The Second Silence (25 page)

An old memory surfaced. His eighteenth birthday, celebrated with a jug of cheap wine passed among his housemates. By then he’d been living in a ramshackle Victorian with five other kids, three guys and two girls. It’d been months since Mary had moved back in with her parents, but he’d nevertheless clung to the hope that she would one day return. Hope that was shattered, as hope often is, not by a momentous epiphany but by a single careless remark. His roommates and he had been seated cross-legged in a circle on the living room floor, well into their down payment on tomorrow morning’s hangover, when Sally Garon (a girl he later bedded), lifted her paper cup of Gallo red to proclaim with bleary-eyed profundity, ‘Here’s to Charlie’s bride … for cutting him loose.’

That’s when it finally sank in. Mary wasn’t coming back.

The years that followed had been marked not by the usual milestones of birthdays and anniversaries but by hard work. Gradually Charlie was promoted from office boy to copy editor to managing editor, then at long last editor in chief. His only solace, however bitter-sweet, was watching Noelle grow from a baby into a solemn little girl with his raven black hair and her mother’s gray-blue eyes. The day she left for the city, his carefully balanced world once again slipped its cogs. After kissing his ten-year-old daughter good-bye, and receiving a solemn (and somewhat reproachful) peck on the cheek in return, he’d gotten in his car and started driving, no particular destination in mind. He’d been headed north, that was all he knew, for that was the extent of his awareness. All night and well into the next day he’d driven without stopping except to refuel. Until he was turned back at the Canadian border. Apparently he hadn’t thought to bring his passport, which was just as well. Otherwise, he might have ended up in Saskatchewan.

Instead, he’d taken the long route home, following the rocky, windswept New England coastline, just north of Cape Cod, near the town of Ellisville, a brutal nor’easter and bone-numbing exhaustion descended with equal force, and he checked into the first inn he happened across, a charming bed-and-breakfast run by an even more charming Welsh girl named Victoria. He slept for twenty-four hours straight, and when he woke up, Vicky fed him an enormous breakfast of bacon and eggs and waffles. He stayed for three days.

Wheels within wheels. If Mary hadn’t left him, setting into motion a series of events over which he’d had no control, he wouldn’t have met Vicky or had Bronwyn. And how could he be anything but grateful for that? Yet somehow it had all come full circle. The other night with Mary—Christ, it was just like before, when they were a couple of horny teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Only better … maybe because they were old enough to appreciate the gift they’d been given. Each touch that had once stood alone, unchallenged, now colored by the loving, and not so loving, embraces they’d known. Each whispered endearment made more precious by the knowledge of how easily the things and people you love can be snatched away.

Face it, Charlie boy, you’re on borrowed time.
When all this was over, she’d go back to her life in the city: business, friends, maybe even a lover. He couldn’t ask her to give all that up; it wouldn’t work even if she tried. Any more than he could cash in everything he’d toiled so hard to build. No, the smart thing would be to quit while he was ahead.

Didn’t he have enough on his plate as it was? Not just Noelle but his younger daughter as well. Lately Bronwyn had been moody and distant. He didn’t have to be hit over the head to know why: that boy who’d been sniffing around, Dante Lo Presti. Charlie had had him checked out, and though concluding the kid wasn’t much of a threat, despite his tattoo and tough guy swagger, he’d begun to feel uneasy on the nights he worked late. Who knew what his headstrong daughter might get up to? He’d forbidden her to have anything more to do with Dante, but had Noelle listened to him when he warned her about Robert?

Charlie recalled with bile rising in his throat the day his elder daughter told him she was in love. He’d wanted to be happy for her, his solemn child who so often did only what was expected of her. But he’d known what was in store: a man who would break her heart, and possibly break
her,
too. He’d hoped that Robert’s charm would eventually wear thin—Christ, the man was
his
age—but it hadn’t happened. When Noelle told him they were getting married, he’d sat her down and tried gently to dissuade her—to no avail. Six months later Charlie was walking her down the aisle. On that occasion, too, he’d chosen his words with care. Embracing her, he’d murmured, ‘I hope he make you as happy as you deserve, honey.’

For a while it seemed she
was.

Gus tilted the chair upright, jolting Charlie from his reverie. The barber had exchanged his razor for a pair of shears, and snippets of hair began to drift down around Charlie’s ears. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he was startled to find his father’s face staring back at him: Frank’s knotted jaw and deeply grooved cheeks, his beleaguered eyes. Pop couldn’t control Mom’s drinking, but Charlie wasn’t about to go down without a fight. Not while he drew breath on this earth, not with his family at risk.

The town council’s monthly meeting was tonight, he recalled, the highlight of which would be the debate over the proposed Sandy Creek development. It would be interesting to see how many people turned out and even more interesting to see who, if anyone, had the guts to stand up to Robert. The local environmentalists, a small but fiercely active group headed by Mary’s sister, would no doubt do battle on behalf of the threatened bird. But Robert was sure to make an equally strong case in favor of unrestricted building’s being the lifeblood of the town’s economy.

Just don’t get
too
smug, you bastard,
he warned silently. In light of his daughter’s predicament, Charlie wasn’t going to lose much sleep over the orange-crowned warbler. But tonight’s forum, if nothing else, might provide useful in exposing Robert for the bully he was. When tomorrow morning’s edition of the
Register
hit the stands, Charlie vowed, its volley would echo from the hilltops.

Thirty years ago he had hesitated at a major crossroads. He’d failed to fight for what was rightfully his. He wouldn’t make that mistake a second time.

Early that evening when he arrived at the meeting, even Charlie was amazed by the turnout. Burns Lake’s town council wasn’t particularly known for its drawing power, and the advantages and disadvantages of various proposed budget cuts, municipal funding, and waste disposal alternatives were not exactly edge-of-the-seat theatrics. But tonight the gray metal folding chairs lining the council chamber on the ground floor of the Justus R. Wright Building were filled to capacity. He’d be lucky to find an empty seat.

Slipping into a chair in the back row, he spotted Mary near the front, seated beside her sister. He wasn’t surprised to find her here, but his pulse quickened nonetheless. Watching her lean over to whisper something in Trish’s ear, Charlie couldn’t help being amazed anew by how different the two sisters were. Trish, plain and earnest, with her tentative smile that flickered like a faulty light bulb … and Mary, slender and stylish, looking as poised as a seasoned politician on the firing line.

Christ,
he marveled,
she’s even more beautiful now than at seventeen.
Dressed simply, in pale yellow slacks and a sleeveless white cotton sweater, and wearing sandals that consisted of four narrow straps and probably cost more than her sister cleared in a week. The sun had put some color into her pale cheeks, he was pleased to note. Or was it the residual glow of their lovemaking?

Once more their interlude in the woods flashed through his mind. Lying with Mary in the grass, her hips arching to meet his, her readiness alone telling him everything his stupid male ego longed to believe: that it had been months, maybe even years, since she’d been properly made love to.

For Charlie, it had been a door opening to provide a glimpse of the yearning heart that beat inside this confident, sophisticated businesswoman. He’d nearly cried at the waste of it all. The lost years. The years ahead without her. Knowing he was helpless either to stop loving her … or to stop her from leaving. The hardest part was not knowing when, or even if, they would make love again. The other night the magic had begun to fade and reality to set in even before they’d reached the cabin. Mary had told him she wanted to slow down, think things over. They weren’t kids anymore; they couldn’t just barrel ahead without considering the consequences.

Kids,
he’d thought dourly,
who’d have managed just fine had we listened to our hearts instead of our elders.
But he’d said nothing. What was there to say? Proceed with caution? No, if he’d learned anything from past experience, it was that decisions involving others couldn’t be forced. Mary would have to come to it on her own.

At five past eight the mayor called the meeting to order. A retired insurance broker with a ruddy face polished by too many expense account meals, Grant Iverson reminded Charlie of an old possum fat off feeding out of garbage pails. Charlie saw him glance anxiously at Robert, seated in the front row.
Strange bedfellows,
he thought.

He was gripped by a sudden violent urge to do some serious damage. Was the pen truly mightier than the sword? Maybe, but at times there was no substitute for simply plowing your fist into your enemy’s face. Charlie was almost glad when the first order of business turned out to be the debate over whether or not to install parking meters along York Avenue. Its dullness served to blunt the sharp edge of his fury. Flipping open his notepad, he scribbled a few words. He’d have Anne Marie Daugherty, his lifestyles editor, follow up with a piece on the shopkeepers and what it would mean to them.

The next two items on the agenda were dispensed with quickly, the council voting unanimously to increase the budget for the fire department and to replace the litter baskets in town square. It was only a quarter past nine when the mayor cleared his throat into the microphone to announce, ‘As for the last item—this, ah, business about the bird—I’d like to remind all you good people that tomorrow is a workday, so let’s not drag it out.’ He was looking straight at Trish, who’d shot out of her seat so abruptly the stack of flyers on her lap spilled to the floor. Cheeks burning, she bent to retrieve them.

Robert was quick to seize the advantage, stepping up to the dais as smoothly as a shotgun’s oiled hammer sliding home. Every eye in the room turned toward him as he leaned into the microphone.

‘Thanks, Grant. If we’re lucky, we might even catch the last inning of the Red Sox game.’ He grinned and, like any polished performer, waited for the ensuing chuckles to abate before continuing. ‘In the interest of making this easier on everyone, I’ve taken the liberty of running off copies of the report provided by Professor Farnsworth, head of ornithology at Northwestern University.’ He signaled to one of his flunkies in back, a skinny crew-cut kid who immediately started making the rounds with a stack of the impressive-looking spiral-bound reports. ‘What it boils down to, in a nutshell, is that the orange-crowned warbler is a migratory bird that just so happens to have temporarily migrated into our little neck of the woods. You might think of it as a Boy Scout troop that’s lost its way in the woods.’ More chuckles, and this time even a few loud guffaws. ‘Not that I don’t have some sympathy for the little guys. All I’m asking is that we don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.’

His folksy delivery, the equivalent of a broad wink, elicited a chorus of murmured approval. Even Charlie felt a grudging admiration. He’d known Robert was good, but not
this
good. While he went on shoveling the shit about the various lengths to which Van Doren & Sons had gone to ensure the safety of
all
manner of flora and fauna, Charlie watched in horrified fascination as the audience was slowly but inexorably reeled in.

But not everyone was hanging on Robert’s every word. Trish and Mary, along with a faithful corps of Green Earth and Audubon Society tub-thumpers, eyed him with cold disdain. When it came time for Trish to speak, she rose to the occasion.

‘Remember the days when we used to be able to swim in the lake without worrying about runoff from septic tanks?’ Her eyes were shining, her voice steady and clear. ‘Or walk in woods that are underwater now, thanks to the diversion of Mohawk Creek? Just a few months ago, before the land for Cranberry Mall was cleared, you could go there to pick wild raspberries and gooseberries.’ She paused to look about the room, which had fallen unusually silent. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m not opposed to
all
progress. Where would this town be without its roads and buildings, its parks and monuments? But we have to draw the line somewhere. We have to know when to stand up and say enough is enough. A small brown bird that’s not much to look at’—she turned to cast a wry glance at her sister—‘may not seem worth fighting for. But did you know that bulldozing Sandy Creek would destroy more than just their nests? Fledglings that haven’t yet learned to fly would be slaughtered by the dozens. The sanctuary of a species rarely seen outside its native California would be wiped out in a single stroke. Not by an act of God or by town fathers putting the welfare of its citizens first. But by a company whose only motive is greed.’

She pointed a finger at Robert, who no longer wore the patina of easy victory. He was frowning openly now, and a tic had started up in his right eye. ‘It’s not just the orange-crowned warbler that’s endangered.’ Trish went on. ‘We
all
are. Our whole way of life. If we don’t fight this, what will we tell our children when they ask what it was like to catch minnows in the creek or pick wildflowers in the meadows? How will we
face
them?’

Silence fell over the room. Meaningful glances were exchanged. Mary looked amazed, as if the sister she thought she’d known had been replaced by someone she hardly recognized. A woman with the power to sway an audience, whose impassioned words had touched off a murmuring that quickly grew to a roar. Hands shot into the air. People who just a few minutes before had been too timid to speak were now eager to share their opinions.