Read Online The Orphans of Race Point: A Novel by Patry Francis - Free Book Online
Authors: Patry Francis
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as a gift from a patient, seemed to taunt her.
IF YOU JUDGE PEOPLE, YOU DON’T HAVE TIME TO LOVE THEM
It had hung in the room for years, an unspoken, imperfect contract between Nick and every patient who entered—even wife beaters and murderers. If there had been a bowl or a vase handy, Hallie would have hurled it at the pious words. But since there was nothing, she turned the framed quote to the wall.
“You all right in there?” Aunt Del said, knocking on the door. “I shouldn’t have blurted the news out like that. It’s just that I was so upset—”
“Upset—over a killer ? I don’t understand this town. In fact, sometimes I don’t even understand my own family.” Hallie walked past her aunt and retrieved her bike from the alley.
As she navigated Front Street, she suddenly confronted the same impulse that had directed her course when she was nine. She had to see Gus Silva.
T he center of town smelled like fried seafood and popcorn. It was clotted with cars, and with vacationers on foot who’d come to point at the drag queens on the street, to be titillated or entertained by the artists who were happy to take their money. (When Hallie had complained to Nick that tourists only saw their own stereotype of Provincetown, never the complexity of what it really was, he only laughed. “We don’t see them , either. We just see a google-eyed horde reeking of suntan lotion, cameras dangling from wrists. Don’t you think they’re more than that—every one of them?”) Recalling the words, Hallie felt even more impatient and annoyed—not only with the google-eyed horde that stood between her and her destination, but with Nick, too. Did he always have to wax philosophical over everything—even the annual invasion of outsiders? Couldn’t he just complain along with everyone else?
As she took the turn, the question inside her suddenly caused her bike to skid to a stop. What was she doing? She hardly knew Gus. Why would he want to see her now? The emphatically penciled note rose up in answer: It’s you or nobody. Always has been. Always will be. Even the wind seemed to agree. It propelled her forward as she pedaled toward the outskirts of town.
From the corner of the street, she could see the cluster of cars that had been parked askew in front of the Barrettos’ house. She recognized Fatima’s Buick, a new pickup that belonged to the Captain’s brother, Alvaro, and Alvaro Jr.’s muscle car. But there was no sign of Neil’s familiar Jeep. Hallie wondered if he’d already come and taken Gus out.
The Barrettos’ house looked even more forbidding than Hallie remembered. Fatima’s statue of the Virgin had tumbled onto the ground, probably during a high wind. Over the years, the long grass had grown up around it. The shutters, which had been red the last time she was there, were chipped and faded to a wan coral.
Hallie paused, her eyes unaccountably stinging—not for Codfish Silva, but for Gus. For the five constricted rooms where he returned every day from school, or from his job at the A&P. A pot of yellow mums with a card and a bow on the porch only emphasized the gloom that surrounded it. If she came back in a week, Hallie was sure she’d find the neglected flowers in the same spot; and five years from now, a pot full of dirt.
She left her bike and crossed the street, wondering what she would say to Gus.
His cousin Alvaro opened the door. Not long ago, their seven-year age difference had been the vast gulf between childhood and adolescence. But recently she’d caught him staring at her on the wharf. Is that little Hallie Costa? he’d said. My, my. Several of the men from his boat picked up the sinuous tone in his voice and turned to look. One of them laughingly pulled him away. “You leave Dr. Nick’s daughter alone now, Varo.”
Now he pulled the door open wide and eyed her warily. “What’re you doing here?”
Hallie looked past him to Fatima, lying on the couch in a blue
IF YOU JUDGE PEOPLE, YOU DON’T HAVE TIME TO LOVE THEM
It had hung in the room for years, an unspoken, imperfect contract between Nick and every patient who entered—even wife beaters and murderers. If there had been a bowl or a vase handy, Hallie would have hurled it at the pious words. But since there was nothing, she turned the framed quote to the wall.
“You all right in there?” Aunt Del said, knocking on the door. “I shouldn’t have blurted the news out like that. It’s just that I was so upset—”
“Upset—over a killer ? I don’t understand this town. In fact, sometimes I don’t even understand my own family.” Hallie walked past her aunt and retrieved her bike from the alley.
As she navigated Front Street, she suddenly confronted the same impulse that had directed her course when she was nine. She had to see Gus Silva.
T he center of town smelled like fried seafood and popcorn. It was clotted with cars, and with vacationers on foot who’d come to point at the drag queens on the street, to be titillated or entertained by the artists who were happy to take their money. (When Hallie had complained to Nick that tourists only saw their own stereotype of Provincetown, never the complexity of what it really was, he only laughed. “We don’t see them , either. We just see a google-eyed horde reeking of suntan lotion, cameras dangling from wrists. Don’t you think they’re more than that—every one of them?”) Recalling the words, Hallie felt even more impatient and annoyed—not only with the google-eyed horde that stood between her and her destination, but with Nick, too. Did he always have to wax philosophical over everything—even the annual invasion of outsiders? Couldn’t he just complain along with everyone else?
As she took the turn, the question inside her suddenly caused her bike to skid to a stop. What was she doing? She hardly knew Gus. Why would he want to see her now? The emphatically penciled note rose up in answer: It’s you or nobody. Always has been. Always will be. Even the wind seemed to agree. It propelled her forward as she pedaled toward the outskirts of town.
From the corner of the street, she could see the cluster of cars that had been parked askew in front of the Barrettos’ house. She recognized Fatima’s Buick, a new pickup that belonged to the Captain’s brother, Alvaro, and Alvaro Jr.’s muscle car. But there was no sign of Neil’s familiar Jeep. Hallie wondered if he’d already come and taken Gus out.
The Barrettos’ house looked even more forbidding than Hallie remembered. Fatima’s statue of the Virgin had tumbled onto the ground, probably during a high wind. Over the years, the long grass had grown up around it. The shutters, which had been red the last time she was there, were chipped and faded to a wan coral.
Hallie paused, her eyes unaccountably stinging—not for Codfish Silva, but for Gus. For the five constricted rooms where he returned every day from school, or from his job at the A&P. A pot of yellow mums with a card and a bow on the porch only emphasized the gloom that surrounded it. If she came back in a week, Hallie was sure she’d find the neglected flowers in the same spot; and five years from now, a pot full of dirt.
She left her bike and crossed the street, wondering what she would say to Gus.
His cousin Alvaro opened the door. Not long ago, their seven-year age difference had been the vast gulf between childhood and adolescence. But recently she’d caught him staring at her on the wharf. Is that little Hallie Costa? he’d said. My, my. Several of the men from his boat picked up the sinuous tone in his voice and turned to look. One of them laughingly pulled him away. “You leave Dr. Nick’s daughter alone now, Varo.”
Now he pulled the door open wide and eyed her warily. “What’re you doing here?”
Hallie looked past him to Fatima, lying on the couch in a blue
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