Kathleen Creighton - One Summer’s Knight

Though it couldn’t have been very many minutes before she saw Riley and David come jogging around the far corner of the house, each holding one end of an aluminum extension ladder, those were, undoubtedly, the longest minutes of Summer’s life. Through every one of those minutes she had to fight the compulsion to climb over that balcony railing and onto that limb against all common sense, somehow convinced that, if she could just get her hands on her child, if she could just touch her, everything would be all right. Through every one of those minutes the terror, unspeakable, unthinkable, unimaginable terror, held her heart in a grip of ice. Through every one of those minutes, as she spoke her calm words of encouragement and sang her daughter’s favorite songs in a quavering voice one good breath away from hysteria, she prayed. Oh, God please…

She watched, helplessly leaning over the wrought-iron railing, as far below, Riley placed the ladder against the tree limb, set it firmly and began to climb. He was wearing neither shirt nor shoes, she saw with a small sense of shock; she’d forgotten all about his injuries, and so, it seemed, for the moment at least, had he. Spots of sunlight dappled his naked back and shoulders as he climbed, so that he seemed almost a part of his surroundings, a half-wild creature of the forest primeval, and a far, far cry from the Riley Grogan whose normal habitat was the courtrooms and ballrooms of Charleston. And yet, no less graceful, no less confident. As if he were as much at home in this world as that one.

It all happened rather quickly then. Making it look easy, Riley pulled himself from the ladder onto the limb and unfolded himself until he was standing upright. Then, holding on to and climbing through smaller branches, he moved along it until he was directly below the place where Helen clung to her precarious perch. Summer heard the low, soothing murmur of his voice; leaves rustled and branches thrashed; and then came the cry she had prayed for: “Okay-I’ve got her!”

She couldn’t hold back a gasp, and it was more than half a sob. But it wasn’t over yet, she knew that. As if her gaze alone could keep them from falling, she did not take her eyes off Helen’s lemon-yellow top and Riley’s sweat-glistening shoulders until she saw that they’d made it safely to the top of the ladder. Then she tore herself away from the balcony railing, dove through the window into the bedroom and dashed headlong for the stairs.

He was just stepping off the bottom rung when she got there. She’d been running full-tilt, not even aware of her feet touching the ground; now, a few feet away from her goal, she halted. Afraid if she took one more step the shaking would catch up with her and her legs lose the strength to support her. Afraid if she tried to speak a single word she would burst into sobs. So instead she stood and looked at the two of them-at the man whose face and body were streaked now with dust and sweat; and at the little girl who was clinging to him, her legs clasped around his torso, her arms in a death grip around his neck, face buned against his chest, like a large, brightly colored starfish.

“Wow,” David was yelling. “Wow, you did it! Boy, was that cool! ”

Riley spoke in a soft-gruff voice to the top of Helen’s head. “Hey-here’s your mama. You can let go now.”

He was walking toward Summer, and she could see him trying, without success, to peel Helen’s arms from around his neck. Summer burst out laughing-and finally into tears

“Hey, missy,” said Riley firmly, “you’re on good old terra firma now-you’re gonna have to let go of me.” But then Summer saw him give up trying to pry his burden loose and suddenly wrap his arms around her and envelop her in a comforting hug, much as he’d enveloped Summer just a short while ago. And after a moment she saw her daughter’s small body relax.

Then all at once Helen drew back and looked at Riley’s face. Alarm sparked fleetingly in his eyes as she took dead aim, then pounced forward and kissed him-hard-on the nose.

Clearly shaken and teary-eyed from the blow, he croaked, “Uh…well, you’re welcome,” while Helen turned to grin valiantly over her shoulder, her dusty, tear-streaked face not the least bit vanquished. But she went on clinging to her rescuer’s neck until the last possible second, making it plain that it was only with great reluctance she was allowing herself to be transferred to Summer’s arms.

To which a hot, sweaty, grubby little body had never felt so welcome, or so sweet. Summer tried to scold. “Helen-honey, what on earth where you thinking of?” But then she had to bury her face in her child’s hair just once more, breathe in the dusty, salty, little-girl smell-liberally laced with chlorine, naturally. And nothing had ever smelled so wonderful.

At her elbow, David was beside himself, waving his arms and screeching, “What did you do that for? Helen, sometimes you are such an-”

“David,” Summer warned in a tremulous voice, “not now. Not another word, do you hear me?”

He threw her a furious look, then frowned at his feet and muttered, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Helen, did you say thank-you to Mr. Riley?”

They all turned, but Riley was no longer there.

When they went back into the house, Summer heard the sound of water running upstairs in his bathroom. A little later, while she was shampooing the dust and spiderwebs out of Helen’s hair, she heard footsteps on the stairs and the distant sound of a door closing. And from the window in the children’s room she watched the Mercedes back out of the garage and roll away down the long, curving drive to finally disappear under the canopy of live oaks and their waving fronds of Spanish moss.

I don’t blame him for leaving, she thought What are we doing to him? What am I doing?

She felt such a heaviness inside. And at the same time, wired and edgy, as if her skin had been charged with electricity. Yes, like that , she thought as thunder rumbled suddenly outside. Just like that.

Though that particular storm passed them by well to the north, the thunderclouds lingered through the afternoon, hanging over them like a threat while the heat and humidity became almost palpable and the sun played a malicious little game of hide-and-seek with poisonous-looking clouds. Summer finished mowing the lawn with one eye on the sky, her skin prickling with that peculiar sensation of awareness, as if every nerve and cell were listening …

Afterward, with the thunder still keeping its distance, she gave in to the children’s pleadings and let them swim, even joining them in the pool, wearing the streamlined white tank suit Riley had bought for her. It wasn’t the first time she’d worn it, but for some reason today everywhere it touched her, with her skin in that strange, sensitized state, it seemed to itch and burn, as if she’d broken out in an all-over rash.

It’s the weather, she told herself; all this electricity in the air. Sure, they all felt it-the children were wired and nervous, Cleo was shrieking dire warnings from the living room, and Beatle was upstairs shivering and shaking under David’s bed. California-raised, none of them had quite adjusted yet to thunderstorms. Why should she be immune?

By early evening Riley still hadn’t returned. The sky had turned the ugly blue-black of bruises. It was as dark as if night were falling, even though Summer knew that at that hour, somewhere up there beyond the clouds, the sun must still be high in the sky. Thunder rolled and rumbled almost continuously; the wind picked up, howling and moaning around the house like some wild creature denied entry, lashing out at the trees in its disappointment and rage. Summer covered Cleo’s cage with a cloth to calm her and while the children watched with round, worried eyes, made popcorn in the microwave. And all the time, her skin prickled, the back of her neck tensed, and her ears seemed to hum with… listening.