Night Swimming (42 page)

“So tell me, tell me,” Charlotte said, quickly changing the subject. “What did Dolly say?”

“Charlotte, I must have called Dolly fifteen times, but she was never home.”

“What?”

“She wasn’t home. I didn’t have Skip’s number, and I remember Dolly saying something about his phone being turned off because he was moving.”

“So neither of them know of my plans yet?”

“No. I even called Dolly this morning before coming over to the court, and there was still no answer.”

“She must be with Dr. Cohen. He has a place in Palm Springs. They go there now.”

“I’ll keep calling her. If we don’t get through by tonight, I’ll try tomorrow. Maybe I can track down Dr. Cohen in Palm Springs.”

“Yeah, there shouldn’t be more than two hundred Dr. Cohens in Palm Springs.”

“Well, at least I can let her know you’re safe.”

“And tell her to tell Skip, too.”

“Of course. But it has to be done very discreetly. I have to keep making these calls from outside the house. We can’t take the chance of having them traced back to my house. Ever.”

“Yes, I know.”

They drove silently to the motel for the rest of the trip. Clearly, Charlotte was anxious to get the news to Skip. Everything was happening so fast, and already it seemed that things were falling through the cracks. She hoped this wasn’t an omen.

They finally arrived at the Pine Tree Motel. It was a broken-down building with twenty-three connecting units.

“Sorry, Char, the Days Inn was booked. Just think of it as a pickup place.” They both laughed at the irony of that. “You know what I mean. Besides, it’s not like you actually have to spend any quality time here.”

The desk manager barely looked at them as he read his list of rules. “No partying, no drinking in the parking lot, no nonpaying guests, and no johns coming in and out all night,” he muttered, as if that were going to ruin Charlotte’s evening. “There’s a pay phone in the parking lot and a soda machine at the end of the last unit. It’s thirty-four dollars a night, paid in advance. Any funny business, you’re out.”

Charlotte looked at MaryAnn, thinking,
I don’t care if the cops get suspicious; I’m going to your house.
But she handed him the cash, took the key, and left, the torn screen door hitting the jamb like a fist on a table.

“Wanna see my room?” she asked MaryAnn. “It’s a rhetorical question. You’re coming in with me.”

The room was as unpleasant as the rest of the joint. A faded spread hid the stains on the bedcovers, and an orange linoleum floor creaked pitifully when stepped on.

“Oh, look, MaryAnn, a safety paper across the toilet. I feel like I’m in the admiral’s suite.”

“Come on, Charlotte, it’s not even one night.”

“Still, I’m a delicate flower,” she joked.

The yellowed blinds were broken and would not go up.
Just as well.
The Formica table poised at the side of the bed sported a bouquet of plastic flowers. The only light in the room was a bare overhead bulb. The bathroom had a fluorescent light, which glared down ruthlessly, exposing every possible human flaw.

“If I didn’t know better, MaryAnn, I’d say you were still mad at me.” Both women laughed and collapsed onto the bed to go over the plans once more.

“You leave tonight after the party. The hotel is taken care of for an unset amount of time. A bank account is set up in your name, Lila Nata, at the Bank of, bank of...I can’t remember. I’ll give the information to the driver who picks you up tonight. There’s not a lot of money in it, but it will see you through until you connect with Tom’s family in the export business. They’ll set you up doing something so you have money coming in. Joey, the guy taking you to the airport, will give you a couple of thousand just to have some pocket money. You can get it changed in Italy. You’re on an eleven o’clock flight. That means you arrive in Rome at twelve noon the following day. A man will be waiting for you at the airport holding a cardboard sign with your name on it. He’ll drive you to the hotel. You should get there around two after clearing customs and all.”

“Do you have the passport and the tickets?”

“I’ll give them to you later. The less time you have them, the better. As I said, Joey, one of Tom’s uncles, is picking you up here at eight tonight to take you to Logan. He’ll be driving a blue 1998 Ford Taurus.”

“My God, this is better thought out than
Three Days of the Condor.
”

“And then, my dear, you will be on your way. Don’t call for a while. If there is any suspicion that we had anything to do with your sudden disappearance, they could tap the lines, or worse, arrest us. Jesus, listen to me. I’m beginning to sound like a Barzini.”

“Okay. I won’t call right away.”

“Really, Charlotte.”

“I know, I know.”

Unfortunately, so did everyone else who had tried to help Charlotte. It was unclear how the rumor started. An overheard conversation? Airline tickets peeking out of MaryAnn’s pocketbook at the beauty salon? Charlotte talking in her sleep? However it started, gossip whetted the insatiable curiosities of the ladies of Gorham. But the rumor stayed tight within Charlotte’s close family of admirers. The women didn’t even tell MaryAnn they knew what they knew.

MaryAnn continued, “So, Charlotte, you know that if the cops make the connection, they’ll be all over this. God willing, they won’t put two and two together, and if they do, they’ll think this isn’t the kind of stuff the Barzini family gets involved with. Racketeering, big money, murder, but not something as small as hiding a local woman who screwed up. Hopefully, they’ll think that the mob has nothing to gain by helping you and dismiss it as ridiculous.”

“But how will I find out about Skip and Dolly?”

“I’ll call you in Italy from a phone outside the house. I don’t know when exactly. First I have to find out where you’re staying. And I have to do that with great prudence. As for you, Char, don’t make any calls, period.”

“All right, I won’t,” Charlotte said.

“And no complaining about what your picture looks like on your passport. I remember the first license we ever got together, you were so unhappy with your picture, you made them do it over three times. They finally kicked us out.”

“Hey, all that’s changed. I accepted my mug shot without a moment’s hesitation.”

“Your maturity continues to astound me,” MaryAnn teased. “And don’t forget your name. When security asks, ‘Lila, could you open your bag?’ don’t forget you’re Lila.”

“Right. I’m Lila. Lila Nata.”

“Any questions?”

“Nope. None.”

“Then why do you have that look on your face like something went down the wrong way?”

“I just wish Dolly and Skip knew what was going on.”

“I’ll try again tonight. Don’t worry. We’ll get in touch.”

“So now what, MaryAnn?”

“Wanna take a ride around Gorham for old times’ sake? Reminisce about all the places we used to get in trouble?”

“You were the one that got in trouble.”

“Not me,” MaryAnn insisted, putting on her coat. “You were the one that got caught kissing Jimmy Swenson in the locker room.”

“Yeah, well, what about Mrs. Kleem? Remember when you put cleaning fluid in her perfume bottle?”

“Me? As I recall, that was you.”

“Perhaps we both had a hand in it. God, what was it called again...?”

“My Sin. Jesus, MaryAnn, how can you forget that?”

“I think I blocked it.”

“Yeah, we got in big trouble for that little perfume prank.”

“Oooo, big trouble,” Charlotte recalled. “No
Magnum, PI,
no allowance, and no playing with you ever again.”

“For me, too. What were our parents, crazy? As if they could make that stick?”

The two women giggled like young girls as they exited the room. They left a wake of light, lyrical laughter vanishing ever so sweetly behind them, as if no time had passed at all.

CHAPTER 74

E
VERYONE WAS AT
B
ICKFORDS
. People from the bank, the Ladies’ Auxiliary, the Horticulture Club, the DAR, the church bingo brigade, MaryAnn, Charlotte’s old assistant Al, Edgar Halfpenny, Hobbs, Makley, and even Bloomberg was there. Bickfords was jammed with friends and memories.

It struck Charlotte as somewhat ironic that here she was again, approximately a year later, having yet another going-away party at Bickfords. Of course, no one knew this except MaryAnn. Or so she thought. Here they were, the whole female contingent of Gorham gathered around, celebrating Charlotte’s bravery and nerve and willingness to do the unthinkable: to break the barrier of boredom and try to grab that elusive ring of happiness. As scary as the proposition was, she had done it: Charlotte Clapp would not die with her music still in her.

Al made his way over. He was awkward and curious and hadn’t a clue how to begin the conversation. So Charlotte made it easy.

“How’s the job going, Al?”

“Good, Charlotte. They made me president, you know.”

“I didn’t know that. Kelly hated you.”

“I know. That’s what’s so funny about it. He’s in jail for helping his brother-in-law launder money, and I’m in his leather chair with the big window. It’s killing him, I’m sure.”

“So now
you
open and close the vault?”

“After you left, they changed the system. Everything’s computerized now for security purposes.”

Inappropriate as it was, this made Charlotte giggle.

“When I think about how many times Kelly bullied you and made you the fool... Maybe there is a God out there, Al, making sure things get evened up at the end. I guess they’d be called the ‘getting even’ gods! Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Edgar Halfpenny came by to say hello.

“I missed you, Miss Clapp.”

“Thank you, Edgar. I’ve always wanted to tell you, it was a nice thing you did, giving your money to the Timmy fund like that.”

“You know, it was nothing. I didn’t need it, and other people did. I just don’t feel like I did anything that anyone else in this room wouldn’t have done.”

“Oh, Edgar, that’s where you’re wrong. You are one of the special ones. You won’t be waiting in line when it’s time to go to heaven.”

“Good, because I hate lines.”

Happy and Stan Turner interrupted Halfpenny by offering Charlotte a taste of the baloney roll-ups being served. Edgar excused himself to get something to drink and went off grumbling about there being a line at the punch bowl.

Charlotte continued meandering through the crowd, noticing the new calendar posted over the cash register. (This year’s theme was Flowers of North America.) She noticed Ernie Amison next to the bowl of mints, hoarding them with his fat, sausagelike fingers. And then there were the deep-pink vinyl stools that spun endlessly at the counter. And who could overlook the little tents propped up on every table, heralding the early-bird special? Dinner, half price if you eat it before lunch. Everything that once bothered Charotte only made her smile tonight.

Was Bickfords different? Or had she changed that much? Was the grief she had once held in her heart the oppression of a life not yet lived? Had all that pain at long last been lifted?

She walked through the crowd of women wearing their early-autumn-theme sweaters adorned with big orange pumpkins and Indian corn. They must have gotten them together at B. J.’s and wanted to show them off even though it was still September. All these familiar faces... Some of the women had worked on the checkout line of the 7-Eleven for over twenty years, some in the fish plant, and some had never been out of New Hampshire—and all Charlotte felt toward them was love.

The evening continued with heartfelt tributes and toasts made with bad punch. It was a night she would remember forever. And at the end of it, when she thanked everyone for coming, for their support, she added one last thought.

“Well, for those who were here last year, you may remember my speech.” Whispers ran like a current through the crowd.

“But I’ve had a year to work on a new one, and here it is. Everyone has a journey in them. All we have to do is take that first step. That’s all I did. True, it was in a somewhat unorthodox way (
laughter
). Who knows where it will all lead? But that’s almost secondary. It’s the journey. It’s all about the journey, because the journey is not about waiting for life to take you someplace; it
is
life. And life at its give-and-take best is all about the love we give and take. So what I wish for you, my friends, my dear, sweet friends, is love. So much love that it can’t help but spill over you until... until you’re swimming in it.”

Applause resounded, and Charlotte said her good-nights, moving through the pockets of people and making her way toward MaryAnn. MaryAnn put her arm around Charlotte’s shoulder, and they strolled out into the parking lot together, collapsing into MaryAnn’s car. She drove Charlotte back to the motel and parked in front of her unit.

“Well, this is the real good-bye, Charlotte.” MaryAnn leaned over and unlocked the glove compartment, handing Charlotte her new life.

“The man who picks you up at the airport in Italy will take you to wherever they’ve set you up. I’m sure it will be a nice place, something out of the way. Discreet.”

“Did I ever tell you I’m petrified of flying?” MaryAnn cracked up. “No. But then again, you’ve never been on a plane, to my knowledge.”

“Unfortunately, I was on a plane, something called a JPAT, for prisoners. I threw up for five hours. Ever try that in shackles? Not fun.”

“But this is first class, Charlotte. It’s like being in a living room.”

“It weighs a thousand tons. How do they get that into the air?”

“You’re just one surprise after another, Charlotte.”

“Don’t try to comfort me or anything.”

“Tonight, when Joey Buttabingbang picks you up, I’ll tell him to give you some Halcion.” “What’s that?” “It’s nothing bad; it’ll just help you sleep on the plane.” “I’m not gonna see Jesus or anything with it?” “Charlotte, I take it all the time when I can’t sleep. You’ll be fine.

You’ll wake up in Italy thinking you’re still on the tarmac in Boston.” “Okay.”