Chapter Five #2
“He had it all planned to ask her on that old footbridge over the river,” Tommy says, letting his voice go deep with melancholy.
“He was only waiting for a break in the weather, the way he wouldn’t haveta drag her out there in the rain.
The Lovers’ Bridge, people usedta call that, back in the day.
The two of them had associations with it, isn’t that right, Eugene? ”
“Yeah,” Eugene says. His mouth has pinched tighter.
“Huh,” Cal says. He would have expected Eugene to pull some staged baloney with rose petals in a fancy country house. “That’s right about where they think she went in, ain’t it?”
Eugene’s head flicks away. “The exact location hasn’t been confirmed,” Tommy says smoothly. “I’d say we’re better off staying away from speculation, amn’t I right? There’s enough of that going around.”
“You might have a point there,” Cal says. His attention is on Eugene’s reaction. The kid isn’t just irked at the indignities of this situation. It comes across that way because that’s his accustomed mode, but once you get a closer look, Eugene is furious.
“The thing about a loss like this,” Tommy says, taking back the conversation, “is that everyone goes looking for some reason behind it. You can’t fault them for that, sure. A senseless tragedy’s too much for any man to handle. ’Tis only human nature to try and understand it.”
Cal can see why Tommy wanted to take this indoors.
This is the kind of speech that would work best from a leather armchair, in an atmosphere of dignified gravity and pipe smoke, or else around a kitchen table with a pot of tea and an air of neighborly collaboration.
Cal’s front yard isn’t giving Tommy a lot to work with, but he’s doing his best.
“But people round here are that desperate for answers,” he continues, “they’re lashing out.
There’s accusations flying left and right; mad stuff altogether.
People are so off balance, they wouldn’t know what they’re saying, half the time.
You mightn’t credit this, but I’m told there’s people saying Rachel was, we’ll put it nicely”—he cuts his eyes significantly at Eugene, who’s gritting his teeth hard enough that Cal waits for the crack—“that she was seeing someone else, the last while, and she was afraid Eugene would find out. Now I know that’s a dirty lie, and Eugene knows it too, but you can’t stop people talking. ”
Tommy shakes his head, sorrowing over the townland’s weak-mindedness, and keeps a sideways eye on Cal.
Cal shakes his own head obligingly. “Some people just get born with a ten-gallon mouth,” he says.
More rooks have congregated on the Range Rover.
He holds out hope that they’ll shit on it, but the rooks have never yet done anything he wants them to, and he doesn’t expect them to start now.
“And then,” Tommy says, his voice swelling with emotion, “then we’ve got Eugene here.
If any man needs answers, ’tis him. But Eugene’s not throwing around any accusations.
He’s just wearing himself half to death, trying to think of a reason why this coulda happened—ah, now, there’s no shame in that, son.
” He puts a hand on Eugene’s shoulder. Eugene twitches.
“You were mad about Rachel; you deserve a reason why she’s gone, and your whole future with her. ”
Eugene is focusing intently on somewhere in Cal’s back field. Cal doesn’t like the kid, but he feels a touch of sympathy for him today.
“My young lad’s heartbroken, Mr. Hooper,” Tommy says. “He’s putting on a brave face, but I’ll be honest with you: myself and the missus, we’re worried about our boy. We’ll do whatever it takes to help him.”
“Huh,” Cal says. “I’m sure sorry to hear that.
” He’s getting clearer on what Tommy is here for.
“You know who you oughta talk to, is the priest—Father Eamonn, ain’t that right?
I heard that, way back when the Maguires lost a baby, Father Eamonn did a fine job of explaining how God’s always got a good reason.
” Senan still spits on the ground when he hears Father Eamonn’s name.
“Oh, we are, we are o’ course,” Tommy says, dipping his head piously.
His swoop of silver hair doesn’t budge. “But I’m a practical man.
If there’s reasons here on earth that could give Eugene some peace of mind, I think he deserves to have them.
You’re a father yourself, isn’t that right?
If a child of yours was left like this, you’d do anything in the world to help. ”
Tommy, like the rest of Ardnakelty, has this filed as a suicide. Cal says, “You want someone to find out why Rachel did it.”
“I do. And the missus was saying it feels like a miracle, that we’ve got a man with your skills right here in the townland.” Tommy gives Cal the gracious nod of one important man to another. “If there’s any man that can help us, it’s you.”
“I’m not a PI,” Cal says.
“Oh, I know that, o’ course,” Tommy assures him, hands going up to repel the very thought.
“We wouldn’t want anyone like that. We couldn’t have some stranger going around the place poking his nose in—specially not at a time like this, with everyone up to ninety.
But someone like yourself, now. A man that’s well-known and well-liked.
You could have a few conversations here and there without upsetting anyone’s feelings. ”
“Not my style,” Cal says.
“I’m not talking about giving your neighbors the third degree, man,” Tommy says, all reasonableness, with a quirk of an eyebrow that says Cal is being dramatic.
“Nothing that’d get you in anyone’s bad books.
I’m talking about having the chats, is all.
Hearing what there is to hear. Setting rumors to rest, before they do too much harm.
You’d be doing the whole place a favor, not just my poor lad.
And around here, we don’t forget people who’ve done us a good turn. ”
“Maybe I should’ve made myself clearer,” Cal says. “I’m not your PI.”
Just for a fraction of a second, he sees the flare of savagery in Tommy’s eyes.
Then it’s gone, and Tommy is sighing regretfully, nodding his head.
“Well,” he says, “that’s a shame. I thought I’d chance my arm, but I can’t blame you for sticking to the carpentry.
I’m sure you want a bitta peace and quiet, after all the years of dealing with thugs and reprobates.
The aul’ peace and quiet’s a great thing, if you can get it. ”
“I do my best,” Cal says. Rip is twitching to go for the rooks. Cal puts a hand on his head to settle him.
“And I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Tommy says, “just to show there’s no hard feelings.
If you ever feel like going legit with the carpentry business, paying the taxes and doing the VAT and all that, I’ve a friend in the Revenue who can sort you out like that.
” He snaps his fingers, smiling straight into Cal’s eyes.
“Well, if that ain’t mighty obliging of you,” Cal says, smiling right back at him. He hears the threat loud and clear.
“Although you mightn’t be allowed to go legit,” Tommy says, struck by the thought. “What with you being a Yank. But don’t you worry: when my fella sets his mind to something, he finds a way.”
“I’ll be sure and keep that in mind,” Cal says.
“Do, man. Don’t forget it. Neighbors oughta look out for each other, isn’t that right?”
“Reckon so,” Cal says. He almost wishes he could keep Tommy talking a little longer. Two of the rooks have taken a liking to the Range Rover’s windshield wiper and are working together to detach it, bracing their feet on the hood so they can put their backs into tugging.
“Thanks for the chat,” Tommy says. “If you change your mind, let me know any time. Any time at all.”
Eugene is already throwing Cal a jerky nod and whisking around to head back to the car. Tommy gives Cal one more smile before he follows.
Cal squats down by Rip and rubs his neck, watching, while Eugene shoos the rooks away with furious flaps of his arms and the two of them get in the car, and while Eugene reverses out the gate in one sweep without checking if anyone’s coming.
Then he climbs up his ladder, ignoring Rip’s gusty sigh, and gets back to work on his slates.
Rip could use a good long walk, but Cal wants to think, and he thinks best when he’s getting something done.
The fact that Tommy wants reasons implies that he hasn’t found them at home.
Eugene wasn’t dumping Rachel, or cheating on her, or whatever else the townland has come up with.
It could be a ruse—Tommy could have been aiming to produce the exact impression he did produce—but Cal doesn’t think so.
The flash of rage when he found himself balked was real.
Eugene could be keeping things from his daddy, of course. Some struggle is going on there. Eugene didn’t want to be here, but Daddy is the boss man, and Eugene doesn’t like that one bit.
That feeling is jabbing Cal again, the insistent prickle of something hinky in the air.
He wonders why Tommy cares so much about Rachel’s reasons, and why he isn’t taking the opportunity to frame this as an accident: mix-up over the romantic rendezvous, Eugene thought they’d canceled and Rachel didn’t, one slip on the rain-wet bridge with its too-low walls, no blame for anyone and a great big helping of sympathy with all the fixings for everyone involved.
He wonders if Tommy shares Trey’s suspicion that this was neither suicide nor accident, and if he does, why.