Envious Moon(30)

She had such a good heart. In some ways she was an innocent about things. She didn’t know how the world worked. When she was only twelve, she got off the school bus one afternoon. The bus stop was only a half mile from our house in Chestnut Hill. There were six children who all got off at that stop and from there it was only a short walk from the main road to our neighborhood. It was a different time and the parents did not meet the children at the bus stop. Today I suppose that would be unthinkable. But the children were always in a group and it was a wealthy neighborhood once they were off Route 9.

This afternoon, standing on the corner of Route 9 and Silbey Street, was an older man with long gray hair and a beard, an army jacket that had patches all over the sleeves. A homeless gentleman. He held a sign toward the passing traffic that said, will work for food.

She was so young, so na?ve, that she marched right up to the man. She told him she didn’t have any work but that there was plenty of food at her house. A refrigerator full of it. I cannot imagine what the other kids thought. But when I opened our door and saw this man standing there, I almost had a heart attack. When I recovered from my shock, I had him wait on the steps while I made him a sandwich. I put it in a brown bag and handed it to him. Hannah was quite pleased, of course. I explained to her when he had left why what she had done was dangerous. And how she was never to do it again. But I couldn’t possibly punish her for it. For how can you punish a child for showing generosity of spirit?





They took me off the island on the ferry, though this time I rode in its belly, in the back of a state police car. Before I got in they removed the handcuffs, which I was grateful for. Other than that, they left me alone in the backseat. The two troopers carried on like I wasn’t there, talking about the Red Sox, the weather, some new restaurant in Providence. I stared out the window and through the breaks in the iron walls of the boat to where I could see patches of gray ocean.

We drove off the boat and then through the village and past my house and to the barracks in Westerly. They brought me into a small room with a table and two chairs. They left me there for a while and then Sheriff Riker and a tall man in a suit who introduced himself as a state police captain came in. He said his name was Martini.

“Like the drink,” I said.

He smiled. “Like the drink.”

And that was pretty much the last thing I said that afternoon. Sheriff Riker did most of the talking and he had lots of questions but all I did was stare straight ahead. I heard what he said but I didn’t really listen. I discovered that if I actually listened then I felt a greater pressure to respond. But if I tuned him out and thought of other things—of Hannah mostly, of how she looked after we made love, the open O of her mouth, the tiny freckles on her cheekbones, the smooth length of her neck—I could forget they were there. It was a neat trick, and one I didn’t know I could pull off until I was in that small room. I shut down and they knew I was doing it and there was nothing they could do about it.

Not that they didn’t try. What I did glean from what they had to say was that Victor had confirmed that I was in the house that night. They broke him somehow and when they called the Lorrie Anne they found out I had never gone out. But the sheriff kept saying that he thinks I didn’t mean for anything to happen. That there was no intent on my part.

“I know you’re a good kid, Anthony,” he said. “Work with me a little, okay? I want to consider this an accident but we need your help. If you won’t talk to us we’re in a tough position. We might have to assume some things you won’t want. There’s still time to fix this.”

And on and on.

I stared blankly and didn’t say a thing. After a time they left me and I was alone in the room for what seemed like hours. It was hard to tell. There were no clocks and nothing to do and each minute just yielded to the next one. Eventually the door opened and Berta walked in. It felt like forever and I was awfully glad to see her. Though she looked so sad, so concerned, that I had to fight not to cry. I stood and stepped out from the table and I hugged her hard. Berta gripped my T-shirt in her hands.

“It’s all right, Mama,” I said.

“What did you do, Anthony? Is this true, what they say?”

I looked toward the mirror that covered one of the walls. I knew they were on the other side looking at us. Could probably hear every word we said too.

“I’m in love, Mama,” I said.

Berta looked up at me and let go of my shirt. She stepped away. “You stupid boy,” she said. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know this much,” I said.

Berta started to cry. I hated to see her cry more than anything and I tried to hug her but she was really upset. I started to cry too when she flailed at me with her short arms. She punched me with her little fists. “I’m in love, Mama,” I said again, and she only cried harder but she let me hold her now, which I did until the door opened and Sheriff Riker walked in.

“It’s time, Mrs. Lopes,” he said.

My mother put her hands on my shoulders and looked up at my face. I looked down at her sweet wet brown eyes. “It’s okay,” I said, but Berta stared back at me like she didn’t believe me anymore.





They came in and out all afternoon and still I did not talk. I thought about telling them that I wanted to see Hannah, telling them that I’d say whatever they wanted if only they’d let me see her. But part of me knew that there was no way, regardless of what I said, that they were going to let this happen. Finally, after I had been there for what seemed like ten hours, the door opened and in walked a man in a dark suit. I recognized him right away as he was from Galilee. He was maybe twelve years older than Victor and I. He had been a basketball star at the high school, the son of a fisherman like us, and he went away to college unlike us. Everyone knew him when we were kids. Girls loved him. And he looked exactly the same. Other than the streaks of silver coming in on his black hair above the ears. Danny Pedroia.