Rosie O'Dell (45 page)

Constable Blundon called out to the table of three men drinking. “What’d you
guys see?”

One man said, “Shag all.”

Another said, “The Moose falling flat on his arse again. You’d swear he was out
on the ice.” The third said nothing.

“Anyone see a sucker punch?”

“If he didn’t throw a sucker punch, it’d be the first time for the Moose,”
said one.

“Nobody seems to have seen the famous sucker punch you spoke of, Brent, except
you. Tom, listen. I don’t know where this is going. You could be fighting a
charge of aggravated assault, or worse, if buddy out there pushes it. I’ll put
in a report after we investigate fully and we’ll see what happens. This, on top
of what I still hear about that doctor thing, you’re possibly looking at time.
Now, Moose may be an asshole downtown, but I wouldn’t like to tell you what
your
asshole will look like if you end up in the big house, a
clean-cut young fella like you. Now. I’m going to release you into the custody
of your parents. What are their names and address?” I told him. “Tom, I want you
to inform your mom and dad of everything
that happened here
tonight, okay? They might want to talk to a lawyer.”

“Yeah, and tell that nuisance Moose Mercer in your cruiser to watch his ass,
too,” said Brent, “because if he ever comes within a mile of me again, next
time
I’ll
kill him.”

“See, Brent, that’s okay out on the ice. Only right and proper. But in here
sitting down, having a meal in a restaurant, that could very easily be construed
as a breach of the Criminal Code in and of itself, big guy, uttering threats to
kill someone.”

“Okay, tell you what. You tell Moose that I’m going to the station right now to
lay charges against him for attempted murder plus brain damage, but I will
consider not doing that if he will shut his mouth about anyone trying to kill
him. Tell him we’ll call it a tie this time. Next time all options are open, and
I mean all.”

“Now, Brent. Now, Brent. Tom, you wait here. I’m calling for another cruiser to
drop you off at your house. I’ll be in touch with you and your parents after I
get a full statement from the alleged survivor. Now, boys, try to be good.” He
went out the door.

Brent muttered, “What he said about prison is true, man. A guy on one of the
hockey teams had a brother in Dorchester a couple of years ago. He hasn’t been
able to sit down since.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Brent, that could have been bad.”

“Hey. You would have done the same. What do you think God created the buddy
system for?”

“Where’s my glass?”

“What glass?” Brent put his hand around to his belt under the back of his
jacket. “Nobody saw a glass, not even the bartender. My biggest worry now is not
eviscerating a kidney before I find a garbage can. I never figured you for that
good on your feet, Tommy. Moose is a fast bastard, and strong. Took
me
to
the mat once when we were just having a bit of fun wrestling.”

“I would have killed that prick…” I began, but I couldn’t sustain the bravado.
I had come down from the adrenalin high, and the enormity of it all was closing
in on me. “Oh Jesus. I’m in deep shit.”

“Yeah, Cory’ll have a knife out for you for sure. I’ll try to get him to back
off, otherwise you can start making your will.”

“Thanks. And what do you think he’ll do about laying charges?”

“Well, I’m sticking to my story. But if I keep Moose from turning you into
hamburger, he might push the charges angle. He’s like that. Needs to get
backatcha all the time. Jesus, you must really love Rosie O’Dell to do
what you did just then, man. I envy you. I wish I had someone
to love like that. Did you kill Dr. Rothesay?”

I looked at Brent. If that was a joke, it was a bizarre one to make in these
circumstances. But Brent’s gaze back into my eyes was entirely sombre as he
waited for an answer to his question. “Killing Rothesay was not on my agenda,
Brent. That would be like risking going to jail for killing a maggot.”

“Good answer for the official record, Tommy. But you know and I know you wanted
to. And why wouldn’t you, possessing those skills you just used on Moose? If I
was in your place I would, too. Man, I would have
loved
to have that
chance.”

Looking at Brent wagging his head with utter conviction, I realized something
for the first time that had been obscured by our best-buddy friendship and the
later glare of his celebrity status as an athlete. I could see clearly in his
opaque, dark blue eyes—so like his father’s—and the earnest, handsome features
before me, that my saviour, the kid I had to rely on after tonight to preserve
me from physical and legal disaster, was just as certifiably insane as I
was.

“
THIS CHAIN OF CALAMITIES
, Tom, each link more catastrophic than
the last?” asked my father in a forced mild tone after I had been deposited on
his doorstep by two officers of the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary and
recounted my night’s adventure. “When do you intend to bring it to an
end?”

I glanced at my mother. Her eyes were fixed on the middle distance and there
was no sympathy in them for me. I looked down at the floor and mumbled, “It’s
all over now, Dad. There won’t be any more—”

“That’s probably him,” Dad interrupted, standing up and walking out on the
first ring of the phone in his study. The moment I had mentioned the possibility
of charges, he had called lawyer Barry’s home and left a message.

Mom drew in a deep breath and eased it out very slowly, as if she was afraid of
breaking something inside her. Then she said, “Do you feel any dizziness or
nausea?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Well, keep that ice pack on the bump. And don’t go to bed or fall asleep until
we’re sure you don’t have a concussion.”

Dad came back. “Okay, that was lawyer Barry. He’s got a full schedule
tomorrow, but he’s going to fit you in first thing in the
morning at his office at quarter to eight, before his regular day starts. And he
wants to speak to you now, just in case there’s something he should do tonight
to anticipate and forestall action by the police.”

After I finished giving the lawyer a sketch of my evening out dining, I
returned to the living room door and told my parents I was going up to my room
to call Rosie.

“Sit down for a moment first,” said Dad, “we need to talk over a few things.”
I hesitated. Chastened and contrite though I felt, the last thing I could
tolerate tonight was my father doing his Polonius act.

Mom said, “The sooner we talk the better, to my mind, unless you don’t feel up
to it right now, in which case we’re going straight to the hospital to have that
head checked out.”

“I’m fine,” I said, with more assurance than I felt. I sat down again and Dad
took a big breath to begin.

“Let me, Joe,” said Mom quietly. “Tom, now listen, after I’m finished this,
honest to my God, I will never pain you or amuse you with unsolicited advice
ever again for the rest of my life.” She was speaking in a low, fast monotone,
almost a murmur, but full of fervour. “Tonight I’m going to tell you the brutal,
unvarnished truth as I see it. I don’t want to. I wish I could avoid it, but I
can’t. I may make you hate me, but I can’t help it. As your mother, I have
to.”

The hair rose along my neck and I put my arms around my chest to stop the
shivering. Mom asked, “Are you and Rosie still absolutely serious about each
other after everything that’s happened?”

“Yes.”

“Rosie is a wonderful young woman. Just to come through what she experienced is
proof of that. But you wouldn’t be entirely normal if everything she and you
have been through didn’t affect you both in a traumatic way. In the future, when
you and she have serious disagreements, or serious problems of any kind,
financial, physical, emotional, some of that is sure to rear its ugly head and
make everything worse, make you say or do things better not said or done. Look
how you reacted tonight when some lout needled you. I believe you need to pause
and reflect on these points yourself. Give yourself some distance in time and
space. Now, your father has mentioned to you an idea for your summer and fall. I
want you to consider it in this light.”

If this had been my father talking again on this subject, I would have
stopped him dead right here, embarrassed and wiped out though I
felt, but I simply had no heart for taking on my mother tonight. And she kept
going:

“You haven’t had many serious relationships with girls for a boy your age. Two
or three minor ones in high school, Helen Hayes and maybe a couple of
others”—she had a better memory for the name of the Christmas Princess than I
had— “and you’ve really had only one serious girlfriend in your life—Rosie. The
relationship with Helen I’d call normal. The one with Rosie I’d characterize as
abnormal in the circumstances that evolved. Ordinarily, it might have been great
and it might be great in the future, but up to now the reality is that it has
been abnormal. One or two short little normal romantic relationships in a young
man’s life are not enough, Tom. You need more experience. You need a wider and
deeper basis for comparison before you settle in with a life partner. Now, you
no doubt believe that you and Rosie are in fact the best in the world for each
other, and all I’m saying to you is test it and confirm it. Use the courage the
two of you have shown to test it and confirm it. With all that’s happened, you
both owe it to yourselves.”

Dad jumped in. “And I think you should have some damned fun for a change.
You’ve had some pretty serious and sombre things in the past couple of years.
Rosie is a wonderful woman, and when you come back you will know if settling
down with her one of these days is truly what is best for you and her and truly
what you want.”

“It certainly is what I want, Dad. Christ!”

“And I’m not saying it shouldn’t be, by any means. But you have both been
through a gruelling time together. That has made you like old comrades-at-arms
who have served in the wars together. Old war comrades love each other, are
friends for life, feel they have everything in common, when all they may have in
common is the war experience. You need the time and distance to decide whether
your relationship, after everything that has happened, is based on more than the
camaraderie of war together.” Dad smiled, pleased with himself over his
insightful analogy.

“That’s just effing stupid,” I said. “We were in love with each other long
before any of that broke. Our love has nothing to do with that. What you just
said is too shagging idiotic to talk about.”

Dad’s colour rose, but he remained calm. “It may be stupid, Tom, and it may be
idiotic. I hope it is. All I’m saying is, take the time to look at your
relationship, for your own good and hers, with a sliver of ice in your
heart.”

“You got that sliver of ice quote from Graham Greene,” I said.
“You heard Joyce O’Dell quoting it at the Christmas party at our house when he
was saying that Graham Greene would have won the Nobel Prize long ago if he
weren’t a Catholic.”

“Oh for Christ’s… Now that’s what’s idiotic. Joyce O’Dell—”

“He was joking, Dad.”

“Joking, was he? How could anyone ever tell? I’ll tell you what’s no joke,
though. Joyce O’Dell’s serious mental problem and what that means for—”

“What are you talking about—mental problem! The man was a world-famous
poet.”

“What the hell is a world-famous poet doing killing himself in a river in the
middle of the night in the middle of a crap a few feet away from his own—”

“Joe,” said Mom.

“—daughter? And old Mrs. O’Dell at the graveyard—I suppose that was sensible.
And then all that with Pagan. Not to mention Nina—”

“Joe.”

“—heading for the Mental. My son—”

“Joe!”

“—everything in that family points to a serious strain of mental—”

“JOE!”

“What, Gladys? What? What? What?”

“Tom, please come back and sit down. Joe, let me, please. Your father’s doubts
about much of what has happened have proved true all along. He had doubts about
investigating Rothesay in London, and sure enough that fell apart. He had doubts
about Rosie pressing charges, and look what happened there. He has had doubts
about certain characters in our lives and he proved to be right. Your father is
wise and has good judgment, but you don’t see it because it is in the nature of
fathers and sons to take exception to each other’s opinions. That is nature’s
way. But I am telling you his doubts about you staying here this summer are
right, too. So please sit down again for a minute and listen.”

At the doorway, I wanted to fling back, “And his doubts about nailing Rothesay
years ago proved true, too, I suppose. It’s not that his doubts turn out to be
right, it’s that he’s so faint-hearted he never does
anything
, so he’s
never wrong.” I held my tongue, though, and that was a good thing, because she
demolished my thought with, “He has put you in the hands of a top lawyer,
prematurely, some might have argued, but I believe you will agree that his ac
tion there was sound.” I walked to my chair, and listened to my
mother again.

“Backpack around the continent like a lot of other kids are doing, staying at
student hostels… Spend time in London, stay as long as you want at the Royal
Overseas Club where we have a membership. Then in the fall, start a year of
study in whatever you want to do at the famous London School of Economics… Dad
and I will pay the whole shot for everything… See if you like it. Continue after
one year, or not, as you see fit. You’re only young. You have all the time in
the world. A year of study away at this point will be excellent for you and
exactly what you need.” Mom rose from her chair and stood over me, looming, her
face grim and resolute. “Now you think about all that good and hard, sonny boy,
while we’re trying to get you out from under the charges and other consequences
of your barroom brawl, on top of the suspicions from Rothesay’s death, all of
which, by the way, are going to start looking like small potatoes compared to
what’s likely to happen to you in weeks to come if you stick around here.”