River Rules Read online

  Nancy wished she could tell Peter about her Oscar-worthy abilities, but he wasn’t on her visitor’s list.

  “For obvious reasons,” she whispered to no one.

  CHAPTER 66

  THE NEW ROTATION OF RESIDENTS BOTHERED NANCY. They kept pressing her, asking all kinds of questions about what made her attack Peter, whether he had ever hurt her physically and sexually.

  “You were friends for over forty years. Why now?” An earnest young woman with big black glasses put the focus on her in group therapy.

  “I told you. I don’t remember.”

  “Did he sexually harass you? Did he cross the line when you might have said no? Did he make you do things you didn’t want to do?”

  Her questions hit Nancy like bricks. She started shaking and crying.

  “Wow, bullseye,” muttered another resident.

  “No,” Nancy couldn’t speak over her sobs. “No.”

  “You’re safe here now, Nancy. You can still report him,” said the group leader.

  The other patients became unnerved and upset by Nancy’s distress. Some got up and left the room. Others started to rock back and forth.

  “It’s important for you to work through this. You don’t have to keep this secret. He can be held responsible for his sexual aggressions.”

  Nancy’s gut-wrenching wails resulted in her being taken back to her room. She lay on her bed and pulled the pillow to her belly. Her guttural cries didn’t diminish until they gave her a sedative.

  Later that day, the psychiatrist on call wanted to see her. A friendly young orderly named Gerald guided her with a steadying hand on her back.

  “Nancy,” the bearded male psychiatrist said. “This is a big breakthrough for you. And we all know it’s hard. Sexual misdeeds of all kinds damage us as people. You are not the only one. Victims of abuse, even decades ago, are speaking up and calling out their aggressors publicly. Tell me about what happened. What did Peter Russo do—did he force himself on you?”

  “No, no. Not Peter.” Nancy, her emotions tamped down by the sedative, spoke slowly and softly. “We only had sex once. We wanted to.”

  “So, you are saying it was consensual?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  “But, but someone else raped me. He hurt me so much. And he’s back.” Nancy broke down again.

  “He’s hurting you again? Raping you?” The psychiatrist couldn’t proceed. Nancy fell to the floor and lay there shaking and moaning.

  In subsequent days, Nancy refused to speak to anyone. She wouldn’t eat or bathe. The staff fussed over her, but she didn’t relent until they discussed feeding tubes.

  “Can I see a chaplain?” She surprised everyone when she spoke.

  “Jewish, Christian, Muslim—which faith? Does it matter?”

  “No.”

  “I want to believe,” she said to the grandmotherly woman whose name tag said Chaplain Sue Shaffer.

  “In what, Nancy? I see your intake form has nothing indicated for religion. What do you want to believe in, a Judeo-Christian God?”

  “In anything.”

  The chaplain waited for more, but Nancy sat dejectedly, dabbing at her eyes and nose.

  “Nancy, I know this is a very difficult time for you”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “But you’re in a safe space here. Your abuser, well—there are measures that can be taken. In the meantime, we can meet regularly. Do you pray?”

  “For what? I’m nothing, I’m alone. No money, no friends. I want Brock Saunders to die a million painful deaths, slow ones. Is that praying?”

  “Brock Saunders—the one from Pioneer Premium Properties who ripped off so many people?”

  Nancy nodded. “Yes.”

  “Is he the man who raped you and is back hurting you?”

  “Yes.”

  The chaplain stiffened. She wrote some notes and placed the paper in Nancy’s file. “I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase an eye for an eye. We can talk about the Old Testament and how to get reciprocal justice.”

  “A tooth for a tooth.” Suddenly, Nancy burst into tears. “I can’t pay. They’ll kick me out, and Brock will find me. Will God pay?” She sobbed loudly.

  “Nancy, paying isn’t a problem.”

  “What—who is paying?”

  “Honey,” the chaplain said. “You’ve got better benefits than God.”

  The answer made her cry even harder. She saw Brock in her dreams that night, skinned alive and dipped in bleach, his cock stuffed in his mouth. He screamed over and over as God smiled. Nancy folded her hands gently across her healing belly. She got up and went to the nursing station where she found Gerald.

  “Mizz Nancy?”

  “I’m so hungry. Could I have something to eat?”

  CHAPTER 67

  JOHN TOMASSI, HOLDING DONNA’S SKY-BLUE CLUTCH purse, stood alongside the old Weber grill on Peter’s deck and watched his wife dead-head the huge marigolds that grew wildly every which way.

  “What, did you give them steroids?” he called out to Peter.

  “That’s survival of the fittest, baby.” Peter walked over with two cold beers and gave one to Tomassi. “The blue is very you.”

  Tomassi laughed. “Maybe Carmen will let you hold hers one fine day, Frankenstein. You should be so lucky.”

  “Maybe.” Peter eyed the sky-blue clutch Tomassi held in his meaty paw and shook his head. “Beyond whipped, Johnny boy.”

  “I heard that, Pete,” Donna said. “And should you be drinking beer?”

  “Cut him a break, Donna. He’s damaged goods. Amazing hearing on that woman,” he whispered before switching back to his normal bombastic volume. “Wow, Lori and Vic came through like champs. They scared the shit out of the Consortium.”

  “That’s why I pay them the big bucks.”

  “Speaking of big bucks, what’re you doing with the settlement money?”

  “I vote for buying a nice diamond ring for Carmen,” Donna said. “She’s the one, Pete. You can’t let her get away again.”

  “Geez, honey. Why don’t you just buy him a net?”

  “No squabbling, children. You’ll make my head hurt. Anyway, she has like three already.”

  “Women have ten fingers,” Donna said. “Are you listening, Johnny?”

  “What?” Tomassi mugged at Peter. “Doofus, for a so-called ladies man, you know nothing.” Tomassi adjusted the clutch under his other elbow. “Why doesn’t this come with handles?”

  “Listen, I want to add some money to the reward the Bridgeville PD has for info on Sherry’s murder. And, Marco’s cousin’s team lost their sponsorship, so I’m gonna do that.”

  “As what, Great Full Bread or Reverend Russo’s Holy Rollers?”

  “Ha ha. Plus, get a load of this. Marco texted me this morning he and Kenny just discovered that all the team’s equipment got stolen. Everything, even the damn bases.”

  “Goddamn drugs, again. Junkies’ll stop at nothing. You’ll cover that?”

  “Yeah, of course. Kenny said he might stop by later with a list of what they need.”

  “Kenny and Marco. The world works in strange ways. So, it’ll probably be bats, baseballs, batting helmets, maybe some mitts.”

  “The bases,” Donna reminded her husband.

  “Hey, that’s not Kenny.” Tomassi craned his neck at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. “It’s Ian.”

  “Where’s your better half?” Peter yelled.

  “Hello to you, too. And if you mean Jade, she’s on a silent retreat. Can’t see either of you blokes doing even an hour of silence let alone a week.”

  “They don’t speak for a week? You couldn’t pay me to do that,” Tomassi said.

  “Now that’s what I’ll do with some of the money. I’ll pay you to go on a silent retreat.”

  “With Jade? Not exactly a sacrifice.”

  “I heard you, Johnny.” Donna stepped out of the house with a bowl of snacks. “Ian, he’s quite
taken with your girlfriend.”

  “Great dancer,” Tomassi said, putting his arm around his wife, kissing her cheek, winking at Peter and opening his mouth wide like a baby bird for the pretzel Donna offered.

  “She’s not my girlfriend. She is Jade, her own self, possessed by no one.” Ian reached for a pretzel, grinning at the collective hoots and guffaws. “Now, if you’re talking about Andre, he’s on a training course in surveillance and evidence collection.”

  “So, he’s taking the big plunge?” Tomassi nodded approvingly. “Good for him. The PI exam for getting licensed is tough.”

  “He’s gonna ace it,” Peter said.

  “Andre’s gung-ho. Oh, and here’s a free tip, Sergeant. Sky-blue in a man-purse is so last year. Navy is more your color, anyway.”

  “Watch it, yoga man. I’ll give you the special prayer that you save for Vic.”

  “You’re on to me. Say, Peter—really good karma to give the money for Sherry and the baseball kids.”

  “What about Carmen’s ring?” Donna asked, wiping her hands off on a paper towel and reclaiming her clutch from her husband.

  “You can’t expect miracles, Donna. This guy,” Tomassi jerked his chin towards Peter, “isn’t that smart. Hey, I hear the Consortium’s in negotiations for a chunk of a mondo desalination project up the coast.” Tomassi shared some of the latest dirt after his third beer loosened his tongue.

  “What?” Peter stopped in his tracks like he had turned to stone.

  Tomassi hesitated as Ian and Donna vigorously shook their heads side-to-side. “No,” Donna mouthed.

  “Nothing. Just nothing.” Tomassi stuffed an astonishing quantity of chips into his mouth, pulverizing every last crumb.

  “Sergeant, did you sign up for the yoga clinic I’m doing on Saturday morning? Your posture is appalling.” Ian stood ramrod straight next to Tomassi.

  Tomassi snorted. “Don’t even.”

  “Yeah, John. You get those expensive leggings you ordered from Lulu-whatever?” Peter got right into Tomassi’s line of vision, elbowing Ian aside.

  “I’ll lu-lu you in a minute.”

  “You probably got two pairs so when you split one trying to pull ‘em up over your manhood, you got a spare. Hey, now—so tell me how the Consortium’s gonna drain the ocean and kill all the marine life. This I gotta hear. Don’t be shy.”

  Tomassi groaned. “You’re like a dog with a bone. Just leave it. I got mixed up with something else.”

  “Pre-Alzheimer’s?” Ian ventured with a sly grin.

  “That’s you.”

  Peter had already googled it. “What the fuck?”

  “Here we go,” Tomassi sighed. “Me and my big mouth.”

  “Listen to this: Brockie-fucking-Saunders is the liaison between the Consortium and a foreign group collaborating to build a massive desalination plant right by the Rhode Island border.”

  “Johnny, how could you?” Donna rubbed Peter’s back sympathetically and stared hard at her husband. “Don’t read any more, Pete. It’ll just upset you.”

  “Well, it should upset everyone.” Ian’s voice became dead-serious. “The toxic brine these massive plants produce is barely diluted poison before it gets dumped back into the water. And Brock is the pointy end of the spear.”

  “C’mon, Pete. There’s nothing you can do.” Tomassi instantly regretted his words. Peter’s eyes lit up like a bull fixating on a matador’s gleaming red sash.

  “Oh, yeah? It says here this reverse osmosis technique for getting the salt out doesn’t work in icy weather. Great—we only get ice like half the year. This fucking desalination plant gets built, it’ll destroy everything—the ocean, the rivers, the air, the land. It won’t work, either, and the fish and birds will all die.”

  “Don’t get so carried away.” Tomassi punted Peter’s dire prediction.

  “No, we gotta get in front of this while we still got time. Motherfucking Brock doesn’t get to be a one-man wrecking ball for the planet, not again. Time to bring the piece of shit down once and for all.” Peter appealed to Tomassi, Ian and Donna, his arms half-raised.

  “I’m in,” Ian said. He toed the space between two deck boards. “Here’s my line in the sand. Anything beyond means all the rules get thrown out.” Donna nodded her assent and looked at her husband.

  “That’s the line gets you out of downward pissing pussycat? Then what the hell; I’m in, too. But don’t tell anyone.”

  CHAPTER 68

  JEFF DROVE PETER OVER TO FIORI ORCHARDS FOR dinner that night. Peter didn’t feel too confident driving in the dark yet because of the dizzy spells that still seemed to come out of nowhere. When Jeff heard about them, he didn’t want Peter driving at all.

  “I can drive by feel; I know these roads by heart.” Peter’s protests fell flat.

  “Can you see a kid on a bike by feel? A loose dog? I’m protecting the public from you, idiot.”

  Carmen came out when she heard the tires crunch on the gravel and gave Peter a big kiss and a mug of ice water.

  “You need to drink more.”

  “More vodka?”

  “Go hang out with my dad. Jeff and I want to talk about you.”

  “Yeah,” Jeff said. “Beat it.”

  Aldo greeted him warmly. He made Peter sit next to him and listen to the Red Sox game on his boombox. Carmen and Jeff finished conferring, and Jeff bopped the horn before slowly pulling away to avoid stirring up a cloud of dust.

  “Old school, Aldo. I like it.”

  “The TV guys are a bunch of pansies. They wear make-up, for Chrissake.”

  Jimmy came running out of the house when he heard Peter’s loud laugh. He hugged him and gently touched the staples still in Peter’s head.

  “Those hands better be clean, young man,” Carmen said.

  Jimmy nodded and proposed a re-match of Scrabble.

  “You’re on,” Peter said. “Rack ‘em up.”

  Carmen looked at Peter and Jimmy playing Scrabble with Aldo. The noise from the ballgame mixed with their joyful chatter as they sat at the picnic table under the kaleidoscope of red, yellow and orange leaves. The wave of emotion hit her without warning. Almost in tears, she thought of her confrontation over four years ago with the grief therapist. Maybe being happy wasn’t bullshit; it just snuck up, mixed in the moment with gratefulness, awe and heart-wrenching sadness for what might have been. She missed Becky. She wanted to tell her, Hey, I figured it out. This is happy.

  Peter watched the following afternoon as Carmen expertly polished her nails. He smiled as she blew on her fingers and inspected them from different angles.

  “Nice color.”

  “Thanks. The smell doesn’t bother you?” Peter shook his head. “Yeah, reds work on me.”

  “Whatever that means, yes.” He closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of his almost constant headache. The cool breeze fluttering the leaves helped up to a point.

  “Why don’t you lie back. Come here.” She patted the chaise lounge and settled herself on it. “Just lean back on me.”

  “I might squish you.”

  “I can think of worse ways to go.”

  “Jeff told you about the damn dizzy spells, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. It’ll take time, baby.” She put her arms around him and kissed the top of his head. “Watch my nails.”

  “I hate being like this.” He shifted carefully, popping one eye open to avoid smudging her manicure.

  “Shhh. To quote the great Ian, just be present in this moment. It’s a beautiful fall day. We’re together, and Rachel and Jeff have the business under control with Marco.”

  “Ian’s a legend in his own mind.”

  “Sometimes, and I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, he actually gets it right.”

  Rachel loved working with Marco’s mother. Mrs. Torres at first refused to be paid for her work. They clicked as a team, even when Marco wasn’t around. Rachel somehow had trouble communicating just how much she wanted Mrs. Torres to collect a
fair salary.

  “You gonna learn Spanglish, chica.” Marco came by to help with production when he could.

  “Si. This is probably a stupid question, but your mom’s from Puerto Rico. I mean she was born there.”

  “Yup. I know where you goin’. Puerto Ricans are US citizens, dummy. How come they don’t teach you nothin’ in them good Bridgeville schools?”

  “Really.” Rachel nodded emphatically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just didn’t know if not getting paid was about taxes or something.”

  “Yeah, it’s OK. We cool. She just wants to help Coach out. Mami, por favor.” Marco implored his mother, who at this moment, stood on a stool in front of the long prep counter, almost shoulder-deep in bread dough.

  “Please, Mrs. Torres. I mean, Tia.” Mrs. Torres had made it clear to Rachel that she wanted her to be less formal.

  “Aight. You remembered. Mami likes that.” Marco gave Rachel a thumbs-up.

  “OK.” Mrs. Torres gave in and smiled.

  Jeff cheerfully added Mrs. Torres to the payroll. “I’m really glad she’s with us. I think we should talk about expanding. We could double our business if we had more product.”

  “But, Jeff,” Marco said. “We need like another truck. We’re maxed out.”

  Rachel agreed. “Yeah, Dad. Let’s talk to Pete. He’ll go for it. And it’s exactly like Marco said, not just more product—another truck.”

  “Yeah, I’m almost in. But we have to get Pete better. Good point, though. We definitely can’t expand with just one truck.”

  “How ’bout a trailer? We could sell out of both sides, I seen them at farmers markets. Got a bigger prep area in the middle and we won’t sweat to death.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Marco bounced on his toes with excitement. “Bigger freezer, too, for all the paletas. Need a truck to pull the trailer, right?”

  “Whoa, Marco. Slow down.” Jeff did some mental calculations. “If we use Annie’s Jeep, it could work.”

  Rachel cocked her head at him. “You know that means Mom gets a new car, right?”