her own.

The heartbeat was vigorous, the baby moving normally just as it had during the hospital sonogram, no spotting, and no blood in Caroline’s urine. “I’ll say it again—you really took care of your baby. She’s going to be a great mother.” The last was directed to Rid.

“I know that,” he’d answered. “It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

Doctor Silva’s whole-face grin crinkled the edges of her dark brown eyes like a pie crust. “A boy,” she laughed, nodding, and Rid, dancing in place, whooped to CiCi,
told you
. “Or a girl,” the doctor added, she and CiCi laughing at him together. The sonogram hadn’t given them a clear view of the baby’s sex.

By the time they were back in the car, CiCi was pale, a bit glassy-eyed. He reached across the gearshift and touched her thigh. “You want to stop for a break? Get a bite to eat? Gather yourself a bit and then head to the library?” Fifteen minutes more wouldn’t make a lick of difference, and Rid could tell she was in pain.

“I could use some milk and more Tylenol. That would be good,” she said. They stopped at The Post Office Café, since they were already in Provincetown, and when she ordered a full breakfast, he sighed and ordered one himself. Clearly, CiCi didn’t get the urgency about Moonface. He was crawling out of his skin at the same time he was vigilant about not pushing her too hard, a combination that left him roiling.

“You look good,” he said, ignoring the scrape on her cheek and the pallor of her skin. She held herself like an egg in a shallow basket, and he was tender with her as he helped her out of her coat. She’d ditched the scarf and gloves right away, and wasn’t even zipping the jacket, the rising temperature was that much a tease. She’d lifted her face to the sun in the parking lot.

CiCi took three more Tylenol with her juice and seemed to feel better as soon as she started on eggs, bacon, wheat toast and milk. “Wow. I was starved,” she said. “That seems to happen all the time. I’m much hungrier than I realize.”