Liberation Day (7 page)

“Mom used to bring me here when I was a kid,” Carrie said. “She called it Marblehead’s gateway to the world. That sounded pretty magical to a ten-year-old, I can tell you. It made me think my hometown was the center of the universe.”

It sounded pretty magical to me, even now. The place I’d grown up in was the center of a shit-heap.

“She used to tell me all kinds of stories of fishing boats setting off from here to the Grand Banks, and crews gathering to join in the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812.” She smiled. “You’re not the only history buff around here. I hope you’re impressed.” The smile faded slowly as her thoughts turned elsewhere. She looked into my eyes, then away, across the water. “Nick, I don’t really know where to start with this.”

I gave her hair a stroke. I didn’t know where this was going, but I guessed it had to do with Aaron. I had a sudden flash of him sitting under guard in that storeroom in Panama, smoking. His nose was bloodied and his eyes were swollen, but he was smiling, maybe feeling happy with himself that he’d helped the rest of us escape into the jungle as he enjoyed his last cigarette.

I hadn’t had a clue how I was going to get him out of there. I was unarmed; my options were about nil. Then he had made the decision for me. The door burst open and Aaron launched himself into the night.

As he slithered into the darkness there was a long burst of automatic fire from inside the house. Then the guard got to the door and took aim with a short, sharp burst.

I had heard an anguished gasp, then a chilling, drawn-out scream. Then the sort of silence that told me he was dead.

“I brought him here, you know, soon after we’d met. We came up from Panama one vacation. I knew it would scandalize my parents. Turned out they had a whole lot of other stuff on their minds. George was too busy fighting whoever were the designated bad guys that year to notice I was there. I shouldn’t have been surprised. He couldn’t even remember Mom’s birthday. So back we went to Panama to study while the folks got divorced.” She smiled wistfully. “Jeez, I’d gone to all that trouble to round off my rebellious years by getting laid by my teacher, and my straitlaced parents were too busy messing up their own relationship to pay any attention…. Shit,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t be encouraging you into college.”

I gave her a squeeze. “I spent my rebellious teenage years stealing cars, and the ones I couldn’t get into I’d just smash up. I think they’re over now.”

Suddenly she pressed herself against me. “I hated you being away, Nick. It scared me. I guess it made me realize how much I’ve gotten used to having you around. After Aaron died I told myself I’d be very careful about laying myself open to that sort of pain again.”

I lifted a hand to her face and brushed a tear from her cheek.

“I was worried about being with you, Nick. Dependability isn’t exactly high on your résumé.”

I gave my résumé, as she called it, a quick glance. This time last year I’d been living in homeless shelter housing in Camden, had no money, had to line up to get free food from a Hare Krishna soup-wagon. All my friends were dead apart from one, and he despised me. Apart from the clothes I stood up in when I arrived in Panama, my only other possessions were in a bag stuck in Left Luggage at a London train station. She had a point.

“And no sooner have we settled down here than you take off again. Not much for a girl to brag to her mother about, is it?” She paused. “Then there’s Kelly. What if we don’t get along? What if she and Luz don’t get along?”

I was Kelly’s guardian: she was the other woman in my life I was busy disappointing. She was thirteen and not nearly as grown-up as she liked to think she was. I’d be seeing her at Christmas down in Maryland. Not on Christmas Day itself, because she was doing the family thing with Josh and his children, her new family, but I’d be seeing her on Christmas Eve. “Carrie, I—”

She placed a finger to my lips. “Sssh…” She turned and looked me straight in the eye. “I
was
worried, but I’m not worried anymore. I don’t care about the past. You’re a tour guide now, a barman, whatever—I don’t care, as long as you’re good at it. The last few weeks have been good for me. They gave me time to think, and I realized something. I can finally think about what’s ahead. It’s like I was just treading water the last year, my life was on hold.

“That’s what I want to tell you, Nick. I want us to be together—really together.” She looked down, then up again and into my eyes. “New Carrie, new Nick, new life. That’s why I wanted to bring you here. Tucker’s Wharf, gateway to the world. Gateway to the future.

“You’ve been so patient about Aaron. I know I’ll never get over him, but I am ready to move on, and that’s the important thing. I want the future to be about us.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t. You don’t need to say anything.”

We stood up and walked arm in arm for about twenty minutes until we reached a small protected cove.

“Little Harbor.” She swept her hand across the bay. “Mom always called this the place where it all began. The founders, some of them her family, put down their roots here in 1629. The settlers cut back the forest to build tiny thatch-roofed cottages and fishing boats. I can still hear Mom saying, ‘From here, strong-hearted men set out to fish uncharted waters.’ I loved her stories of the founding families. They were gutsy, venturesome, in search of personal liberty, a plot of land, a place by the sea…”

“They had a point.” I was surprised to hear myself saying it out loud. “Marblehead is pretty much my fantasy, too, you know.” I hadn’t known places like this existed when I was skipping school in Peckham.

“Tucker’s Wharf was about departures, Nick. This is about arrivals. It’s our new start. I feel we’re at the start of something, and I wanted to bring you here to tell you that. I’ve never shared this place with anyone, not even Aaron.” She smiled again. “Ready for some more history? Our ships traded with the known world, dried fish for clothing, tools, gold and silver. Everybody prospered and there were two big news stories—war with the French, and pirates. They harassed the coast for decades.”

She hesitated for a moment, embarrassed. “I got you this.” From under her coat she produced a carefully wrapped gift, tied with shiny blue ribbon. She beamed. “Go on, open it. It won’t bite.”

I removed the ribbon as delicately as I could.

A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pirates
by Captain Charles Johnson.

She could barely conceal her delight as I flicked through the pages, pausing at each illustration.

“It was first published in 1724. I had to get this edition from a little place in New York. I know it’s not the Middle Ages, but there’s a whole lot about ships from New England being boarded en route to London. I knew you’d like it. And, besides, it’s to remind you of everything I’ve been boring you about just now.”

I closed the book. “You haven’t been boring me. I loved every word of it.”

We got back into the car and drove to Gregory Street. The house had been in the family for years. Built in 1824, it was originally a fisherman’s cottage overlooking the sea. Various additions and renovations over the years, probably during the Golden Age she was talking about, had turned it into a spacious family home. A wooden pineapple was nailed above the front door as a sign of welcome. They were all over the place in this part of the world. A couple hundred years ago, sailors returning from long voyages would place a pineapple by their door to show they were back and people were welcome to come and visit. I would normally have made some quip about that, but thought better of it today.

She swung the car into the gravel driveway and headed toward a white Taurus parked in front of the annex, next to my covered-over Yamaha 600 motorcycle.

Carrie didn’t seem too concerned. “I thought Mom wasn’t expecting anyone until Saturday. Oh, well, I’ll go see if she remembered to put out the cookies and coffee. Got to look after the guests!”

As we got closer I could see Massachusetts plates. The vehicle was so clean and sterile it had to be a rental.

She parked beside it and we both got out. She threw her keys at me over the roof. “Tell you what, why not take a shower and I’ll be right back? And make sure you shave. We have some catching up to do.” There was a smile before she nodded at the annex. “Go.”

Excited, she ran back down the drive toward the front of the house as I went into the annex. It was huge, much bigger than the last house I’d lived in, and tastefully furnished in dark wooden furniture that had been in the family for generations. I always felt as if a photographer from
Architectural Digest
would appear at any minute to take pictures of me reclining by the log fire. I didn’t spread myself around too much, though. I didn’t have much to spread.

She had made a big effort for my homecoming. There were flowers, and a bottle of champagne on the mantelpiece. Leaning against it was a plain white card that said in her distinctive, large, and neat handwriting, “Welcome home.”

I put my duffel bag on the floor in the bedroom, went into the bath suite and got the shower going while I undressed. The hot water ran down my smelly body and I did something I hadn’t done for a while. I started to think seriously about the future.

I got to work with the soap and razor before stepping out to dry myself with soft white towels.

I heard the front door shut. “I’m in here…”

The bedroom door opened and she stood in the frame, tears running down her red face.

I had a bad feeling about this, and it had to do with the Massachusetts-plated Taurus parked in the driveway. “Carrie?”

Her green eyes, just as red as her face, stared at me as I moved forward to comfort her.

“George is here. Tell me what he’s saying isn’t true, Nick.” Her eyes searched mine, and I had to look away.

“What’s he saying?”

“That you’ve been working for him.”

“Carrie, come and sit down—”

“I don’t want to sit down.”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Then tell me, before I go crazy,” she said, and I could hear her starting to lose control. “What are you going to tell me? Why won’t you simply say that my father is lying?”

“Because it’s not that simple,” I said.

“It
is
simple! It’s fucking simple!” She could no longer keep the panic out of her voice. “He says you work for him. But that’s not true, is it, Nick? Is it? You’ve been in Egypt, haven’t you, as a tour guide? Christ, Nick, are we living a lie here?”

I shrugged. I didn’t know what to say.

Carrie looked at me as if I’d knifed her. “You bastard!” she gasped. “You fucking bastard!”

“You don’t need to know this shit,” I said. “My work for him is finished. I’ve done one job for him. I only did it to get my citizenship. George has gotten me a U.S. passport. We can—”

“We nothing,” she snapped. “We don’t exist anymore.”

“But—”

“You don’t understand what you’ve done to me, do you?”

The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. Carrie moved toward the door, anger and sadness etched across her face. She stopped and looked at me for a long time, as if she had something to say but couldn’t find the words. Then she was gone.

I didn’t move. I told myself I needed to give her some space. In truth, I just didn’t have the balls to go after her.

Then the decision was made for me. The engine of the Plymouth fired up and the car shot down the drive.

7

A
gang of seagulls screeched overhead and dived into the water just forty yards away as I ran toward the front of the house.

The sea was choppy; there was a wind picking up that made the yachts in the bay bob agitatedly at their moorings, and their rigging sound like the rattle of a hundred cages.

As soon as I was through the heavy wooden front door I was hit by the overbearing heat. Her mother kept the temperature at a solid ninety degrees, day and night.

George called out from the rear, “In the kitchen.”

My Timberlands clunked on the dark hardwood floor of the hallway and I passed the loudly ticking grandfather clock.

George was sitting, straight-backed, at the old pine rectangular table. A dozen or so photographs of boats were stuck to a corkboard behind him, and he was looking down at a picture frame in his hands. Little lace doilies and smelly candles sat on every scrap of surface.

“You know what they say about New Englanders and the cold, Nick?”

I shook my head.

“When the temperature hits zero all the people in Miami die. But New Englanders, they just close the windows. Trust my ex-wife to be different.”

If he was extending a hand of friendship, I wasn’t shaking.

Just like in the old picture of years ago, square-jawed and muscular, George was still looking like something off a recruitment poster. The only difference now was that his short-cropped hair was graying. His face was cold and unyielding. This setting of New England family domesticity didn’t suit him at all.

“What the hell are you doing here, George? We were supposed to meet downtown on Wednesday, remember?”

“Our plans have changed, Nick. We’re not talking about a vacation booking.”

He pursed his lips and picked up a framed photograph from the Welsh dresser. I could see it was of the three of them. Carrie must have been about ten years old in her blue-checked schoolgirl summer dress. He was in his medal-and badge-festooned military uniform, holding a certificate, with his wife standing proudly beside him. I’d told Carrie when I first saw it that they looked the perfect family. She’d laughed. “Then hellooo…meet the camera that lied.”

“You could have sent somebody. You didn’t have to come in person. You know I wanted to keep her out of this.”

He didn’t answer as I looked down at him. He was a man who had never let power and success go to his clothes. He was dressed in his civilian uniform, a brown corduroy sports jacket with brown suede elbow patches, white button-down-collar shirt, and a brown tie. There had been one addition since September 11: he now had a Stars and Stripes badge pinned to his right lapel. But, these days, who didn’t?